Confessing Evangelical

A couple of times in the past days, I've come across bloggers blithely asserting that capital punishment is straightforwardly commended/commanded by Scripture. I'm grateful to them for doing so, as it has forced me finally to go back and examine more closely my own opposition to the death penalty, and how that opposition can be squared with what the Bible teaches.

Now, I'm aware this is a bit of a dead-horse topic - and I'm also acutely aware of how divisive an issue this is, and how strong the emotions can be on both sides of the argument - so rather than present The Complete Biblical Argument For/Against The Death Penalty, this post consists of a few short meditations based on my reflections on this issue over the past day or so.

Desert and authority

First, there is no doubt that the Bible teaches that murder deserves the death penalty (see, for example, Genesis 6:5,6). Saddam deserved to die. Timothy McVeigh deserved to die.

Also, the Bible acknowledges the power and authority of the state to impose the death penalty ("the authority does not bear the sword in vain", Romans 13:4).

So is that an end to the matter? Many would say that it is: the murderer deserves to die, the state is entitled to execute him/her, and that's that.

Now we move on to the "but"s...

Scriptural exceptions

There are two striking instances of God himself commuting the death penalty. First, the account of Cain and Abel, where Cain acknowledges that he is subject to being killed as a consequence of his fratricide ("anyone who meets me may kill me!"), but God replies:

"Not so! Whoever kills Cain will suffer a sevenfold vengeance." And the Lord put a mark on Cain, so that no one who came upon him would kill him.

Then we have the account of the woman taken in adultery, where Jesus is asked to affirm the Old Testament's imposition of the death penalty for adultery. I scarcely need to quote the reply that is eventually drawn from him:

‘Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.’

But Jesus' parting words to her ("Go your way, and from now on do not sin again") demonstrate that he is not simply letting her off, any more than God was simply letting Cain get away with murder.

Neither of these texts constitutes a formal abrogation of the death penalty. It is, however, highly telling that we are presented with two instances where God himself is directly confronted with the question of giving offenders what they deserve, and in each case he declines to do so.

Who deserves the death penalty?

Let's return to John 8:7. According to the OT law, the woman deserved to die. Jesus doesn't deny this; he simply invites his questioners to be, as it were, careful where they point that thing. Recall that Jesus, in the sermon on the mount, equates adultery and a "mere" lustful glance; who among us can therefore claim to be without sin in the matter of adultery?

But in the same sermon, Jesus also equates murder and "mere" anger. So in the same way, who among us can claim to be "without sin" in the matter of murder? So when calling for the death penalty for murderers - well, just be careful where you point that thing.

So murder may deserve the death penalty, but who deserves to carry it out?

The authority of the state

Well, the obvious answer to that last question is, "the state". After all, as Paul tells us in Romans 13:

...the authority does not bear the sword in vain! It is the servant of God to execute wrath on the wrongdoer.

However, anyone who argues that Romans 13:1-6 teaches anything "straightforwardly" is I think on very shaky ground. This is a notoriously difficult passage, with its apparent call - on a superficial reading - to submit meekly and without argument even to the most abhorrent and tyrannical regimes.

But what does seem clear is that the purpose of this passage is not to expressly approve the death penalty. Paul is calling on Christians, not to uncritically accept the ruling authorities, but to acknowledge their due status as instruments used by God for restraining evil. In that context, Paul's passing reference to "the sword" is as an instrument and symbol of that status, and does not merely refer to the death penalty - unless we are to say that Paul is arguing only that Christians should obey laws that carry the ultimate penalty, and that we needn't obey laws where "the sword" is not literally involved as the means of punishment.

Acknowledging that the state is used by God to restrain evil is, of course, a long way from accepting all the claims the state makes for itself. This reading of Romans 13 does seem easier to reconcile with the decidedly ambivalent attitude towards the civil authorities found elsewhere in the NT, not least in the teachings of our Lord himself (as I have posted before at some length).

