Law, Coalitions, and Realignment in the Early Digital Age
Evangelicals have an authority problem—and they seem to be going about solving it in all the wrong ways.
There is a marked tendency in nearly all sectors of evangelicalism to put abstract law in place of embodied authority, which is a natural problem in an age of realignment. American Reformer founder and chairman Nate Fischer addressed this point in a post earlier this week: “Too many issues are framed around law (xxx is orthodox vs heterodox/mandatory vs prohibited) rather than authority (‘xxx is not what we’re going to focus on here’).”
At the level of rhetoric, coalitions in the evangelical world tend to police their boundaries by using a set of checklists in place of authority. For some, these heavily revolve around eschatology or a specific method of apologetics. Another group claims that if you think Richard Baxter was a sincere Christian, then you’re heterodox at best, a heretic at worst. Similar reactions emerge if it’s discovered that you believe the Reformers’ political theology has something to teach us today—and was not just a clear rejection of New Testament teaching. Others fly to making moral condemnations of those with controversial stances, expertly avoiding directly addressing their concerns and instead a priori condemning entire lines of argument as un-Christlike.
In any event, whatever the specific point of theology or practice, there’s a clear penchant to appeal to universal laws to do the heavy lifting and easily identify friends from enemies.
While those with cachet with the current managerial system are trying to retain it, those without reputation among the elites are trying to expand their influence. All these tendencies can put up high barriers to entry. And they can also quickly spark division and launch full-scale online wars that move from battle to battle without any resolution.
The problem of authority that’s currently wracking the evangelical world is akin to the state of the political conservatism’s relationship to Donald Trump. Always looking for the next Reagan, conservatives subtly shifted from seeking a man of character with sound political judgment to the person who seemed to have the most pristine, Reaganite principles. In other words, they mistook law for the authority they had actually been looking for all along.
In the evangelical world, which always seems to be 5-10 years behind politics, this problem has yet to be even addressed, much less fixed.
Authority in evangelical legacy institutions has plummeted, especially since 2016. As places such as Christianity Today and Wheaton made a conscious choice to stop serving the Christians they were founded to serve, they’ve mostly been assimilated by the managerial regime. Many evangelical institutions simply cannot deal with the shifting paradigms of our age of realignment. They predictably cave to various cultural movements, trying to reassert their crumbling authority with their new masters by gravitating toward Black Lives Matter and DEI, the 1619 Riots during the summer of 2020, or enforcing Covid rules on behalf of the biomedical security state, to use Aaron Kheriaty’s evocative phrase. Things that were suddenly elevated to “Gospel issues” were suspiciously consistent with the reigning orthodoxies being shouted from every regime sycophant. Law increasingly rules as unaccountable entities laughably attempt to assert a kind of hollow authority—entities whose leadership remains in power no matter their constant failures.
They have undermined themselves by not understanding the times nor the digital medium. They instead try to exert a fabricated type of authority, which can be seen in pastors and online theologians effectively calling online liberal mobs to “discipline” dissidents who they have no churchly authority over.
The evangelical-industrial complex’s recurrence to law absent real authority goes to the heart of the problem. Fischer notes that looking to the law above all “is the same universalizing tendency that turned liberalism from a set of norms into an ideology, and then brought us wokeism.” As abstractions become paramount, a focus on your next-door neighbor shifts to a concern for a Third-World country you’ve never visited, and likely never will. Judgment and prudence, classically understood, are thrown out. Battles that are unresolvable—say, amillennialism versus the latest brand of postmillennialism—become the central focus. As Fischer writes, there is good reason that “intractable division in open digital age forums” is so commonplace today, especially in certain corners of the Reformed world.
It might be easy for some to sit back and point to a lack of fighting in their own tribe as evidence of genuine authority and right opinion. But those who aren’t getting into public battles aren’t necessarily doing the right thing—they could simply be holding the dying embers of authority that the managerial regime has placed in their hands. Their anger and frustration build as many increasingly dismiss their pet theological projects as simply unconnected to the most monumental challenges we face today.
As seems obvious when examining the landscape, law alone will not suffice. In a trenchant post last year at The American Mind, James Poulos remarked, “Particularly in such dangerous and deluded circumstances, one does not simply restore justice and flourishing by seizing control of the Law, no matter how well-intentioned, well-educated, and well-armed. The prideful appetite to relive the mythos of the sacred Lawgiver, whether in a Hellenic or Hebraic key, must be resisted.” Reestablishing authority is the challenge of the digital age, whether we like it or not.
In order to course correct, Fischer first recommends that we need to “acknowledge the good of authority.” Authority must be embodied in men with judgment who can gather and direct Christian institutions and coalitions. Of course, such Christians should have solid theology—but agreement on each and every particular point of doctrine should not be a barrier to entry. This isn’t to say we should go back to the lowest common denominator, generic “coalition” evangelicalism of the past. Instead, we should agree on a pan-Protestant theology that majors on key doctrines and historic ways of life our forefathers practiced, of course modified for 21st-century life in America.
Next, Fischer recommends exercising authority “within domains where we actually have authority.” This means being grounded in local communities, where like-minded Christians can build together. Men with authority should understand their localities and what they need—their rhetoric shouldn’t sound like a generic message that could be applicable anywhere, as in failing political campaigns or a utopian dream that has no connection with a specific people and place.
Acknowledging a proper hierarchy featuring those at the top who can lead with character and real accomplishments in the physical world is key. Staying in the digital space alone will not deliver the needed results. The digital must be an outgrowth of the physical world; it must be the handmaiden of the analog. At the very least, physical meetups, where planning, discussions, and friendly competition can take place, will be increasingly important in the years ahead, especially if the regime strikes back if Trump is unsuccessful in his efforts.
The last key point Fischer brings up lies in framing most arguments outside these domains of localized authority in “prudential terms, making the case for why something is helpful or unhelpful rather than mandatory or anathema.” Embodied authorities should know what to target and what to avoid, when to strike and when to fall back. A plan of simply trying to maximally offend the regime’s pieties is counterproductive. Means and ends should be given their proper weight, and some battles that seem important today are just quicksand, engulfing you despite repeated attempts to claw your way out.
The challenges of grappling with the digital age are immense, but Christians need to deal with these weighty problems if they want to reach their goal of once again leading their communities—and the nation.
Image: Washington Before Yorktown, Rembrandt Peale, 1824.
However, laws, like The Constitution, define how much authority people in office can assume. And that is where Trump becomes frustrated. He wants more authority than what is granted to him by The Constitution.
In addition, there is are valid uses of authority and invalid ones. To use authority as a way to satisfy one’s appetite for power and wealth is a misuse of authority. To measure outcomes by how rich one can become without looking at the injustices and sufferings one visits on others is part of the evil that arises from the love of money.
We need a more balanced look at authority than one is afforded by the above article.
“And that is where Trump becomes frustrated. He wants more authority than what is granted to him by The Constitution.”
How do you know he’s frustrated by the Constitutional bounds of his office? What evidence is there to make that accusation? I see an elected executive operating fully within the bounds of the Constitutional role of the Executive Branch, using that power to claw back the bureaucratic overreach of previous executives.
Jordan,
Let’s quote of his and see if that is an indicator:
‘He who saves his country does not violate any law‘
What does that quote imply about how Trump sees himself. It’s obvious that Trump can violate The Constitution. In fact, he already has.
Of course, we could also quote Vance if you would like.