American Evangelicals and Political Strength

/0 Comments/in /by

The Christian faith has immediate political force through its central confession: “Jesus Christ is Lord”. God is the creator and governor of all things, the alpha and omega which includes Christ, the “Pantocrator” (“Ruler of all”, 2 Co 6:18; Rv 1:8, 4:8, et.al.). In the gospels, hearing and believing Jesus proclamation is the rule of God; and for Paul, this constitutes a “citizenship” of all who are in Christ (cf., Ph 3:10). Although Christian relationship to worldly, political power is one of deference (cf., Ro 13) as well as resistance “we should serve God rather than man” (Ac 4) the Christian hope is the universal reign of Christ in the messianic consummation of history and the recreation of all things (1 Co 15). Until then, it is through the proclamation of the Gospel that Christ’s Lordship is extended throughout humanity until the final revelation when “the meek shall inherit the earth” (Mt 5:28).

The history of the political in Christianity is massive and can be traced according to two vying systems of government: monarchy and democracy. Paul as an apostle of Christ could have exercised monarchial authority, but his key texts point to shared authority with all members of the church (cf., I Co 4-6). Although there are elders or bishops for the churches, their role is to lead and instruct by example more than to rule. Hierarchy is not prominent but relativized in the NT in light of the Lordship of Christ and the pneumatology of church order. The expansive early church quickly extended itself beyond the limits of the Roman Empire and the world has been trying to come to grips with it ever since. This is fatefully exhibited in the adoption of Christianity as the religion of Rome in Constantine’s appropriation of biblical symbols for his reign and realm. By the end of the 5th century, this so-called “Christendom” was too small for the reality of the church, particularly just beyond the borders of the Roman Empire in the Middle East and beyond. Christianity would have fared much better as a tolerated religion rather than as the religion of the state. Among the many disastrous consequences of being morphed into the imperial religion was the severe limitation of the church in terms of its vitality and unity as a global community. This “Christendom” begins to break up in the great schism between Rome and the Eastern churches in 1054 CE and then finally in the Reformation. The monarchical model of political power wanes with the progressive emergence of the democratic model combined with the rule of law (cf., Marsilio of Padua).

Probably the most important political text in the history of Christian theology is Augustine’s City of God (early 5th century). Augustine’s model of justice is only possible where the human heart is guided by love for God. Augustinian critique became a key feature in the history of limited government and the state as social contract. In the history of political thought, the fear of democracy is not defined by the rule of the mass or the majority. Instead, the democratic principle is demonstrated by the responsibilities of self-governance by each citizen along with the state’s obligation to protect all individuals and minorities within its orbit. By end of the 16th century, Christian diversity in Europe was so evidenced that political religion had had to yield to the principle: “cuius regio eius religio” – “his region, his religion”; cf., Peace of Augsburg 1555; expanded in the Peace of Westphalia 1648. Although applied to princes, the essence of this principle was extended to each and every citizen beginning with the American Constitution. Religious liberty tethered to freedom of speech was also finding its most important evangelical theology in the work by Roger Williams, The Bloody Tenent of Persecution for Cause of Conscience in 1644 – far ahead of Locke’s essays on toleration. The importance of Williams’ book is its theological argument for the separation of religion and civil authority – which would be echoed centuries later in the Vatican II declaration on religious liberty: Dignitas Humanae (largely through the contribution of the John Courtney Murray).  

In the past couple of decades the rise of political theology has been notable and evangelicals have certainly contributed to the wide ranging conversation. “Political theology” as a term used to be thought of as too provocative and the recommended “public theology” was more in evidence. Theologians tend to analogize between ecclesiology and political reasoning, but certain difficulties with this approach need to be emphasized. Ecclesiological forms that are hierarchical do not easily recommend democratic norms. Democracies are hybrids of separated powers: executive, legislative, judiciary and citizenry. Only the citizenry possess virtually unlimited rights; the branches of government are limited and circumscribed. The political vision of the NT is focused upon the citizenry as it answers above all else to Christ and as it achieves formation through his teaching. Interestingly, one of the most influential books in contemporary in this regard was by the Mennonite theologian, John Howard Yoder, The Politics of Jesus (1972). Yoder’s influence on reasoning about the nature of the political cannot be overestimated. As a theologian of the Free Church tradition, Yoder pointed to the Post-Constantinian condition in which all churches find themselves to their own benefit as well as to the citizens and government of the world. The settled principle of the separation of religion and state means that no religious institution or tradition may be allowed to coerce the conscience of citizens or communities. Instead, each is free to exercise religious belief and practice – with great political potential, as their conscience directs them. If there is a purpose to political theology it is in the pedagogy of self-governance on the part of all citizens.

The political task before American evangelicals is momentous, consistent with the cosmopolitanism of Winthrop’s “city on a hill”. Evangelical cosmopolitanism is the call to bear witness to divine justice and grace in politics not only for the nation but for the world. At the heart of evangelical engagement with this world is of course Paul’s ethic of freedom and love in Christ (Ga 5). In the world of politics, governance is a conversation among office holders and the citizenry leading to legal decisions and enforcements for the common good of all. Party politics may be unavoidable but they are at best extra-curricular to governance and at this point foster such demonization as to destroy public trust. Other alliances are far more helpful, such as the Evangelical – Catholic one forged in recent decades. Part of the current political watershed can be seen in the new pope, Francis I, who has made it quite clear that he is preparing to advance the teachings of Vatican II that he and the previous popes have translated politically into a cosmopolitan vision of the world – a community of nations guided by universal human rights. Evangelical cosmopolitanism should orient itself to the human being with its inherent capacities for benevolence and shared governance as created in the image of God. These human capacities are evidenced not merely in service to humanity through good governance but especially in self-governance – our daily decisions that exemplify life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. The opening phrase in the Constitution: “We the people” exhibits what I call elevated populism where the American social contract is the sole political foundation government.

The freedom and the right to self-govern bring a very tall order in terms of teaching and learning that is the political process for every citizen. The political dimension of the Reformation based itself upon the instructional mode of Jesus’ benefits to humanity. Sola scriptura became indicative of that which alone is sufficient knowledge for human salvation. The immediate benefit of this is embodied in the first freedom of conscience. But Evangelicals vote at least 75% Republican in nearly lockstep fashion. A multitude of younger evangelicals have been protesting this false obligation for over a decade. Nevertheless, evangelicals represent the party’s vanguard. Combine that with a heady disposition of righteous superiority and we have a mix that is doomed to political failure. The intensification of conservative identity politics as the most recognizable feature of the evangelical agenda in public life has dire effects upon the evangelical movement. For over a decade the population of evangelicals has been in decline relative to the population of the US and, even more ominously, its average age has moved into the retirement years. A deep generational divide represents a political diversification that is already making itself evident in the political process. The next rounds in national elections will make this trend even more visible. The American electorate has never been so dissatisfied with Congress and Republicans with their party. Yet there persists the politics of culture war and personal attack. The original Augustinian insight, of the deeply flawed nature of all politics, could help to goad people back to reality.

