True Politics and the Ethic of Love, Pt. 2
Ever since Augustine’s The City of God Western political thought has kept some kind of separation – in lesser or greater degrees – between heavenly politics and earthly politics. Oliver O’Donovan clarifies this truth when he writes that “the opposition in Western theology between the City of God and the earthly city has enabled political thought to avoid theocratic conceptions of government, which, by claiming to express the rule of heaven and earth, must unify the earthly and the heavenly into a single totalitarian political claim. Western theology starts from the assertion that the kingdoms of the world are not the kingdom of our God and of his Christ, not, at any rate, until God intervenes to make them so at the end.”[1]
Even in light of powerfully clear Biblical statements that testify to the current rule of Christ over every kingdom, passages like we see in Revelation 1:5, that Jesus presently sits at the right hand of the Father as “the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of kings on earth”, still, Christians have generally understood this current rule as an inaugurated reality. Until he comes back and every knee bow, Christ’s current rule, total and sovereign as it is, is not consummated. Here we see the influence of eschatology on political theology. And until Christ comes back, Revelation 1 reminds us that God “loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood and has made us a kingdom, priests to his God and Father… Behold, he is coming with the clouds, and every eye will see him, even those who pierced him, and all tribes of the earth will wail on account of him. Even so. Amen” (Rev. 1:6-7).
Now, to be sure, there is a kind of wailing going on now among all tribes and governments and cities of this earth, but that wailing is not on account of Christ and his coming. No, it’s because they do not yet see Christ that fallen kingdoms inflict pain and bring about wailing. There’s a fallen cruelty, even among the best of the tribes and nations. And yet, still, Christ sovereignly sits in the heavens and laughs; he holds all kingdoms in derision (Ps. 2:4).
What this means for Christians now is that we understand our presence here within and amongst these earthly kingdoms as a presence of patient priestly persuasion. Patient because we still await the coming of our King, even amidst the wailing. Priestly since we prayerfully intercede on behalf of our neighbor, even for those who cause the wailing (1 Tim. 2:1-4). And presently persuasive because we must call the world to repentance and to believe in and hope for the coming of the King (if there’s wailing now, just wait and see what kind of wailing will happen when He comes back!).
This persuasive presence – which Jesus describes using the metaphor of salt and light -avoids the twin traps of pietistic retreat on one side and an over-realized domineering on the other side.[2] Thus, faithful Christians who love God and love their neighbor (for all true politics is rightly knowing how to love your neighbor) do not retreat into deserts beating their swords into plowshares (let Christ make good on His promise to do that when He returns). After all, didn’t Christ tell his disciples to go and buy swords (Lk. 22:35-38)? But on the other hand, neither do faithful Christians emerge from deserts conquering and converting unbelievers by the sword (because, you know, we’re not Muslim).
Proper eschatology then both triggers and tempers our politics precisely because eschatology transcends the immanence of the here and now. That is, Christian politics has within it a forward-looking hope and fear of a sure future that will finally break in, even though we only see glimpses of it now by faith. This eschatology triggers, or motivates, by encouraging believers to act both faithfully (paying taxes to Caesar, Matt. 22:18-21) and boldly (sometimes refusing to obey Caesar, Acts 4:18-21). But eschatology also tempers in that it allows believers to wait patiently, refusing to avenge ourselves but leaving judgment to the coming wrath of God (Rom. 13:19). Indeed, believers who have a proper eschatology can “rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, [and] constant in prayer” (Rom. 13:12).
Consider too how the church’s best theologians have been triggered to temper the politics of kings and queens – Ambrose disciplining Theodosius I for his role in the massacre of Thessalonica, Alcuin confronting and chastising Charlamagne for making refusal of baptism a capital offense, or even John Knox in his trumpetous interactions with Mary, Queen of Scots. All such interactions come with the very real threat of either imprisonment or death, and yet there is this eschatological boldness, a heavenly power – hope that, no matter what, they will have eternal life in Christ – which allowed these men to preach and speak true things in the face of earthly power.
The Czech philosopher-president (1989-2003), Václav Havel, critiquing the political suicide of Marxist immanence opined that the “present crisis of authority is only one of a thousand consequences of the general crisis of spirituality in the world at present. Humankind, having lost its respect for a higher authority, has inevitably lost respect for earthly authority as well. Consequently, people also lose respect for their fellow humans and eventually even for themselves.”[3] In other words, when a society totally abandons the transcendent reality of Christ’s present kingship as well as an expectation of his future consummated reign, then that society will also lose all good and true politics. It will devolve into a cold, grey, loveless society pockmarked by Soviet Brutalist architecture or American Section 8 housing. And it is only heavenly minded Christians who, as salt and light, refuse to let the ugliness of a fallen, loveless politics degrade society. They love their neighbor too much. And they love God who, sooner or later, is coming to judge.
[1] Oliver O’Donovan, Resurrection and Moral Order: An Outline for Evangelical Ethics (Inter-Varsity Press, 1986), 71-2
[2] Some might interject here and opine, “Oh, you mean the twin eschatological traps of Dispensationalism on one side and Post-Millennialism on the other side!” And as an Amillennialist, I’d be tempted to say ok, sure, but I think that would be a mistake. As the COVID lockdowns have shown, there have been many courageous Dispensationalists who have rightly pushed into politics, being salt and light, and keeping their governing authorities from diving head-long into totalitarianism. And likewise, almost all responsible Post-Millennialists would happily acknowledge that until Christ finally comes back, the world needs the ever-persuasive presence of the conquering church. To both of those camps I say, “Amen! Press on, brother.”
[3] Václav Havel, “A Sense of the Transcendental,” delivered as a talk to the National Press Club in Canberra, Australia, on March 29, 1995. This essay is included in his collection “The Art of the Impossible: Politics as Morality in Practice” (Alfred A. Knopf, 1997). I found the quote in Politics, Morality, & Civility published by The Trinity Forum.
