Nine Priorities for a Christian Politics

In my lecture in Richmond, VA a couple weeks ago on “What Does it Mean to be a Christian Citizen,” I pushed back against the idea that Christian politics was primarily a matter of particular Christian policies (see the previous two excerpts here and here), and I also emphasized that as our political duties are rooted in creation, many of the principles of justice that Christians seek can and will often be shared by unbelievers.

However, I did distill what I thought were nine priorities for a Christian politics, principles that while perhaps recognizable by the light of nature, were particularly clear by virtue of revelation, and which must guide any Christian citizen or representative. All of these will remain quite general, reflecting the limitations of time in my lecture, and my conviction that politics is more often a realm for careful discernment and prudential improvisation than for detailed dogmatic blueprints.

They are as follows:

1) Limited aims and aspirations

A Christian politics recognizes the limits of politics. We have already seen that the Christian’s dual citizenship serves as a warning against investing too much hope and meaning in political identity, expecting too much what good politics may achieve or fearing too much what evil it may bring about. A Christian politics recognizes that the true fruition of our human life together lies outside the bounds of history as we know it and beyond any human power to bring about; it also recognizes that God will bring about this fruition no matter how much we might seem to screw things up along the way. It might seem like an obvious and banal point to say that politics can only achieve so much, but in fact, it is something of a uniquely Christian contribution, since the natural human tendency is to look to earthly powers for our redemption and fulfillment, investing nations and rulers with a religious significance rather than recognizing that their authority is derivative and limited.

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Freedom From Fear as the Heart of Christian Politics

A week and a half ago, I was invited to give a lecture at St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church in Richmond, VA on “What Does it Mean to Be a Christian Citizen?” It was a great blessing to be hosted by such a thoughtful and engaged congregation, and a great opportunity to present in relatively-concise form many of the thoughts I’ve been pondering and researching the past few years about Christian political identity. You can read the full text and hear the full audio of the lecture at the Davenant Trust’s website, and I encourage you to do so, but here is an excerpt that will hopefully stand well on its own, developing the first half of Luther’s famous dialectic in The Freedom of a Christian:


What does it mean for a Christian to be the “free lord of all”? Freedom is of course the dominant theme of American political discourse, even if we rarely know quite what we mean by it. This theme also dominates not merely Luther’s writings, but the New Testament as well. Galatians 5:1 proclaims, “For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.” In Romans 6:13-14, Paul admonishes us, “Do not present your members to sin as instruments for unrighteousness, but present yourselves to God as those who have been brought from death to life, and your members to God as instruments for righteousness. For sin will have no dominion over you, since you are not under law but under grace.” And in the next chapter he says, “Likewise, my brothers, you also have died to the law through the body of Christ. . . . But now we are released from the law, having died to that which held us captive, so that we serve in the new way of the Spirit and not in the old way of the written code.” (Rom. 7:4, 6) And then just a bit later, in one of the most famous chapters of Scripture, we read,

“What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things? Who shall bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn? Christ Jesus is the one who died—more than that, who was raised—who is at the right hand of God, who indeed is interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? . . .

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (8:31-39)

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Appealing to Caesar

In accounts of Christian’s political responsibilities, it is not uncommon to hear appeals to the way Paul used his Roman citizenship and the Roman political system.  These range from the fairly modest–“Paul’s appeal showed that the Roman Empire, for all its evils, could still serve a useful purpose and Christians need not completely separate themselves from an unjust political system”–to rather more robust claims that Paul’s actions somehow constitute a ratification of the goodness of the Roman order and proof that Christians should be enthusiastic citizens of earthly polities.

In A Secular Faith, Darryl Hart offers something like the latter approach, using Paul’s example in favour of his thesis that Christians must have “hyphenated identities” as inhabitants of the spiritual and earthly kingdoms.  (The real problem with this claim is that in fact he is calling not for hyphenated, but bifurcated identities, not for ‘Christian-American’ but for ‘Christian//American’; but more on that another time).

But what was Paul actually up to?  And what lesson does his appeal to Caesar actually offer?