In any case, politics should always be indirect and secondary at most since Christianity has its own higher mission. Unfortunately, that mission is easily derailed by political passions. The congregational governance of the church is rooted in the allegiance of every believer to Christ and his supremacy. As a result, Christianity denies all governments any claim to ultimacy. This is the fundamental basis for the separation of church and state: allegiance to Christ cannot be defined politically. The book of Acts delivers a moral apologetics to the empire, that the church will furnish it with model human beings. But this does not include a promise of superior government. Only Christ’s coming will accomplish that. Until then, everyone who rules is unavoidably a party to the radical evil of the human condition – abetting it or restraining it. Relatively noble ends are achieved through allegiance to Christ, not to government. The American contribution to the history of government is conspicuous because it takes serious the problem of human depravity. The Constitution puts everyone into continuous political competition. Since human law will forever be a work in progress, political competition is the mechanism in disallowing concentrations of power as well as restraining all powers. Although evangelicals are free to follow their consciences in terms of the political process, just like they are concerning military service, the more they concentrate on the higher callings of Christ’s mission in the world, the better they can exemplify citizenship to their own governments.

Many evangelical speakers extol the influence of Christianity in the watershed movements of US history: Revolutionary War, abolition of slavery, civil rights, etc. The often do not realize, however, how radical these movements were. The complexity of ridding the country of the abomination of slavery that many defended as God’s plan was just as radically economically. It can hardly be imagined how revolutionary the destruction of this institution was, divesting slave holders and the Southern economy of their primary source of wealth. All wars are political and the Civil War supremely so. The lessons of that war and its salutary effects upon American governance must be continuously studied and taught.

What are the political priorities of the evangelical future?  We take our cue from King and Yoder: evangelical politics are first and foremost about character and the capacities of the human being. Too seldom in this context do we hear Jesus’ most excellent words: “The rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them but with you it shall not be so” (Mt 20:25-26). The Civil Rights Movement was a massive educational effort that very concretely achieved transformative effect. Civil disobedience was dangerous and many lost their lives or livelihood for this cause of conscience. The price was worth it in the face of continuing legal inequality and widespread toleration of lynching.

Evangelical politics is a pedagogical process, a program of education for citizen rights as a form of governance. This pedagogy in Christian practice is about how the decision making individual engages his or her social environment and its massive problems. Evangelicals should become a little indifferent to political parties and rather vote their conscience as best they can. The global tendency is to move toward direct democracy. Reminiscent of Calvin, first and last on the evangelical political agenda is promoting “civic righteousness” through their public voice. Here, Paul’s admonitions in Romans 13 come into view. In that passage, the bar is set comfortably low for pleasing government and honoring its officers. The bar stands firm as well in the meting out of punishments for those regarded as violators and rewards for those government finds worthy. But it needs to be understood, as Augustine so well did, that civic righteousness is paltry compared to what benevolent Christians can do. We must realize however that we are called to benevolence with or without the inducement of human government. When we do so according to obedience to Christ we do something that just may rejuvenate political life.  

I cannot leave this page without a little comment on “liberal” and “conservative”. In recent years, statistical science and qualitative research have become sophisticated tools for understanding what is regarded as a basic anthropological duality. Liberal / conservative may not correspond to male / female, but it comes close! Depending upon who is doing the study, the one investigates the deficiencies that caused identification with the opposite: liberal or conservative. Liberal / conservative does not in the first instance correspond to orthodoxy / heresy either. By the time of the Synod of Orange, Augustine’s strong predestinarianism had been moderated by “free will” (the origin of “liberal” in the theological context). Politically, anyone who rejects monarchy as a form of government is a kind of liberal. The conservative populism of the Republican Party is one form of liberal philosophy. The evangelical should stay above these depths if for no other reason that modern government as so extensively shaped by the Christian tradition should ever strive to achieve public trust.

The great political burden for American evangelicals is the pedagogy of civic duty. This involves universal literacy and the cultivation of responsible freedom. The national conversation is not about party affiliation but about truth and charity. Civic leadership must hear from the forums and venues of evangelical voices. Evangelicals must regain their commitment to a learned ministry and church members in lifelong learning. 

“How then should I live?”

/0 Comments/in /by

The essays and responses on the present topic of evangelicalism and politics have been scholarly, insightful, and thought-provoking.  For me, the discussion, inevitably, comes back to a personal question: How do I, a professing “evangelical,” live out my faith in my everyday world that is inherently part political? 

I pose the following questions to myself as a GenYer who came to a believing faith as teenager, a working professional who has lived in the DC area for the past decade, a mom raising two young children, a committed member of a local church, a neighbor, a student studying politics and religion (evangelicals in particular) as well as an engaged (or so I hope) citizen: 

  • How do I form my opinions on the political matters of the day – both domestic and international – and engage in political discourses and actions at the local, state, federal, and, perhaps even, international levels? 
  • How do I respond and behave in everyday situations that may involve politics – be they informal conversations with family and friends, postings on social media and the Internet, classroom discussions, public events, media encounters, etc. – with other evangelicals, non-evangelicals, and both (indeed, does the composition of the group matter)? 

Is not the future evangelicalism formed, in part, by how each evangelical responds to and approaches politics in formal and informal contexts? 

For me, as I reflect on this topic, a starting thought is that, because we do not live alone in our society, there is an inherent political dimension to how we go about our daily lives – sometimes it’s obvious such as when we vote, and other times, in less deliberate ways, such as when I break for a stop sign.  In that sense, whether we think we are consciously engaged in political life or are completely distanced from all things political, our thoughts, attitudes, words, and actions can carry political meanings and implications even we are unaware of them.   

If the Bible informs us on how we should live in our present world, then, surely, it has implications for how we think about and engage with its political dimensions.  Our lens and source should always be the Bible.  But I don’t always do that, admittedly. 

Ted Williams points out that “[w]hat we believe and profess on Sunday morning is often separate from how we engage in the political process and culture on Monday.”   He’s right.  The empirical data suggest that, while certain dimensions of religiosity—religious attendance, religious beliefs, religious affiliation—are sometimes correlated with some of our political attitudes and behaviors, other non-religious factors (our gender, education, geographic residency, socio-economic status, etc.) are often better at predicting these outcomes, even among evangelicals.  And I wonder, too, if the strength and magnitude of these religious-political correlations vary over time. 

The “major cause,” Ted believes, “is that modern American often adhere to the unbiblical principle of dualism, which essentially separates the religious and the secular.” That may be true. I would perhaps also consider our general lack of political knowledge and decreasing literacy in the Bible.  Some political scholars have argued that most voters (not just Christian ones) are essentially uninformed (at best) or ignorant (at worst).  There is simply too much political information too process, e.g., how could I possibly comprehend every position held by every political candidate on my ballot and their full implications?  Sometimes, life simply gets too busy for me to read and understand, much resolve my position on, even the major issues (even though my primary job is to study political science!). 