To put it another way, Paul is telling us that the Roman state's use of the death penalty is an instrument of God to restrain evil. But - given what we are told about Rome in the rest of the NT - do we really want the modern state to model itself on the Roman authorities, or to be used by God solely in the same way as Rome? Should we be happy to think that our modern rulers are nothing more and nothing less than modern-day Caesars? Shouldn't we demand something a little better from them?

The inevitable slavery comparison

Invoking the issue of slavery is the Godwin's Law of biblical ethics. But I do think the comparison is worth making here.

Both capital punishment and slavery (and, for that matter, the divine right of kings) can be seen as being supported by texts in the OT and NT. But, over time, the church's reflections on slavery led to an appreciation of a deeper undercurrent of teaching, based both on specific texts and on a general growing awareness of the dignity of the person.

The same, I believe, can be said of capital punishment, and following much the same arguments. (Indeed, it is difficult to see how most biblically-based arguments in favour of capital punishment - "the plain teaching of plain texts", that sort of thing - could not apply equally well to the issue of slavery. Once again, be careful where you point that thing.)

To return to Romans 13, Paul's call for Christians to respect the civil authority as an instrument of God's restraint of evil cannot be read as a requirement for Christians to support the death penalty in all times and all places, any more than his practical admonitions to slaves not to seek the immediate overthrow of the Roman economic order (while, crucially, condemning slave traders) are to be seen by us as a continuing endorsement of slavery.

Capital crimes and the Mosaic law

When the OT is invoked to support capital punishment, it should be noted that no-one (I hope!) who invokes the OT in this way is arguing that the full range of capital crimes in the OT - adultery, homosexuality, blasphemy, sabbath-breaking, disobedience to parents, etc - should still carry the death penalty today.

Now, I'm aware that even in the OT, murder is singled out for special treatment as compared with these other offences for which the death penalty has now been abrogated. But it's a reminder that applying OT examples and laws to the post-resurrection world is not as straightforward as it is sometimes presented.

And anyway, examples drawn from the Mosaic law and the OT kingdom of Israel fall down because of the unique position of Israel in God's economy of salvation. As someone has argued, "Christians would have to engage in a national idolatry to suppose that all the acts allowed in ancient Israel are permissible in Connecticut".

The Mosaic law is exceptionally rigorous in the standards and penalties it imposes, but as noted above this is due to Israel's unique position under the Mosaic covenant. The Mosaic law is saying, in effect, "Look at what God's requirement for justice looks like when tranposed into a system of civil justice" - as such, it should drive us trembling to God for mercy, not inspire us as a pattern for ordering our own societies.

Conclusion (or not, as the case may be)

I'm aware this has been a slightly disjointed and rambling post. I've made a conscious decision to "think aloud" on this issue, and some of the points I've made have been provocatively stated in order to generate responses that I hope will help clarify my own thinking.

In a sentence, what this all comes down to is the following: "The state can kill criminals in principle; but I do not think it should do so in practice, and I think that position can be supported from the Bible."

Labels: biblical ethics, capital punishment, jesus is lord so caesar isn't, thinking aloud

Continuing our look at Jacques Ellul on Anarchism and Christianity (see previous posts 1 | 2), we come now to Ellul's assessment of the New Testament's teachings on political power.

1. Jesus

Ellul describes "Jesus' attitude toward power in the Gospels" as "radically negative". Indeed, he "held power up to ridicule", as demonstrated by:

...the famous incident in Matthew 17:24‑27, in which a shekel found in a fish's mouth served to pay the tax: the only miracle of this extravagant type, precisely to show that the obligation to pay the tax is ridiculous!

Just as Jesus "submitted to Herod's governmental jurisdiction without giving any sign that He recognized its validity", so it is with "the famous 'Render to Caesar'":

In no way does Jesus favor here the division of the exercise of power into two realms ... He said these words in connection with a second conversation about tax payment, and concerning a coin. The image on the coin is Caesar's; it marks the coin as his property. Give him this money, then (Jesus by no means legitimizes the tax!).