Hart claims that

“Paul’s Christian identity did take precedence over his Roman citizenship.  But the nature of his Christian commitment did not keep him from appealing to Roman law to prolong his life.  Short of having to forsake his duty to preach, Paul was willing to play by nonreligious rules.  In other words, he thought of himself as more than a Christian; his identity was hyphenated–Roman citizen and Christian apostle.” 

Hart is suggesting here that, while of course political citizenship should never lead us to go against the duties of our Christian identity, it need not be justified in terms of Christian identity.  We can and ought to participate in civic life out of the ordinary concerns of citizens, not out of specifically Christian concerns.  We are free to take advantage of political structures to save our lives, for instance.  While of course I think both the narrow point (it’s fine to protect yourself using political structures) and the larger point (Christians do not have to have a distinctively Christian justification for every participation in civic activities) are basically valid (though not necessarily in the way Hart wants to use them), Paul’s example, interestingly enough, supports neither point. 

This is particularly interesting because Hart himself provides the refuting evidence just a few lines earlier: 

“Paul’s appeal to Rome was unusual on several levels.  As it turned out, had he not issued it, he would have been freed in Jerusalem….But instead of being emancipated, Paul had to endure a long and precarious trip to Rome which resulted in further imprisonment and ultimately death.” 

Now this is curious.  In other words, if Paul was really using his Roman citizenship to protect his life, he did a pretty poor job of it.  It’s possible, of course, that he just miscalculated seriously.  But the narrative of Acts, as well as Paul’s letter to the Romans, suggest quite otherwise–that Paul in fact was extremely eager to come to Rome, and indeed to preach before Caesar, and that his appeal was a calculated attempt to bring that about.  Most likely, he was well aware that he could have been released in Judaea, had he so desired.

This suggests then that what we have is in fact an example of precisely the opposite stance to that Hart wants to encourage–a determination to subordinate political identity to religious identity in such a way that action in the civic sphere becomes a tool in favour of a religious agenda.  Paul, it seems, is consciously exploiting the structures of the Roman justice system for evangelistic ends, rather than coolly petitioning for legal protection on his own account.  Needless to say, this suggests a rather different political-theological model than anything Hart would want us to consider.

A Primer on Christian Citizenship

I was invited to give a talk at my church’s Away Day yesterday, on the subject of “Christianity and Public Issues,” so I took the opportunity to distill my current political theology, such as it is, into something suitable for the ordinary British layman’s consumption.  Although it is necessarily very oversimplistic, sometimes simplicity can be refreshingly clarifying.  So I offer the manuscript version of my talk here, in two installments: 1) A Primer on Christian Citizenship and 2) A Primer on Christian Economics.  These are very much mere outlines of a position, so if you’re interested, please push me for clarification and expansion–I’m sure it will be very helpful.


The last ten years, it seems, have seen America and Britain lurching from one crisis to another–the stock market collapse of 2000 was followed by the traumatic terrorist attacks of 9/11 (and later 7/7 here in the UK), the wrenching divisions of the Afghanistan and Iraq Wars, and most recently, a devastating economic crisis that we are still trying to recover from.  In Britain, the era when the Christian Church and British politics went hand in hand is long gone, and although many American Christians seem determined to politicize their faith, they have lost a lot of their credibility after the disaster of the Bush years.   

The ongoing economic crisis, while it might seem to afford Christians an excellent opportunity to preach the Gospel against greed and point toward a more just economic order, threatens instead to weaken the Church’s witness still further, as Christians are deeply divided among themselves on economic issues and on how to engage the public sphere.  Many Christians (particularly in America) have bought into the ideology that the market, left to itself, always provides the best solution, and any restraints upon greed that are imposed by society or government to reduce inequality are destructive.  For them, the Church has no distinctive contribution to make, save perhaps to encourage honesty and charity among its members.  Other Christians are convinced that economic inequality today is a scandal, and one that needs urgently to be remedied.  The biggest, strongest institution around that can remedy it is the government, and so these Christians aggressively lobby (either in the name of the gospel or in secular terms) for more and more legislation and taxation to bring “social justice.”  But, if the government is the solution, then again we might ask whether the Church has any distinctive contribution to make to the problem.  Many Christians will say that the Church’s contribution is simply to convert people–that’s the only real way to help people, and the only task the Church has; economic and political disputes are not really the Church’s business, although Christians can engage in them as ordinary citizens.  