Some of us rely on heuristics, or shortcuts, to help us sort through the mountains of political information.  Just as partisanship sometimes serves as a heuristic for people to figure their stances on an unfamiliar or less salient issues, I often, without much careful thought, quickly default to my “evangelical” position as a cognitive shortcut, too.  In the end, before adopting an ideological position, I don’t always take the time and effort and ask myself, as Ted recommends, “What is God’s will for the government, What direction does biblical text provide for the major policy questions of day?”

Corwin Smidt’s point that “given the purposes for which it was written, the Bible does not provide any substantial systematical discussions of politics that explicates a particular philosophical perspective related to civic political matters” is well taken.  When I do peruse the Bible, or Christian writings, for an answer to an issue, I do not always find a specific instruction, e.g., vote “yes” or “no” on gun control or local a municipal bond.  Even for the passages that are particular and instructive on specific political matters, their direct application often require historical, textual, and interpretative considerations that are often beyond my inadequate knowledge and understanding of the Bible.  Moreover, as Corwin notes, “[h]uman thought is always tainted by the adverse effects of the fall and humankind’s sinful condition.”  Even with decades of scholarly examination and the purest intention, there will always exist a level of fallibility in how we interpret the Bible and how much we can presume to understand “God’s will.” We only know in part. 

So, should I throw in the towel and quit politics altogether or operate on an entirely secular political philosophy and framework (or default unthinkingly to a “cultural evangelical” position)? I think the short answer is, no.  Politics cannot be divorced from my everyday reality, even if I tried to divorce myself from it.  So, how I should I proceed, where do I go from here?  Reading the essays in this series, I glean several helpful personal applications: 

  • I shouldn’t give up on seeking God’s perspective and wisdom on matters political (the Bible encourages us to seek His wisdom and to believe in it), and I should do so, humbly and discerningly, in the company of fellow believers.
  • When engaging in political discourse or action in the public square or in a Christian community, my attitude and posture should be that of humility and civility; I do not presume to have the right answer just because I hold “an evangelical” perspective.
  • Finding a godly, biblical response is important; how I seek these answers and approach political life and issues matters, too.
  • Importantly, the core biblical truths of how I should live out my faith in this life – in particular, to love God and others – should direct how I live my political life as an earthly citizen as well; for me, at least, there is no distinction between the two.     

Ayn Rand is like Vaseline

/0 Comments/in /by

In the movie Striptease, Burt Reynolds plays congressman David Dilbeck, a political caricature obsessed with Demi Moore, a struggling single mom working as a stripper.  Dilbeck’s hypocrisy as a politician knows no bounds. At one point in the movie he transitions from a sordid situation where he is covered in Vaseline to a political rally with a group called the “Young Christians.” Unable to get himself fully cleaned up in time, he walks with a squishing noise and a gooey handshake into the meeting.  “Family Values!” he proclaims loudly as he steps onto the stage. The audience cheers.

Something similar to this happens every election cycle in the United States. Conservative politicians, some of them covered in Vaseline, recite shibboleths about abortion and gay marriage, invoke Christian values, and once again win the evangelical vote. And then they proceed to push an agenda that is certainly “anti-Jesus” but, alas, no longer anti-Christian, at least in the United States.

This situation mystifies me. I know this is a controversial topic, based on some lively conversations I have had on Facebook; I know being a Canadian shapes my political views; and I know lots of Christians whose lives put me to shame disagree with me on this. But I have some real problems with how evangelicals function in the political arena.

Take Ayn Rand. I encountered the infamous “philosopher of selfishness” decades ago in college. We studied her briefly in philosophy class as an unambiguously anti-Christian thinker who celebrated selfishness and condemned charity.  She wasn’t deep or profound; her thought was not “nuanced” or “important as a balance.” She was merely clear in her willingness to say, and write long novels about how, “Jesus got it all wrong.” “If any civilization is to survive,” she wrote, in a typical comment, “it is the morality of altruism that men have to reject.”

So when Paul Ryan appeared on the political scene with a Bible in one hand and Ayn Rand in the other I sat upright. This seemed crazy to me, as absurd as if he was using strippers to promote his campaign. This man will be laughed off the stage I thought. But no: He ran for VP on the Republican ticket and most evangelicals voted for him!

It troubles me greatly that evangelicals, despite their commitment to the authority of scripture, have never developed a Christian view of economics in the way that Catholics have. But it’s actually worse than that:  Most evangelicals have an anti-Christian view of economics.

The clearest lesson in the entire Bible—clearer than proper marriage, clearer than salvation, clearer than keeping the Sabbath—is concern for the poor. It’s in almost every book of the Bible. It was Jesus’s central concern. Almost every reformer in the history of the Church embraced it as a central concern. So how was it that a political theorist who argued that we must reject the “morality of altruism” met with the approval of millions of Christians?

It seems to me that many evangelicals have traded their biblical birthright for a mess of Ayn Rand pottage. Powerful interests, many who care nothing about faith, have managed to make abortion and gay marriage the only truly important issues for Christians. And then, somehow, they have mysteriously attached the following issues and most evangelicals have signed on, thinking the whole package is uniformly Christian:

1)    Growing wealth inquality is fine.

2)    The free market allocates wealth fairly.

3)    Taxes are bad.

4)    Government is bad, except for waging war.

5)    Social justice is stealing money from “makers” and giving it to “takers.”

6)    Universal healthcare is bad.

7)    Poverty is acceptable since Jesus said there will “always” be poor people

8)    Massive wealth concentrated in the hands of a few people is not a problem.

9)    Corporations are good and don’t need government regulations to make them behave in socially responsible ways.

These issues do not look “subtle” to me.  I don’t think we can say that “People of good will disagree” when it comes to biblical teaching on the poor. If Christians think Ayn Rand comports with their faith that can only be because they are not thinking; they are blindly following a pied piper—probably hired by a Super Pac—leading them away from their faith.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eschatology and Political Ends

/0 Comments/in /by

Kyle Roberts is spot on in pointing out that a robust understanding of evangelical political engagement must be shaped by a creational-eschatological imagination.  He also rightly recognizes that the Gnostic tendencies of some contemporary evangelicals all-too-often contribute to “eschatological escapism.”  As a corrective, Roberts points to a “continualist eschatology” – one grounded in the “embodied, concrete, and visceral” language of the Hebrew prophets and Jesus’ preaching about the Kingdom of God.

Framing political engagement in eschatological terms brings into sharper focus the important distinction between means and ends.  Even if unreflectively, our actions in the political realm are driven by a tacit conception of desired ends and a sense of what means are licit (or illicit) in achieving the same.  Too often, the failure of evangelicals to have honest conversations about these subterranean assumptions has had positively disgraceful repercussions for evangelical witness in the public square.  [Insert your favorite example here.]  Perhaps this is partly why Amy Black wisely calls for humility and charity where there is disagreement about means to achieve the same end. 

Yet for all its weaknesses, blunderings, rhetorical gaffes, and at times, downright viciousness of means, I cannot help but wonder whether what some regard as the “overly narrow” agenda for which conservative evangelicals are regularly lampooned has the right eschatological instinct when it comes to ends.  And quite helpfully, Roberts’s emphasis on the concrete metaphors of Scripture makes this clear.