Jesus means that Caesar, as creator of this money, is its master ‑ nothing more (we must not forget that for Jesus money belongs to the realm of mammon, a satanic realm!).

As for "the things that are God's"..., how could a pious Jew of Jesus' time take this expression as meaning anything but "everything"? As Creator, God is the master of life and death. Everything depends on Him. Jesus' words mean that Caesar is the legitimate master of nothing, except for what he makes himself (and it belongs to the order of the demonic!).

Similarly, Jesus' statement that "My kingship is not of this world" (John 18:36) "in no way suggests that Jesus recognizes the validity of [earthly political] power":

Jesus does not represent an apolitical or spiritual attitude; rather, he launches a fundamental attack on power. Rather than showing indifference to what politics can be or do, Jesus expresses His refusal of politics in this passage.

No gentle dreamer who looks down from the sky, Jesus challenges the validity of the earthly kingdom. He refuses its power because it does not conform to God's will. This is still true, whether power is exercised by the proletariat, Communists, etc. Power does not change its spiritual nature when it changes hands.

The temptation narratives go even further: Ellul argues that, while Jesus refuses to worship Satan in return for the kingdoms of the world:

...He does not dispute Satan's claim by saying that these kingdoms and their political power do not belong to him. On the contrary, Jesus implicitly agrees: Satan can give political power.

This protest against political power "finds its most violent expression in the book of Revelation", in which we find two beasts representing the state and political propoganda respectively; the red horseman "whose only function is making war, exercising power, and causing human beings to perish", representing political power; and towards the end, "Babylon, the focus of political power, the power of money, and the structure of the city."

2. Paul

It is in the context of this "consistent biblical series of negations of political power, of witnesses to its lack of validity and legitimacy" that we are to read Romans 13:1-7. Ellul describes this as "the only text appearing to provide a general basis for submission", as opposed to those that tell us merely to pray for the authorities ("a service we render them, perhaps ... so that [they] will not fall into the hands of demons").

Ellul argues that Romans 13 is written in the context of a rejection of the authorities ("not only a refusal to worship Caesar") in the first generation of Christians, a rejection that led early Christians "to a refusal, for example, to do military service":

Consequently, Paul's text appears to be a reaction against the extremism of the anti‑political, anarchist position. Basically, he says: "Don't go too far; don't go to extremes in your refusal. After all, authority comes from God, who has reduced the magistrate to the level of servant (whereas he claims to be the master). The good in society certainly falls far short of the Word of God, but this good amounts to something, after all ‑ and the magistrate guarantees it."

This definitely seems to be echoed by Wright ("It’s fine to point out the wickedness of earthly rulers, but when someone steals my car I want justice"). It also reminds me of Orwell's comment in The Lion and the Unicorn in which he describes the assertion by his fellow left-wingers that Britain is no more democratic than the Fascist or Soviet systems as being equivalent to saying that "half a loaf is the same as no bread".

Also, Romans 13:1-7 must be read in its context:

Romans 12 speaks to us of love, and suggests several applications of it. Paul ends his chapter with love of enemies ("if your enemy is hungry, feed him," v.20, for example). Furthermore, immediately following Romans 13:1‑7 on the authorities, Paul returns to the theme of love ... Obviously, the verses on the authorities are included within Paul's teaching on love. I would go so far as to summarize them in this fashion: "Love your enemies. No doubt we all consider the authorities our enemies; we must love them, too, however."

But since Paul gives a specific reason for loving in each case he considers (the Church, the brethren, enemies, the law, the weak in faith, etc.), he does the same for the authorities. It is in this connection that he writes his famous "there is no authority except from God" (Rom. 13:1; we must emphasize the negative construction here, as opposed to its later formulation, suggesting a principle: omni potestas a Deo, all power comes from God).