But are we ordinary citizens?  That is perhaps the fundamental point that we must establish if we are to provide a compass for Christian engagement with political institutions and particularly economic problems.  So, are we ordinary citizens?  The Apostle Paul doesn’t seem to think so, in Phil. 3:17-21:

“Brethren, join in following my example, and note those who so walk, as you have us for a pattern.  For many walk, of whom I have told you often, and now tell you even weeping, that they are the enemies of the cross of Christ: whose end is destruction, whose god is their belly, and whose glory is in their shame—who set their mind on earthly things.  For our citizenship is in heaven, from which we also eagerly wait for the Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body that it may be conformed to His glorious body, according to the working by which He is able even to subdue all things to Himself.”  

So we’re citizens of heaven?  Are we not then citizens of earth?  How do we make sense of this relationship?  


Countless answers have been suggested through the history of the Church, but I’m going to look here at three general models that have been proposed.

1) First, there has been a common tendency at many points in Christian history to diminish or forget the gap between the politics and the societies of this world and the heavenly kingdom of Christ.  In the period after the conversion of Constantine, many Christians mistakenly imagined that Christian Rome was now the visible expression of the kingdom of Christ, and was sure to continue forever. This may seem like an obvious mistake in hindsight, but it is remarkable how frequently it has cropped up in the history of the Church.  Many British Christians were tempted to think this way during the heyday of the British Empire and I can assure you that many American Christians continue to think this way.  This model is often called a “Christendom” model.  

What are some of the problems with this way of thinking?

  • it leads to false confidence and false despair; we begin to walk by sight and not by faith
  • it attaches eternal significance to limited, relatively insignificant earthly matters, such as changes of government; it mistakes where the action really is happening
  • it confuses the tools of the kingdom with worldly tools, and begins to imagine that the Gospel is best advanced by force and defended by law.  
  • for all these reasons, it poses a great temptation to ethical compromise, since if we are sure that the progress of Christ’s kingdom depends on political events in the here and now, we will do everything possible to bring about certain events, no matter what it takes.  A case in point was American evangelicals’ support of John McCain in the 2008 election. 


Many Christians, seeing the weaknesses in this approach, have reacted in one of two ways.  Both of these reactions respond by emphatically asserting the dichotomy between our citizenship in Christ and in the world, laying stress on Paul’s words that our citizenship is in heaven, but they go in somewhat opposite directions.  


2) One, which we might call the modern secular model, although it has been around since at least the 1300s, believes in the possibility of dual citizenship.  John Locke is perhaps the most famous representative of this approach.  To the Christian, Locke says, “Of course you can be a citizen of the City of God, but remember that this is a heavenly, invisible city, on a different plane from real cities and kingdoms.  So you can be a perfectly good earthly citizen too.  Just do your duty to king and country, which consists in things like fighting wars, paying taxes, obeying laws, and to your society, which consists in things like engaging in business, participating in sports, etc., and these will in no way conflict with your spiritual duty, which is to do things like pray, worship, give alms, etc.”  Many Christian thinkers have happily endorsed this dual citizenship model, assuring Christians that there is no conflict between their sacred and secular duties; these occupy different spheres, both of which are perfectly valid.

But what are some of the problems with this way of thinking?


  • is there really no conflict?  is this kind of schizophrenia really possible?  How can I be committed to peace as a Christian and yet committed to war as a citizen of my country?  Obviously, there are plenty of occasions when there will be no obvious conflict, but quite frequently there will be, and we’ll have to decide which citizenship takes priority.  Locke recognized this, and despite his supposed favoring of religious freedom, argued that religious convictions must be suppressed whenever they conflicted with good citizenship of the state.  
  • it doesn’t really seem possible then to have a dual citizenship; if you were really a citizen of the Church as visible body with another allegiance, you couldn’t be a full citizen of the state.  Locke realized this, and made churches nothing more than voluntary societies like chess clubs; “citizenship” in Christ, for him, happened only at an invisible and individual level; it was not a corporate identity.
  • doesn’t this seem to minimize the scope of the Gospel?  Did Christ really come just to save a little sliver of our lives and to leave society to basically operate the way it always has?
  • this model holds great temptations to ethical compromise; if we are citizens of the earthly kingdom, shouldn’t we be good, loyal, faithful citizens even if that means perhaps fighting wars we shouldn’t fight?