Consider, for example, abortion and gay marriage.  In many contexts, the mere attachment of these concepts to evangelicals functions as a kind of decisive clipart.  No conversation necessary.  “Yeah, we know the type, those ‘single-issue’ evangelicals.”  The association is meant to suggest that the fixation with these two issues is somehow deeply misguided.  But is it?

As Roberts points out, the creational-eschatological language of Scripture provides a picture of human flourishing – of God’s shalom – in “viscerally physical” terms, of “food, freedom, and a healed creation.”  In fact, the language that shapes these prophetic visions is overwhelmingly material and embarrassingly fecund.  The prophets do not envision the future renewal of the cosmos in terms of abstractions: “partners,” “civil unions,” or the exercise of “autonomous choice.”  Rather, the pages of Scripture, from beginning to end, are filled with the concrete imagery of male and female, husband and wife, bride and bridegroom, of marriage, of the land and of the fruitfulness that attends both. 

Of course, such language is metaphorical.  Thus, it would be overly simplistic to imagine an eschatological future that directly contravenes Dominical teaching: “in the resurrection they neither marry nor are given in marriage” (Matthew 22:30).  Nevertheless, to the extent that such language ought to shape our conception of the polis of God, it seems fairly clear that intentionally terminating the lives of unborn infants and inverting the sexual order that the creational-eschatological narrative structure of Scripture assumes are actions deeply out of step with a biblical vision of God’s shalom. 

To be sure, as others have rightly pointed out on this thread, a fully-orbed vision of the Kingdom includes the extension of creational fecundity to the poor and marginalized, “the widow and the orphan.”  But as an end, there is, at present, no fundamental disagreement on this aspect of human flourishing between the City of God and the city of man.  No one of good will, from evangelical to atheist, seeks the perpetuation of poverty as an end in itself. 

The same cannot be said about abortion and gay marriage.  While some may view abortion as a tragic necessity, for others, both the freedom to terminate a pregnancy and to express oneself sexually with whomever one wills (assuming consent) are essential dimensions of their tacit, if not explicit, picture of human flourishing.  To the extent that this is true, it constitutes a direct assault on the picture of human flourishing depicted in the prophetic words of Scripture. 

None of this is meant to justify any and every political action of evangelicals who are “up in arms” about these issues.  As I’ve already suggested, some have undeniably employed means to enact these biblical ends in ways that do not show a sufficient regard for either the nature of God’s Kingdom as eschatological (i.e., future and coming) or the means by which we are to bear witness to the same. 

But the basic instinct to regard these two issues as warring against the very fabric God’s covenant promise of future blessing in Christ Jesus strikes me as exactly right.  For it is an instinct grounded in an imagination that has been shaped by the concrete contours of the biblical metaphors.  

Whether this justifies American evangelicals in returning fire by warring against such cultural forces is another matter.  Roberts’s reminder that “social and political action by human agency and imagination cannot and will not usher [God’s Kingdom] in” is apt here.  And perhaps deep reflection upon this simple verity will have the salutary effect of tempering the ambitions of those evangelicals who need it, when it comes to leveraging temporal, earthly power.  Nevertheless, while the weapons of warfare may not be carnal, the biblical rhetoric makes it clear that the realization of the Kingdom is necessarily bound up with struggle.  Thus, evangelicals are not mistaken in their intuitive perception of conflict. 

Roberts is right to conclude that evangelicals should “think a little harder” about the relationship between politics and God’s greater purposes for the cosmos.  And I echo what many others on this thread have suggested in adding that more serious thought should be given to the means by which God’s greater purposes ought (or ought not) to be realized.  At the same time, for reasons here expressed, I’m doubtful that serious eschatological reflection about ends should result in a radical departure from the perspective on life and marriage for which conservative evangelicals are so regularly vilified.  To the extent the fellow, professing evangelicals see it differently, Roberts’s eschatological framework provides a helpful context in which to have a conversation.

Too (Narrowly) Political, and Not Political Enough

/0 Comments/in /by

 

Evangelicals are often accused of being “too political.” But this has never been my experience. Yes, I know some Christians are always up in up in arms over select political issues (read: abortion and gay marriage) or are overly anxious about losing influence in the pluralistic marketplace of ideas—and of things (read: creation science, prayer in public schools, and the censorship of “Christmas”). But from my perspective, at least in the evangelical free-church circles I have been raised in and theologically trained in, I’ve observed—and practiced—far less overt political engagement than the public perception of evangelicals would suggest.

In 2004, I spent a couple of months researching at a mainline Lutheran college. The intensity of political awareness and political engagement there threw up a striking contrast between the relative lack of such among my evangelical friends and colleagues back in Chicagoland. Granted, I was there during the pinnacle of a presidential election season, but I would not have seen the same political energy in my evangelical community back home during those months.

This is, of course, just one story and one perspective. But if it reflects some truth, why might this be the case?

Amos Yong and others have pointed out the need for a deeper political theology in evangelical communities. As Amos notes, political engagement in Pentecostalism has too often been relegated to implications for individuals who are following the Great Commission. In his view, politics has heretofore lacked connection to a strong ecclesiology. As I have suggested, this is no less true of non-Pentecostal evangelical Christians.

Probably closer to the heart of it, Yong rightly points out that evangelical political theology has lacked an adequate Christology and eschatology (and therefore an inability to speak to the entirety of the embodied, human situation in living contexts). An adequate eschatology derives from and builds upon an adequate creation theology; eschatology builds on the question, “why are we here?” and adds, “Where are we headed?” In other words, “What is the goal of creation? What does God desire for human community and for creation itself?” Any political engagement must probe our ultimate purpose and the shape and contours of our divinely-intended future.

Conservative evangelicals too often are escapist in our eschatology: this life is a blip on the radar screen; a temporary dwelling place, so inferior to our eternal home that it’s not much worth caring about or investing in. The bank of “heaven” is where we like to put our resources. Thankfully, the work of N.T. Wright and others has influenced evangelical thinking to the point that we are reconsidering this planet and even political life as something worth investing our time and resources toward. A continualist eschatology brings us closer to the mind of the biblical prophets, whose eschatological vision was viscerally physical (see Isaiah 11, for example). Like the Hebrew prophets, Jesus’ vision of salvation and of the Kingdom was embodied, concrete, and visceral. It involved food, freedom, and a healed creation.  

Eschatological escapism works well for those of us who have it pretty good. But as the economy continues to dawdle and as the middle class continues to shrink toward obsolescence and as the church loses more and more social influence, one positive result might be the realization that political engagement is worth our time—not only our hands-on practice but our collective and sustained, theological reflection.

In his post, Williams asks, “Before adopting an ideological position, every Christian must ask himself, what is God’s will for the government? What direction does biblical text provide for the major policy questions of the day?” I want to emphasize that the question of “God’s will” runs deep and wide, from creation theology all the way to eschatological fulfillment—and everything in between. But our theological imaginations will be most exercised if we start from the end, as much as from the beginning.