This text, it seems to me, should be reduced to its real meaning: rather than giving us the last word on the matter of political authority, it seeks to apply love in a context where Christians detested the authorities.

Conclusion

So, Ellul concludes, "both the Old and New Testaments take exception to all political power":

No power can claim to be legitimate in itself. Political power and organization are necessities in society, but only necessities. They attempt repeatedly to take God's place, since magistrates and kings invariably consider themselves the incarnation of authority.

We must continually challenge, deny, and object to this power. It becomes acceptable only when it remains on a humble level, when it is weak, serves the good (how rarely does this happen!), and genuinely transforms itself into a servant (of people, since it already serves God!)

"Christianity's historical sin has been to recognize the state," Ellul declares:

there is no given Christian form of power. This is because, in reality, the only Christian political position consistent with revelation is the negation of power: the radical, total refusal of its existence, a fundamental questioning of it, no matter what form it may take.

I repeat this statement not so Christians will turn toward some sort of spiritualism, political ignorance, or apolitical position ‑ certainly not! On the contrary, as Christians we must participate in the political world and the world of action, but in order to deny them, to oppose them by our conscious, well‑founded refusal.

In my final post on this topic, we will look at Ellul goes on to describe here (and in the opening chapter of his book, Anarchy & Christianity) how Christians should apply these principles in "our concrete historical situation", one in which "the determining and decisive problem is that of the universal power of the state". (Briefly, his argument seems to be that "anarchy is neither possible nor desirable, but working towards it is essential".)

I will also try to say something on what I personally make of all this.

Labels: christianarchy, jesus is lord so caesar isn't

The French sociologist, theologian and (aren't they all?) philosopher Jacques Ellul looks at a rather different political perspective for Christians: Anarchy and Christianity (from his book, Jesus and Marx, which attacks the concept of "Marxist Christianity").

Ellul notes that anarchists have a fundamental hostility towards religion that goes far beyond that of Marxists: Marxist hostility to religion is, as it were, incidental to that system, whereas "anarchists make the destruction of religion a central element in their revolution". As the anarchist writer Bakunin put it (reversing Voltaire's phrase), "If God really existed, it would be necessary to abolish him".

And from the other side of the fence, anarchy is often equated with chaos; and "chaos can hardly suit Christians", who can "hardly conceive of a society without a preestablished and rigorously maintained order".

However, Ellul argues that in fact, contrary to the views of both anarchists and most Christians:

...biblical thought leads straight to anarchism ‑ anarchism is the only "anti-political political position" in harmony with Christian thought.

And, indeed, the anarchists - who see only the negative aspects of Christian history, while "all reality of love, joy and liberation, also lived by Christianity in these periods, is gleefully omitted" - are mistaken in thinking that atheism is a necessary condition for anarchy. On the contrary:

[T]he presence of the God of Jesus Christ is the necessary condition for human liberation. Denial of this necessity has caused the failure of all the so‑called liberating revolutions ...

Arriving at real freedom requires the relativization of all human pretensions and therefore of all human domination. This relativization takes place only if humanity recognizes an exterior limit that transcends it, and if the transcendent limit is liberating love (as in the Christian revelation).

Ellul goes on to look at the biblical support for anarchy, which will form the subject of my next post. However, just as a final thought for this post, we should not automatically assume that an "anarchist" position is necessarily going to mean a "left-wing" outlook. As Ellul points out:

In view of the fact that freedom remains the anarchists' central imperative, they belong to the Right (since freedom has been the Right's rallying cry since 1945).

And we'll see that there are marked parallels between Ellul's argument and those advanced by NT Wright (see previous posts: 1 | 2), so much so that I expect Wright must have read Ellul on this subject. But while for Ellul his conclusions lead him towards anarchy, Wright's not-dissimilar conclusions lead him, ironically, to a defence of monarchy (see the final section of his essay, "God and Caesar" (PDF)).