3) Fearing the temptation to compromise in these first two options, other Christians have insisted on a sharp distinction between citizenship in heaven vs. in the world, but have denied that dual citizenship is possible.  You can only be a citizen of one city, and that is the City of God.  The earthly city is headed for perdition, and we must remain outside of it, serving God in the Church but not in the world, lest we confuse the kingdom of Christ with the world, or be tempted to compromise.  This approach is often associated with Anabaptism, though there are other forms of it.  Like option 2, this view takes the distinction between the two cities in spatial terms–if we are citizens of heaven, then we are not of earth, and we need to hold ourselves aloof from many of the trappings of the earthly kingdom. 

What are some problems with this approach?  


  • well for one, it’s open to a similar problem as option 2–namely, that it doesn’t really challenge the power structures of the world in the name of the Gospel.  Whereas option 2 lets them remain as they are and lives with them, option 3 accepts them as they are and lives apart from them.  But the end result is the same.  
  • also, this viewpoint is often criticized for “irresponsibility.”  Christians are, like Christ, to be characterized by responsibility, taking on responsibility not only for their own sins and problems but those of the world.  This third approach tries to distance itself from the problems of the world and leave the world to perish in its sin.
  • this viewpoint can tend toward individualism as well.  Whatever binds us together in society with others can often be seen as earthly and as something we need to escape into a pure private communion with God.
  • also, this viewpoint tends toward hypocrisy.  Most are not really able to separate themselves from life in this world (most do not become monks), and so they simply deceive themselves into thinking they are living spiritual, unworldly lives, when usually it just means that they have chosen to ignore aspects of their lives that must be brought under Christ.



None of these, then, seem like the best way to approach the problem.  In response, I want to propose a return to an age-old approach suggested by St. Augustine nearly 1600 years ago.  Augustine’s proposition proved enormously influential in Christian political thought, and many theologians now are trying to make sense of it again as a paradigm for our own day.  Augustine confronted the problem of a “Christendom” mindset, as Christians equated the progress of the kingdom of God with the prosperity of the Roman Empire.  But in responding to it, he managed to avoid some of the pitfalls of the secular and Anabaptist approaches.


Augustine insisted that, since the Fall, there have been two “cities” or societies, the “City of Man,” characterized by self-love, “lust for domination,” and violence, and the “City of God,” the assembly of the righteous, who love and serve Christ, and are characterized by peace and love of others.  Both cities exist side-by-side in the present world, and have a visible institutional form–the City of Man governs itself in states and empires, and the City of God is the Church, a body of believers made visible by their exchange of peace each week in the Eucharist.  They live by different rules and employ different tools.  We must not therefore identify the City of God with a political form that borrows its tools and its goals from the City of Man.  But neither city is completely contained within this visible institutional form, and neither city completely lives up to its nature; the City of God is not perfectly peaceful–that is clear–and the City of Man is not always violent.  It consists of good creatures created by God, characterized by desires that, although distorted, are not all bad, and so the City of Man is not altogether useless, nor is it altogether without peace.  Augustine knew that the Roman Empire did preserve a kind of peace and order, despite its godlessness, although not the best kind of peace and order, and it did promote a certain degree of progress and civilization, although not the best kind.  The City of God should recognize, make use of, and build on these successes. 

Augustine, then, refuses to collapse the two cities, like the first model, which suggests that a kingdom of this world might be identical with the kingdom of Christ.  He recognizes that the earthly city is too much at odds with the City of God to permit us to be dual citizens, as the second model would have it.  However, he recognizes that the two cities are not perfectly separable, and that to belong to the City of God does not mean abandoning the world altogether; we can still recognize and make use of the imperfect goods the world and its structures have to offer, just as a traveler passing through or temporarily staying in a city may happily shop in its markets and enjoy the protection of its police, although he never mistakes the city for his home.  Augustine, in other words, helps us to see ourselves as “resident aliens” within the societies and social structures of this world.