There are no quick and easy answers to the questions of political involvement. Once God’s will for creation is established as an important theological principle for political action, there is still the problem of determining what God’s will is, what God desires for creation and how best to get there. To make matters more complex, as a number of commentators have pointed out (e.g. Jeannine Brown), there is a deeply contextual–and therefore variable–element to political engagement. Further, so many political issues seem like aporia, philosophical and social puzzles with many sides and many valid arguments, but no clear solutions. It’s tempting to slide back into quietism. Let’s just worry about “church stuff.”

Along with ecclesiology and eschatology, there are of course other theological loci that require some thought in order to achieve a fully-orbed political theology of the kind that many evangelicals are now calling for: Anthropology (What constitutes the image of God and how does politics build on and cultivate the image of God in humanity?); Christology (who is the Christ and how does the incarnation, crucifixion, and resurrection inform political commitments and judgments?); and Soteriology (what is salvation and how can our political actions help, hinder, or in other ways witness to the salvation that God brings in Christ as the Kingdom of God takes root in the world).

As any evangelical will affirm, only God can—and will—bring about the Kingdom. Social and political action by human agency and imagination cannot and will not usher it in. But there is no reason we should not begin to think a little harder about the ways in which our political involvements (or lack thereof) connect to the greater purposes of God for creation.

 

What do we really want in politics?

/0 Comments/in /by

Reading these fine contributions in anticipation of providing a response reminded me of what Richard Niebuhr described as “the enduring problem” in his book, Christ and Culture.   Niebuhr picked up on Troeltsch’s typologies in The Social Teaching of the Christian Churches.  In short, Troeltsch suggested that when the early church decided that Jesus would not be returning any time soon, they needed to make peace with the surrounding culture and its systems since it looked like we would be around for a while. Troeltsch then categorized churches into either sects or institutions which have left us with enduring typologies today in our attempts to articulate how and why evangelical Christians should be involved in politics which is a main focus of this month’s conversation.

As my good friend Jeannine Brown reminds us, “context is everything.” In light of this, what then do we mean by “politics” or “the political?” What are the various contexts which inform how we think about the word and all it may mean?  And what do we really expect from our political involvement? I’m sure many of us think about the structures of our particular governments, and the ways in which we participate in them through voting, representation and participation.  If this is the case, then Christians are already political in that we share space, pay taxes, vote, and engage in various forms of activism and volunteerism to make our communities better places.   Yet as our friends and colleagues in this series of posts remind us there is something much deeper and more profound when it comes to Christians and politics, especially if viewed through more theological lenses.

Jeannine does this by drawing our attention to notions of “citizenship” based on the scriptural witness.   She asks us to hold out the possibility that national citizenship and Christian commitments may actually conflict at times.  The fact that this conflict is not often felt by many Christians in the United States is interesting, dare I say troubling, to me.  We may need to ask if tensions and conflicts rarely exist, is there something amiss in our Christian commitments and ultimate loyalties? I also appreciate Jeannine’s reminder of the “apples and oranges” in comparing contexts.  Nero’s Rome is quite different than the liberal democracies of various Western countries at this point of the 21st century.  To claim religious persecution of Christians in the United States is to minimize and flatten out the kinds of social and political repression, persecution and violence which Christians actually experience in many countries today.

Amos provides helpful responses to the questions guiding this post by reminding us that what we think about what it means to “be the church” will correlate with how we ascertain the role of our respective governments, our involvements and our priorities.  I pursued this question in my doctoral studies by examining the causes and roles of religious dissent.  Forgive my reductionistic response (this is after all not a six hour written comprehensive exam!)  but a key aspect of the conflict between Augustine and the Donatists, Calvin and the Anabaptists, and John Cotton and Roger Williams seemed to be differing notions of “church” and therefore of the church’s relationship with and obligations to the “state” (and vice versa).  Randy Balmer has given us necessary historical insights and reminders, particularly about Roger Williams, the dissenting Baptist for religious liberty for all and not just for Christians. Amos wants us to think more deeply of the church as a polis in order to have a more theologically informed understanding of politics that starts with a more robust understanding of “church,” something desperately needed among evangelicals.  Perhaps a weak ecclesiology is one of the reasons why evangelicals have put so much trust in the mechanics of the political system to bring about change…just a suggestion!

Ben Mitchell’s post is helpful for us by highlighting the “everydayness” of our politics.  In other words, “politics” is not something that happens every two or four years (except if you live where I do in the swing state of Ohio).  Christians are always “political” in the ways we live out our faith and the goods which it carries and extends to others. I imagine this notion of the common good may be a stretch for some evangelicals, or perhaps for all us, who in actuality are often motivated by enlightened self-interest.   A particular challenge in a pluralistic and diverse polity such as ours is finding common ground which can lead to a shared common good.  This is an essential aspect of the purpose of politics. How can evangelical faith and practice contribute to the common good for all persons?  I think this question can only be answered if we first stop thinking about how to defend our turf and stop insisting that we get our own way in favor of extending and embodying the expansive love of God for all persons who share space with us.

I very much appreciate the insights of Amy Black, John Hawthorne and Ted Williams. I think they point to much deeper concerns which I have as an ethicist about the involvement of evangelicals in the public sphere and the means and ends of our participation in the political process. I think they are right in pressing us to think just as much (if not more) about the ways we engage in the public sphere and what is reasonable to expect from our political  systems and social engagements, especially in a diverse and pluralistic society with competing notions of what is “good” in our common life.  And as all good conversations should do, the ones in this month’s discussions cause me to pose further questions and musings to keep the conversation going:

  • Why do some evangelicals think the only way to be effective is to have access to political power?
  • What can we reasonably expect from our political systems?  Do we practice a form of idolatry by assuming too much from our political involvement and from political processes?
  • Can we conceive of more faithful ways of being Christians without the expectation that we should “get our way?”
  • Should Christian faith be privileged in our political discourse simply because it is Christian?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

POLITICS – PHOOEY!

/0 Comments/in /by

I concur wholeheartedly with Ted Williams III’s lament about political polarization within Christianity, and I applaud his personal commitment to openness. But I think that for true reconciliation, we are going to need more than just acknowledgment of the problem and the will to overcome it. That’s because the cause of the problem lies in what we all are as a culture, in how we all operate as modern Americans. We might, however, at least achieve more clarity by considering the ingrained ways we react to controversy and interact with each other as controversy plays out, in contrast to the habits of the more-peaceful early propagators of Christianity.

For a start, I’d like to point out something I’ve noticed in reading Paul. He was a master of rhetoric – not a surprise, as he very likely had a standard Greco-Roman education, including practice in competitive and display oratory. These activities got a great boost from the demise of the Roman Republic in 31 B.C. The oratorical training favored in Rome under the emperors looked not so much toward preparing young men to argue public policy or legal cases—since all important decisions now came from the top—as toward words as an art form; and this change must have been influential in all of Rome’s settled domains, including Tarsus, where Paul was raised.

According to the new emphasis, a boy had to be prepared to take up any premise, even a fantastical or ridiculous one, and rather than proving himself personally right on a particular point, as an aspiring politician of the previous era would have striven to do, he needed to charm the crowd and take it with him wherever he was assigned to go in the speech. 