Labels: christianarchy, jesus is lord so caesar isn't

In my post on Saturday, Left and Wright, we saw how NT Wright, in his essay on God and Caesar, began by looking at the Enlightenment categories that continue to dominate and distort our political thinking today, even as Christians, and then went on to examine the very different perspective found in the Old Testament and the Apocrypha.

Turning to the New Testament, Wright looks at the "the trick question, and the opaque answer, about the tribute penny, about Caesar and God", in Mark 12:13-17 and parallels. Wright argues that "this is not an 'isolated' political comment in an otherwise nonpolitical sequence of thought". The whole sequence of debates in Mark 11 and 12, of which this exchange forms part, is "politically and theologically freighted".

Wright summarises this incident as follows:

Tax revolts against Rome were nothing new. A large-scale one had taken place during Jesus’ boyhood, and had been crushed with typical Roman brutality. Saying, ‘Yes, pay the tax,’ would be to say ‘I’m not serious about God’s kingdom.’ But to incite people not to pay would at once incur trouble.

Jesus gets his interlocutors to produce a coin, tacitly admitting that they kept the hated coinage, with its blasphemous inscription and its (to a Jew) illegal image, a portrait of Caesar himself. Whose is it? he asks. Caesar’s, they answer. Well then, says Jesus, you’d better pay back Caesar in his own coin – and pay God back in his own coin!

However, Wright suggests there is (even) more going on here than meets the eye, especially when we look at some of the echoes this would have for Jesus' hearers:

The closest echoes to this double command are found in 1 Maccabees 2.68. Mattathias is telling his sons, especially Judas, to get ready for revolution. ‘Pay back to the Gentiles what is due to them,’ he says, ‘and keep the law’s commands’. Paying back the Gentiles was not meant to refer to money.

I am sure that some of Jesus’ hearers would have picked up that revolutionary hint. Because he was standing there looking at a coin, his surface meaning was, of course, that the tax had to be paid; but underneath was the strong hint that Caesar’s regime was a blasphemous nonsense and that one day God would overthrow it.

It is also clear from this setting, argues Wright, "that Jesus did not mean it as indicating a separation between the spheres of Caesar and God, with each taking responsibility for a distinct part of the world."

Wright goes on to draw a fascinating parallel between Jesus' reply in the "God-and-Caesar" exchange and His crucifixion:

Jesus’ death can itself be seen as Jesus’ own offering, simultaneously, of what was due to Caesar (crucifixion was what Caesar did to rebel kings) and what was due to God.

Enlightenment categories are "simply unable to cope" with what Mark and the other New Testament writers are saying here, "let alone the meanings which [Jesus] ... intended his followers to discern in his death":

The death of Jesus brings to a head the ambiguous character of the Israelite monarchy from Saul and David right on through history. Calvary and Easter become the focal points of the apocalyptic and wisdom traditions, and hence of second-Temple Judaism’s political theology: God’s new world is born, claiming the kingdoms of the world as its own, because their central and most powerful weapon, death itself, has now been broken.

Moving on to the early church, we find many of the martyrs living out this tension between relativising the kingdoms of this world on the one hand, and living as obedient citizens on the other.

Take Polycarp, for example, who is called upon by the Roman Governor to blaspheme or curse Jesus Christ and to swear "by the Genius of the Emperor". Polycarp indignantly refuses ("I’ve served him for eighty-six years, and he’s never done me any wrong; how can I blaspheme my King who saved me?") but then continues to explain how he respects the Governor's office, since "we have been taught to render honour to the rulers and authorities who are appointed by God":

Even when Polycarp is on trial for his life, he is content to say, like Jesus before Pilate in John 19.11, that God has appointed the pagan governor who is about to pass sentence. This is puzzling to us, but it would have made sense to the authors of Daniel, Wisdom, Mark, or John.