But we must not here put the emphasis on the word “alien,” as we have often tended to do, but on the “resident.”  Augustinianism should not be used to portray us as pilgrims only, detached from the world and somewhat careless about its fate, taking from it for our own purposes but not giving back.  

To gain a fuller perspective, I want us to look back at that passage from Philippians.  After all, when Paul talks about our citizenship being in heaven, that sounds to us like we are just strangers and pilgrims, detached from this earth.  But is that what he meant?  Not exactly.  The Philippians, to whom Paul is writing, were a colonial city of Rome–they were Roman citizens living in Macedonian surroundings.  Their Roman citizenship did not mean they were only temporarily in Macedonia, and would soon be summoned back to Rome their true home, but rather that they were to spread the rule of Rome and the culture of Rome where they were, and make it reflect the lordship of the Emperor, for whose occasional visitations they were to be prepared.  Paul clearly intended to evoke the same symbolism.  The Philippian Christians were colonists of heaven; they were citizens of heaven, not earth, but this did not mean they were only pilgrims; rather, they were to stay there as an outpost of heaven, making earth more like heaven, and preparing for the return of their King to take full possession of earth.  

This suggests an important additional dimension to Christian involvement in the world, in society and politics.  Christians must make the City of God more visible here in the world, must work to expand its foothold here amid the kingdoms of the world, must work to make the Church a true embodiment of the City of God it is meant to be, modeling a new way of life in front of the world, and summoning the world to join up.  

This, however, can smack of triumphalism too much: “We’re the true city, we know how to do things right, you’re on the losing side, so give up or join up!”  You don’t win many converts that way.   And that would be inconsistent anyway.  The Church is a different kind of city practicing a different kind of politics.  Jesus said, “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and those who are great exercise authority over them.  Yet it shall not be so among you; but whoever desires to become great among you, let him be your servant.”  If we want the City of God to become great in the world, then we must live as the servants of the world.  Archbishop William Temple once said, “The Church is the only society that exists for the benefit of non-members.”  

Although it’s important to emphasize that the Church is thoroughly separate from and even in many ways opposed to the structures of the City of Man, we must not forget the call to pray for the peace of the City we are in, and to work for it.  Remember that in Augustine’s scheme, although the City of Man was limited, destined to pass away, and always liable to fall into idolatry, self-glorification, and the desire for domination, it was not useless.  Augustine and most of the early Church Fathers recognized that the peace and order that Rome preserved, despite its injustices, was a lot better than having barbarians looting left and right.  And so the Church put itself at the service of the just ends of the empire it inhabited, and did not seek the complete downfall of Roman society, but its preservation, improvement, and conversion.   

What does all this mean for us today?  It means that as inhabitants of the city of Edinburgh and of the United Kingdom, we must always remember that we are not full citizens of these earthly institutions, but are citizens of a different kind of society, the Church, which establishes different kinds of communities, communities based on grace, peace, and forgiveness.  We will beware of hastily identifying our own good, and especially the good of the Church, with the good of the surrounding society–in a war, for instance, we will not necessarily cheer for the United Kingdom to prevail; perhaps Christ’s kingdom would be better served by its defeat.  Knowing that we are colonists of heaven, we will work to make the Church a true embodiment of the heavenly kingdom, here on earth, to make it a model to the world of how a community should live, how people should do business together, how people can resolve disputes, how people can care for the weakest.  Whatever our other callings in life, this will always be our first goal and duty, since this is where our citizenship lies.  However, we will remember that this calling to build the city of God is on behalf of the cities and countries that we live in; we labor not for our own good but for the good of the City of Edinburgh and the United Kingdom.  Thus we work not only for their conversion, but seek to discern ways in which, within these and other earthly institutions, justice may be improved, peace may be advanced, the weak may be cared for, evil may be rebuked, and the Gospel may be propagated.  Our policy toward any worldly institution, political or economic, should be one of suspicion, to be sure, but also one of “selective collaboration”–identifying areas in which these structures are capable of doing limited good and putting ourselves at their service to accomplish as much of that good as possible, never forgetting to keep pointing them toward the only source of ultimate good–Christ and His Church.  


Note: I am indebted for many of these thoughts to James K.A. Smith’s lecture, “Reforming Public Theology: Two Kingdoms, or Two Cities?”