I think this kind of training helped Paul in his challenging mission. He had many polarizing political and social and cultural issues to deal with, but in my view of his genuine letters as a whole, he did not so much argue positions, take stands, and issue decrees as make discourse on any subject a mere vehicle for his one essential message—his assignment, if you will—that Christ had died to save humankind from death.

There’s thus no sign of embarrassment—and the typical orator of his time wouldn’t have shown any—that in one passage circumcision could be the enemy (Galatians 5:2), and in another a religious distinction of great value (Romans 3:1-2); that at one moment governmental authority was slated to be wiped out in the apocalypse (I Corinthians 15:24), and at another it derived from God and required unquestioning obedience (Romans 13).

My favorite piece of Pauline rhetoric is his address to the Athenian Areopagus (Acts 17:22-31), in which he flatters their city as “extremely religious in every way,” because there are so many shrines – a quite absurd statement to come from a pious Jew like Paul. All of these structures honor false gods, hunks of marble or wood or metal, so that the Athenians are not religious but delusional. Paul’s words represent not what he believes, nor what his listeners believe he believes; but neither is he attempting a trick or a trivial gambit. Rather, he is making a skillful verbal approach to this judicial body of a proud and ancient city, the cradle of the European intellect. No one who bluntly challenged these people at the onset would get a hearing.

The worship of the Unknown God is also idolatrous (it is, to pagan minds, just insurance against the failure to sacrifice to any god who exists but whom they haven’t heard of), but Paul’s mention of this god’s altar is a brilliant means of asking his audience to contemplate the possibility that their religion may be wrong. They cannot of course picture or even name the Unknown God, yet they cultivate him, so (as Paul implies) isn’t worshipping material objects as gods ridiculous in contrast? He rounds his discourse out with two learned citations from Greek literature, one from a philosophic source so obscure that we can’t securely attribute it; the second from the quite recherché poet Aratus. The result is that the audience, instead of dismissing Paul out of hand, yields some lasting interest and eventually some converts.

It isn’t only in the secondhand Acts that we see Paul operating indirectly, tamping down his own views. In 1 Corinthians 14, the apostle makes his tactful yet playful way around the topic of speaking in tongues. The practice has the blessing of the Pentecost miracle, but it is easy to read between the lines in 1 Corinthians that at least in this Assembly, incomprehensible utterances are out of control and self-indulgent. Paul does not say straight out what he feels; if he were to judge and insult his followers concerning their modes of worship, he would be casting doubt on his entire mission, especially on the centrality of love that he has just written of in Chapter 13. He instead offers reassuring fast-talk around his guarded criticisms, conveying by the sheer repetitious length of the discourse that modesty and decorum in the Assembly are important.

His message seems more effective than an “honest” one would be. My own surmise is that he was not a devotee of speaking in tongues, as he claims, but rather quite suspicious of the practice. Where else could his assumptions come from that his followers can freely choose between prophecy (= preaching) and speaking in tongues and are not seized by the divine will (as the people reportedly were at Pentecost); and that the interpretation of any mysteriously worded inspiration can be provided for in advance? On a matter of sectarian tradition and culture even as important as this, the apostle might have virtually shrugged. Phooey about speaking in tongues, in itself. The important thing was for people to be there, hearing the news of their salvation. Whatever distracted or irritated them must be discouraged, but the rhetorical means by which this was done must not be a distraction or irritation in itself.

We have a very different environment to deal with than Paul’s. We’re a democracy and then some, where individuals bear a great deal more political responsibility. We’re supposed to own up to and stand by our opinions, because people literally live and die from the outcomes of our votes; nor can we leave this responsibility at the church door. But in comparison to Paul, do we take ourselves and our views too seriously? Do we really have our priorities right?

The Call of the Hour: A True Christian Approach to Politics

/0 Comments/in /by

This week I found myself involved in a spirited Facebook debate on the impact of the Obama presidency. This debate, held among members of my church community, was filled with such acrimony that it became obvious why many churches avoid politics like the plague. There were well-defined camps of both liberals and conservatives, and neither seemed willing to acquiesce an inch to the other side. I forgot for a moment I was witnessing a debate among people with the same Lord and faith. What became evident through this debate was that the Christian community desperately needs biblical direction and healthy platforms for conversation and engagement around the intersection of faith and politics.

The challenge surrounding Christian civic involvement is clear. America’s two major political parties frame our debates in ways that falsely demonize and isolate those with different opinions. This is often done in an effort to create electoral distinctions among two groups which, practically, are very similar. Unfortunately the Christian community, lacking a true alternative, finds itself forced to take sides in overly simplified, partisan ideological battles. Those that choose to avoid this partisanship often decide to forgo the process altogether. As a result, the church and the nation are left without thoughtful discourse about the vital role religion should play in a democratic society.

Americans are still a very religious group. According to a University of Michigan study, 44% of Americans attend church regularly, compared with 27 percent of the British, 21 percent of the French, and 3 percent of the Japanese. Moreover, 53 percent of Americans say that religion is very important in their lives, compared with 16 percent, and 14 percent, respectively, of the British and French. Yet because studies have also shown that most church-going Americans arrive at political positions primarily consistent with their socioeconomic status, ethnic affiliation, gender, and geographic location, there exists a huge disconnect. What we believe and profess on Sunday morning is often separate from how we engage in the political process and culture on Monday.

The major cause is that modern Americans often adhere to the unbiblical principle of dualism, which essentially separates the religious and the secular. Craig Gay summarizes this dilemma in The Way of the Modern World (1998) by saying “the most insidious temptations to ‘worldliness’ today do not necessarily come in the form of enticements to sexual dissipations, or even to complicity in socio-political oppression, but rather in the form of the suggestion that it is possible—and indeed “normal” and expedient—to go about our daily business in the world without giving much thought to God.”

Before adopting an ideological position, every Christian must ask himself, what is God’s will for the government? What direction does biblical text provide for the major policy questions of the day? In this way, we avoid the false choices of conservatives who are fanatically committed to small government as an ideology and of liberals who are equally as fanatical about the ability of the state to create heaven on earth.  Somewhere in the middle is a true Christian perspective, one that recognizes both God’s ultimate sovereignty and the proper role of the state in a just society. What may be shocking to both sides is that the God of the Judeo-Christian bible is in many ways both a liberal and a conservative.

In my own intellectual journey, this kind of biblical examination has caused me to re-evaluate my stance on a variety of issues. For contemporary dilemmas like the size of the federal debt, same-sex marriage, the death penalty, and our involvement in the war on terror, the Christian faith provides much needed guidelines and principles from which we can develop serious public policy. Beyond the proof-texting and sound bites of current religion and politics conversations is a place in which Christians can serve an important democratic function. It is imperative for both us and the greater society that we boldly engage the electoral and political process in the myriad ways that are available.

There is a saying that one should never discuss religion and politics in polite company.  Yet in the realm of reflective impoliteness lies an opportunity to develop solutions to our major conundrums. We must take it.

