Beliefnet‘s “Blogalogue” on “Evangelicals in Power” continues

By Jeff Sharlet

Revealer contributor Patton Dodd, now an editor at Beliefnet, is hosting a roundtable based on the the premise that evangelicals have indisputably joined America’s power elite. Beliefnet‘s question, then, is straightforward: “Are powerful evangelicals good news or bad news for America?”

The first response came from Hanna Rosin, author of a new book about Patrick Henry College, the school for Christian conservative homeschoolers, called God’s Harvard. According to Hanna, evangelicals are now part of the establishment. As far as she’s concerned, that in itself is neither here nor there. “Political disagreements are great,” she writes. “Healthy for a democracy, fun for a journalist. But not when those disagreements are loaded with the weight of sin and evil.” Read the rest of Hanna’s response here.

In my first response, I argued for sin and evil. Well, the language of sin and evil, anyway, which, depending on how it’s used — as a weapon of dissent — may be evangelicalism’s signal contribution to healthy democracy.

Jerry B. Jenkins, co-author of the mega-bestselling apocalyptic Left Behind novels chimed in to say that evangelicals should be nice. D. Michael Lindsay, a Rice University sociologist who’s just published a study called Faith in the Halls of Power, argued that evangelicals are too fragmented. to exert real power. “Even if evangelicals wanted a ‘messianic empire,’ [my phrase] the ship of state is too difficult to turn around.
Institutional inertia keeps evangelicals from radically transforming the culture.”

At which point David Kuo, a former Bush faith-based insider who’s author of a fascinating confessional about “political seduction” called Tempting Faith posed a question for each of us. Mine: “Jeff – What would it take for you to be less forlorn about evangelical attempts to form/shape/manipulate/dominate the political/cultural scene? And/or, what sort of engagement could you welcome?”

My answer, cross-posted from Beliefnet, follows:

I can’t help but admire David’s determination to make “evangelical” something other than a political term. David wants to be part of a real movement, one for which politics is no more than one front among many. The good news for David is that he is — contemporary American evangelicalism is probably changing more lives at very intimate levels than it is through public policy. But then, politics, in the broad sense, is about more than policy, more than Washington — more, even, than elections. Modern evangelicalism is a cultural politics.

There’s no better illustration of that than Jerry’s novels. This is literature, of course, but it’s also very political. It shapes the way readers think about what society is and what their role in it is, and ought to be. Sometimes in unexpected ways — I don’t imagine that Jerry or his co-author thought that when they wrote about the tongues of unbelievers exploding in “Glorious Awakening” that that passage would end up serving as a sort of reverse rallying call for leftists who’d perceive it as, um, violent and hateful. (Sorry, Jerry, but I think they have a point.)

But, with respect to both David and Jerry, that kind of thing isn’t any closer to what David wants evangelicalism to be (I write this based on his book, “Tempting Faith,” and a long conversation with him a little while ago) than are the bullies at the Family Research Council. Jerry and David both speak of servanthood, but I have to draw a distinction between their definitions of that term, as understood out here by one of the poor unbelievers presumably in need of service. Jerry’s fiction presents “service” as a my-way-or-the-highway (to Hell) kinda deal. In his personal life, I gather, he’s more interested in simple helping, soup kitchens and the like. Great. But that only goes so far. David, meanwhile, thinks of service systemically — which puts him at odds not only with most American evangelicals, but with the history of American evangelicalism, which has long defined itself as an alternative to systemic critiques.

Or, at least, since 1942, when the National Association of Evangelicals formed with three big goals: to replace the term “fundamentalist” with “evangelical”; to present a spiritual/social alternative to the big left/right systems of that day (not just socialism and fascism, bu what the NAE called the “real dangers” represented by F.D.R.); and to unite believers of many varieties so that together they’d have a stronger voice in Washington.

Of course, “evangelical” was a political term before that. It was certainly political when applied to Charles Finney, the key figure of America’s Second Great Awakening. And it was political when applied to abolitionists, among whose ranks we must count John Brown, the most God-led social reformer in American history, God bless him. No one called MLK an evangelical (not then, anyway; today, far right evangelicals try to claim him as an ancestor), but they could have. I happen to like these guys, even Finney, despite the way he shilled for big business.

Which brings me to my answer to David’s question: “Jeff – What would it take for you to be less forlorn about evangelical attempts to form/shape/manipulate/dominate the political/cultural scene? And/or, what sort of engagement could you welcome?” It would take evangelicals like those. Not at the leadership level — I’m with Ella Baker, who famously declared that “Strong people don’t need strong leaders” — but in everyday life. Not everyone can be an MLK, but everyone can aspire to that clarity of vision combined with his understanding of the endless complexity of morality. Evangelicals are strong on what they think of as clarity, not so good on complexity.

I’d be a lot less forlorn if evangelicals joined the rest of us in the world (they can still say they’re not of it) and acknowledge that they have political ambitions, and that that’s ok. Power, in itself, is not a sin, it’s a fact. But power that claims to be humble is usually sinful, and it’s always a lie. Senator John Thune is a “servant-leader”? That’s like the foreman of the factory insisting that he’s just like a worker. He’s not; he shouldn’t pretend to be.

So, step one: Evangelicals, when gathered as a movement, should be open with themselves and the rest of us about what they want. And — this is key — what they already have. The most sickening aspect of evangelical political discourse is the cry of victimization. Not here, not in this country, not compared to the lot of any number of other groups of people. Evangelicals need to be open about the fact that they want power, and the fact that they already have it.

Then what? What sort of engagement might people like me welcome? Well, we’re already seeing that, aren’t we? I’m thinking of global warming. But here, again, I think we need to recognize the real differences between us — the ways in which evangelicalism is inherently political. I’m glad evangelicals are out front on getting the public to really face the problem of global warming. But I foresee a split down the road, since evangelicalism — unless it’s going to undertake a huge theological shift — is in no position to embrace the kind of deliberately systemic response a problem as big as global warming demands. Personal relationships aren’t going to do it; and “free market” economics sure as hell aren’t going to help. So far, that’s mainly what we’ve heard.

But, as I write above, there are these odd ducks like David who’re thinking in evangelical terms and systematic terms. So — with the caveat that David and I are probably miles apart on most issues — let him lead the way. His book, “Tempting Faith,” is a great example. I disagree with much of it, and even more of its underlying assumptions, but it does everything I’ve asked for. In it, David acknowledges the desire for power, the necessity of power, and the possession of power. And it condemns the humility rhetoric that so often serves as a veil for lack of systemic action. David wants to see things change, he wants to use power to make those changes, and he knows that has to happen on a scale bigger than soup kitchens. Me, I welcome engagement like David’s. He’s an evangelical I can really disagree with, and I mean that in the best sense.

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Follow ups: Jerry Jenkins writes that he did expect people to get upset about his contention that non-evangelicals will suffer exploding tongues and melting skin when Jesus returns. He says Jesus has already tried everything else to get our attention. I don’t know — maybe he could send an email warning before he blows up my tongue?

More productively, Hanna Rosin poses a whole new set of questions worth considering, under the umbrella of “Are Evangelicals Moving Forward or Backward?”