This double point - "Jesus, not Caesar, is Lord, King and Saviour; but God has appointed people, however unfit, as authorities in the world" - is also found in the writings of Paul and Peter. To return to the point made in my post yesterday:

[I]n almost every letter Paul demonstrates that Jesus is Lord, and that Caesar isn’t; that the ‘gospel’ of Jesus upstages the ‘gospel’ of Caesar; that the true salvation is achieved through Jesus, not Caesar; that the world needs God’s justice, not Roman justice; and, with great irony, that the cross, a hated symbol of Roman rule, had been transformed into the life-giving symbol of God’s self-giving love.

Paul’s central arguments constitute a massive outflanking movement against the imperial rhetoric of his day (emperor-worship was the fastest-growing religion of the time).

Romans 13 then has to be read in that overall context:

God does not want anarchy. Nor, of course, do we. It’s fine to point out the wickedness of earthly rulers, but when someone steals my car I want justice...

Romans 13 is not ... a carte blanche for rulers to do what they like. Paul is not setting rulers on a high pedestal, above criticism. Instead, he is reminding them that they have been instituted by God and remain responsible to him for the authority they bear.

In conclusion, the fundamental Christian attitude towards the state is neither blind obedience nor "a blanket condemnation of all rulers and authorities"; neither revolution nor reactionism:

Rather, what the early Christians offer is inaugurated eschatology: like the Israelites under their monarchy, chafing at its imperfections and looking for the fulfilment still to come, the followers of Jesus are to live under the rulers of the world, believing them to be appointed by God but not believing that that makes them perfect or that they do not need to be held accountable. On the contrary. Because they are God’s servants they may well need to be reminded of their duty, however dangerous and uncomfortable a task that may be.

Labels: christianarchy, jesus is lord so caesar isn't

Some more from Thomas Dunelm on the subject of the gospel and politics. His essay God and Caesar, Then and Now (PDF) is actually on the topic of the establishment of the Church of England - a fascinating topic in itself, but let's not go down that particular rabbit-hole today - but includes some good material on the more general issue of the relationship between church and state.

Wright begins by looking at "three influential features of Enlightenment thought which are taken for granted today":

The first is the assumption of a split-level world in which ‘religion’ and ‘faith’ belong upstairs and ‘society’ and ‘politics’ belong downstairs ... Our modern word ‘state’ is itself an Enlightenment invention, designating a self-operating system, free from religious influence. Thus even to phrase the question in terms of ‘church and state’ may run the risk of deciding things in advance.

When we hear Jesus talking about God and Caesar, we tend to import this modernistic church/state divide into what He is saying. Wright continues:

This brings us to the second Enlightenment assumption often taken for granted today: that political beliefs and attitudes come in two packages, and that everyone has to choose one or the other.

There is the package of the Right: rigid social structures, hierarchy, law and order, a tough-minded work ethic and a strong view of national identity. Then there is the package of the Left: freedom and revolution, overthrowing hierarchies, blurring old lines, doing things in new ways. It is assumed that, with local variations, you are basically in one camp or the other, and that many other decisions are determined by it.

This in turn has an effect on how Christians think about politics:

Those who have discovered in our own day that Jesus announced the Kingdom of God, and that Paul spoke of Jesus as the world’s true Lord, often assume that this implies some variation on today’s left-wing package, just as for generations people who have discovered that Paul insists on obeying ‘the powers that be’ have assumed that this implies some kind of right-wing pacakge.

"The third influential Enlightenment assumption" that Wright looks at "is the belief in progress":

History (it is believed) reached a climax in Europe in the eighteenth century; humanity’s calling ever since has been to implement this achievement. If recalcitrant elements in earlier worldviews have proved harder to shift than the early revolutionaries had imagined, they must be mocked or shamed into giving themselves up.

Francis Wheen's How Mumbo-Jumbo Conquered the World follows precisely this agenda (though it does so with such verve and panache, and with such entertaining results, as to be highly recommended reading).