Evangelicals & the Arena of Public Discourse

/0 Comments/in /by

Because I have written frequently – and, very often, passionately – about volatile topics like the Religious Right, the First Amendment and evangelicals in the political arena, some people (willfully or not) have misconstrued me to say that evangelicals should stay out of politics. That is emphatically not the case. I believe that people of faith – any and all faiths – have every right to allow their religious convictions to inform their political views. I also happen to believe that political discourse would be impoverished without those voices of faith.

At the same time, however – and this point is often missed – it’s essential that religious voices in the arena of public debate observe the canons of democratic discourse, including respect for other voices, especially minority voices. In a democracy, no one voice is entitled to commandeer the conversation, even if that voice represents, or claims to represent, a majority.

This principle is utterly consistent with Baptist teaching and with America’s charter documents. The Baptist tradition in America was begun by Roger Williams, who is best remembered for articulating the cornerstones of Baptist thinking: liberty of conscience and the separation of church and state. Majoritarianism, the notion that whatever conviction or policy is held by a majority – creationism in public schools, for example, or the Ten Commandments in public places – should be public policy, violates the principle of liberty of conscience as well as the protections for minorities encoded into our charter documents.

Therefore, when evangelicals talk about participating in public discourse, we must be careful to understand that participation does not mean domination. It means adding our voices to a conversation governed by the canons and traditions of democracy – and, in turn, respecting other voices.

On a related matter – the second half of Roger Williams’s formula: separation of church and state – has been, for reasons that elude me, controversial among some evangelicals. Put simply, the First Amendment and the separation of church and state is the best friend that religion has ever had. Faith has flourished in this country, as nowhere else, precisely because the government has (for the most part, at least) stayed out of the religion business. Why anyone, let alone evangelicals, would want to subvert the First Amendment remains a mystery to me.

The derivation of Thomas Jefferson’s summation of the First Amendment having constructed a “wall of separation” between church and state was Roger Williams’s declaration almost two centuries earlier. And while it is probably true that Jefferson was seeking to protect the workings of government and the common good from religious factionalism, it is equally true that Williams harbored the opposite concern. He wanted to protect the faith from being sullied by political entanglements and machinations.

Consider Williams’s language. He wanted to protect the “garden of the church” from the “wilderness of the world” by means of a “wall of separation.” To understand that image, we must remember that the Puritans of the seventeenth century were not members of the Sierra Club; they did not share our post-Thoreauian romance with wilderness. For them, wilderness was a place of danger, where evil lurked. So when Williams declared his intention to protect the “garden of the church” from the “wilderness of the world,” he feared that too close an association between church and state would damage the credibility of the faith. Once you conflate politics with faith, Williams recognized, it is the integrity of the faith that suffers.

Allow me to provide an example. In July 2001, Roy S. Moore, chief justice of Alabama Supreme Court, installed a two-and-a-half-ton granite monument emblazoned with the Ten Commandments in the lobby of the Judicial Building in Alabama. Because Moore at the same time refused to allow any other religious representations in that space – Hindu, Buddhist, Muslim, and so on – Moore’s actions represented a clear violation of the establishment clause of the First Amendment, the clause that prohibits any “law respecting an establishment of religion.”

I was summoned as an expert witness in the case, and when Judge Myron Thompson ruled – correctly – that Moore’s actions violated First Amendment, he ordered it removed. As workers were preparing to remove the monument, one of the protesters screamed, “Get your hands off my God!”

Now, unless I miss my guess, one of the Commandments inscribed on that monument had something to say about graven images. And that was precisely Roger Williams’s point: Too close an association between church and state ultimately devalues the faith. That should serve as a word of caution for those who want anything from Ten Commandments in public places to taxpayer vouchers in religious schools.

The beauty of the First Amendment is that is set up a free marketplace for religion in the United States. No one religious enjoys state sanction, and all religions must compete in this marketplace. This has lent an undeniably populist cast to religion in America, but it has also meant that we have a salubrious religious culture, one that is unmatched anywhere in the world. Why anyone, especially a person of faith, would want to tamper with that configuration utterly confounds me.

Neither does the First Amendment, contrary to some misinterpretations, prohibit those with religious affiliations from holding political office. Article VI of the Constitution is explicit about this: “no religious Test shall ever be required as a Qualification to any Office or public Trust under the United States.” This article, frequently invoked by Mitt Romney, the 2012 Republican nominee for president, ensures that anyone who is otherwise qualified, regardless of religious affiliation (or none), can hold office.

And should evangelicals come to the political arena from different ends of the political spectrum? Theoretically, at least, yes – and recent history is replete with examples. The political right has been amply represented in recent years, especially since the emergence of the Religious Right in 1979 – Jesse Helms, Tom Coburn and George W. Bush – whereas an earlier generation of evangelical politicians tilted toward the left: Mark O. Hatfield, Jimmy Carter, Harold Hughes and others.

My “theoretical” response to the above question reflects my own normative concerns over the direction of evangelical politics during the last several decades. As I argue in my forthcoming biography of Jimmy Carter, the 1970s saw a brief efflorescence of progressive evangelicalism, a tradition informed by the teachings of Jesus to care for “the least of these” and that flourished in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. These evangelicals of an earlier era, from Charles Grandison Finney to William Jennings Bryan, directed their energies to the well being of those on the margins of society – slaves, women, immigrants, prisoners, the poor – a disposition that I find conspicuously absent in recent evangelical political advocacy. There are exceptions, of course, but I regard the sentiments of the 1973 Chicago Declaration of Evangelical Social Concern and the policies of evangelicals like Hatfield, Hughes and Carter as far more consistent with both the New Testament and with the noble legacy of nineteenth-century evangelicalism.

Carter’s defeat in 1980 followed by Hatfield’s retirement from the Senate in 1997 left a void. I long for the return of evangelical voices like those to the arena of public discourse.

The Grounds for Christian (and Evangelical) Civility in Politics

/0 Comments/in /by

When we, as evangelical Christians, engage in political life, we may do well to employ particular principles, and we may benefit from the use of certain interpretative frameworks of understanding embodied in ideological perspectives. Ideological perspectives simplify complex social and political phenomena, enabling adherents to make “sense of the political world” and providing adherents important interpretive frameworks for analysis and assessment.

But, political principles and ideological interpretations are neither religious commandments nor matters of divine revelation. Human thought is always tainted by the adverse effects of the fall and humankind’s sinful condition.  And, as a result, neither the political left nor the political right can claim the mantel of divine favor. As former congressman Paul Henry wrote in 1974 in his book Politics for Evangelicals, if devout Christians seeking to be faithful to their sovereign God “cannot come to an agreement on matters where there appears to be direct biblical teaching, then it is hardly to be expected that they will come to agreement on the matters where biblical teachings are arrived at only indirectly and inductively.”  

When Christians engage in political life, they must do so humbly and with civility. This contention is based on three considerations.[1] The first basis for exercising political civility in politics is that, in our political thinking and action, Christians need to exercise theological humility.  For Christians, the Bible serves as an authoritative text.  Certainly, the Protestant tradition within the Christian faith has long advanced the notion of sola Scriptura as the basis for discerning God’s will for humankind. But when we seek to apply the principle of sola Scriptura for guiding our political thinking about politics, there are at least three complications in doing so.  These complications mandate that a certain level of theological humility be exhibited when seeking to discuss politics from a perspective that endeavors to be faithful to biblical teachings. These three problems involve (a) the nature of biblical material related to political life, (b) the need for interpretation of biblical texts, and (c) the effects of sin in interpreting scripture.

First, given the purposes for which it was written, the Bible does not provide any substantial, systematical discussion of politics that explicates a particular philosophical perspective related to civic and political matters. Certainly, there are particular biblical passages that do relate to public life, some directly and others more indirectly. But, these passages must still be assessed to determine whether they represent instructions for a particular historical audience (e.g., are such statements given specifically to particular kings or kingdoms in the Old Testament) or whether they constitute instructions that transcend time and place.  Overall, however, it is probably accurate to state that those biblical texts that do directly address politics and may serve as guides for Christian political action are, in fact, relatively few in number, fairly general in the nature of their discussion, and in need of some level of interpretation with regard to how these particular texts apply to contemporary political life. 

Moreover, factors other than one’s theological perspectives come into play with regard to interpreting biblical texts.  In addition to possible theological differences, there are also likely to be differences among Christians in terms of the analytical understandings of such principles of justice, the common good, and equality. For example, even if all Christians could agree that the state should pursue justice, it is far from clear just what that might mean, as there are different analytical understandings as to whether justice is retributive, distributive, or restorative in nature.  

Finally, assessments related to the role of government are also related to other, more empirically related, factors.  For example, such assessments are also likely to be shaped by: one’s interpretation of the proscribed powers given by the American constitution to different levels of government; one’s assessments of the present cultural, social, and economic realities within American life; one’s judgment related to the root causes of problems that are currently confronting American society; and, one’s beliefs related to the likely consequences (both intended and unintended) of governmental actions.  These interpretations, assessments, and judgments related to such empirical factors do not rest on one’s theological interpretations or one’s analytical perspectives. Yet, they too will likely shape one’s expectations related to the propriety, need, and wisdom of governmental intervention in particular matters of public life.  

Given these differences in theological understandings, analytical perspectives, and empirical assessments, it is not surprising that Christians who endeavor to be faithful to their Christian calling and who also seek to be faithful to scripture, can easily come to different views related to the role and function of government, the particular political priorities or issues to be addressed, the specific public policies that should be pursued related to such political priorities, and the political party most likely to pursue and implement such policies. 

The second basis for the exercise of political civility in politics is the moral ambiguity associated with politics and policy-making. Given the complexity of politics, the limited adequacy of information related to political issues under consideration, and our inability to predict with certainty the outcomes of legislative policies, there is a moral ambiguity related to politics that further calls Christians to exhibit political civility when engaging in political discussions and decision-making.  As Paul Henry noted in his book Politics for Evangelicals, politics is not the only arena of life within which moral ambiguity is present, but what distinguishes politics is the extent to which moral ambiguity is present.  

The moral ambiguity of politics stems, in part, from the nature of politics.

Certainly, not all political values or all political interests are necessarily of equal merit, and there are inherent ethical assumptions in the pursuit of political ends.  Nevertheless, there are three facets about the nature of politics contribute to its moral ambiguity.  First, politics frequently relates to choosing between relative goods in terms of political ends, and the moral ambiguity of politics relates to the need to decide which of these various relative political goods are more substantial, meritorious, or critical in nature than other such goods.

            A second characteristic of politics that contributes its moral ambiguity relates to the very complicated problems with which politics must deal. Not only are many political problems immensely complex, but decisions related to these complex issues must almost always be forged on the basis of incomplete, inadequate, and/or ambiguous information.  In efforts to make good public policy, there is almost always a desire for more or better data on which to make political decisions, and the data that are available are usually subject to multiple interpretations as to what they indicate or suggest.  Yet, to delay decisions about how best to address a problem may only perpetuate and acerbate the problem itself.  Hence, there is always a cloud of uncertainty surrounding any piece of proposed legislation, with different people being likely to come to different assessments as to whether, and just how, some piece of proposed legislation might actually accomplish its intended purposes, rectify the problem, and resolve the issue.  

Third, even if there were universal agreement as to which policy area held the greatest priority, universal agreement as to what constituted the major problem to be addressed by the policy under discussion, universal agreement as to what the data revealed about that problem, and universal agreement that the proposed piece of legislation would accomplish its intended purposes, there still could likely be differences in assessments related to possible, but unintended, outcomes associated with the policy proposal—and that these undesirable, unintended consequences outweighed the desired intended consequences of the legislation. Thus, the moral ambiguity of politics also relates, in part, to the fact that political decisions and particular public policies have both intended and unintended consequences. Neither Christians nor non-Christians can predict with complete accuracy and assurance that the intended outcomes of legislative policies will be realized or that certain adverse unintended outcomes will not emerge in the wake of such legislation. Even policies proposed and passed with the best intentions and assessments can still foster undesirable unintended outcomes by the passage of such legislation.

Finally, the third basis for exercising greater civil in politics is that, given the biblical command to love one’s neighbor as oneself, it is imperative that Christians be willing to exercise greater charity to one’s political opponents. With its competing values, policy priorities, and social and economic assessments related to policy-making, politics always entails the presence of disagreement.  But, one of the most important decisions we as Christians can make related to politics is the manner by which we choose to treat those with whom we disagree

There is clearly a need for greater civility and charity in contemporary American political life.  On the one hand, there are practical reasons to do so. But there are important religious reasons to do so as well.  We must treat those with whom we disagree politically with respect because of who they are. Though we may disagree strongly with others, we must never forget they are image-bearers of God and thereby possess inherent dignity and right of conscience. We are to treat others with respect and good manners regardless of their political perspectives. When we treat our political opponents with disdain, we publicly dishonor God.

            The fact that our political opponents are image-bearers of God and that we are commanded to love our neighbors as ourselves should be sufficient enough to cause us as Christians to treat our political opponents with civility and respect—regardless of who they may be, the particular policies they may propose, or the particular religion, or lack thereof, which they exhibit or express.  But, not only do we as Christians frequently fail to do so, we all too often judge and treat our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ on the basis of the political positions they adopt. Somehow we come to view other Christians who do not hold the political positions we do as either exhibiting a “less informed faith in Christ” or even “not a true faith in Christ.”  In other words, we let our political and ideological perspectives make judgments about the nature of someone else’s faith in Christ, forgetting that we not the ones who are to separate the sheep from the goats.

It is our religious faith that should structure our political perspectives—not the converse.  As Paul notes in Galatians 3:28, we are all one in Christ; there is no Jew or Greek, no male or female—and, by extension, no Democrat or Republican, or no liberal or conservative. God does not judge us according to these distinctions, and neither should we if we seek to be faithful unto Him.

 

[1] This brief essay is drawn from more extensive remarks that I gave in the Seventeenth Annual Paul B. Henry Lecture, Calvin College, April 26, 2013.  The full presentation, along with it further explication of the arguments, can be heard at: http://new.livestream.com/calvin-college/events/2039295