Wright then briefly sketches how each of these Enlightenment assumptions has come under attack in recent years, as belief in progress finds itself accused of being "a covert excuse for imperial domination", belief in left-and-right political alternatives becomes mired in the growing disillusionment with electoral politics in the west, and secular modernism (of which Wheen's book, again, represents a nostalgic last gasp) is replaced by "spirituality".

"This then brings us to the foundational question," continues Wright: "what does the New Testament say on the whole subject?":

Above the High Altar in Westminster Abbey are inscribed words from Revelation 11.15: ‘The Kingdom of this world is become the Kingdom of our God and of his Christ.’

This is typical of what the New Testament declares: God is king, and the kingdoms of the world are thereby demoted. The crucified and risen Jesus of Nazareth is God’s Messiah, Lord of the world; he is already reigning at God’s right hand; he will reappear to complete this rule by abolishing all enemies, including sin and death themselves.

While Christianity sees history as moving towards a great climax, "this has nothing to do with automatic progress and everything to do with sacrifice, vocation and the strange purposes of the living God".

Wright identifies two main strands on this subject in Jewish thought before Christ. First, of course, the Israelite monarchy, which "in many periods of Christian history ... was invoked as the model for Christian kings and queens". But as Wright points out:

[I]n the Old Testament itself kingship is ambiguous, and hardly supports a triumphalist use.

Instead, the "really formative period for Jewish political thinking" was the Babylonian exile and its aftermath. This is the period "which set the tone for the New Testament", as "Jewish writers from the exile to Jesus and beyond wrestle with the ambiguities of living as God’s people under non-Jewish rule".

Wright singles out two books in particular. First, Daniel, with its stories "of Jews who refuse to compromise with paganism", but who nevertheless are promoted to positions of service within the pagan kingdom:

Jews may face martyrdom (not least because they refuse to privatize their faith), but they are committed to being good citizens even under a regime at best penultimate and at worst blasphemous.

Of course, there comes a time when the true God will judge the pagans, and then God’s people must get out and run. There will come a time when all regimes, including the one within which Daniel is a loyal civil servant, will give way to the kingdom that God will set up, which can never be shaken.

Combining apocalyptic visions of God’s coming kingdom and public service within the present one appears shocking to the Enlightenment mindset. But something like this is what we find in the New Testament and the early church.

The second book highlighted by Wright is the Wisdom of Solomon, which "offers a stern warning to pagan kings and rulers". They have been appointed to their high office by the living God, but will be judged for how they exercise that rule, and therefore need Wisdom ("more or less an alter ego for God himself") to guide them:

This is not the absent God of Enlightenment Deism; it is the wise, guiding, judging, rescuing God of the biblical tradition. This God does not divide the world between right and left, authority and revolution. Both of those are too brightly lit, too unambiguous, to be ultimately useful in guiding our steps in the right paths. Wisdom herself proposes a different way.

In my next post, we can look at how Wright then moves on to look at how the New Testament builds on this Old Testament and intertestamental foundation. But in the meantime, I think that last paragraph gives an important second guiding principle to add to the assertion that "Jesus is Lord, therefore Caesar isn't" (or alternatively, as quoted above, "The Kingdom of this world is become the Kingdom of our God and of his Christ").

That principle is this: we are to be wary of signing up to any prepackaged and self-contained set of political ideas (whether "the package of the Right" or "the package of the Left"). Instead, what is needed is wisdom.

This may sound obvious, but on a personal level I certainly think that in rejecting "the package of the Left", I have at times fallen into the trap of unthinkingly accepting some aspects of the "the package of the Right" just because they are presented as part of a seamless, coherent political philosophy in which it is easy to get swept along, especially if (like me) you're a bit of a sucker for an incisive, entertaining and persuasive writer.

In other words: Jesus is Lord, therefore Mark Steyn isn't.

Labels: christianarchy, jesus is lord so caesar isn't