Written by Ben C. Dunson |
Monday, September 25, 2023
One reason Rufo’s book is so helpful is that it collects information that otherwise is so scattered as to make it hard to get a good, overall picture of the radical changes taking place in American society. By doing so it shows average Americans that they’re not crazy. Things really are headed off the rails in many ways. Rufo provides copious amounts of documentation for the claims he makes. Rufo’s history is a clear, engaging, and enlightening history of the cultural revolution unleashed on America by radical leftist activists over the last half-century.

Apocalyptic Floydianism
George Floyd’s death was an apocalypse.
It was an apocalypse, not in the sense of “chaos” (though there was plenty of that), but in the real meaning of the word: it was a revelation.
Despite the lawlessness, violence, and anarchy that was unleashed by Floyd’s death, America did not fundamentally change on that day. What had been there under the surface for quite some time, however, was revealed in all of its ferocious malice. May 25th, 2020 was, as it were, the storming of the Bastille of the American left’s cultural revolution. It is a revolution still underway, though there are some encouraging signs that a counter-revolution has begun.
America’s Cultural Revolution by Christopher Rufo tells the story of how America arrived where it is today. In short, it is an exposé of the ideologies that were steadily gaining ground for many decades prior to the Floydian Apocalypse.
It is often difficult to realize how much one’s culture and nation have been altered when you are living through the change. The transformation doesn’t happen all at once; our memories fail us regarding last year’s news, and we tend to become desensitized as we are forced to live with the “new normal.” Many Americans are probably no longer shocked that police in major U.S. cities will not even attempt to stop thefts in the range of $700-800, that self-defense against violent crime is increasingly likely itself to be punished (while those perpetuating the crimes get off lightly), that vast crime- and drug-infested tent cities of the homeless have taken over urban centers, and so on.
But then you look back ten or twenty years and it all becomes blindingly obvious: America is a fundamentally different nation than it once was. Rufo begins his book with a striking example. Angela Davis, a figure now nearly universally lauded in mainstream academia and the press, was in the 1970s the darling of Soviet Russia. On a 1972 publicity tour of the Soviet Union, Davis, as Rufo recounts, “praised her hosts for their treatment of minorities and denounced the United States for its oppression of ‘political prisoners’” (1). When approached by a group of Czech dissidents who were struggling against the Soviet regime with a plea to publicize their plight, “Davis responded with ice: ‘They deserve what they get. Let them remain in prison’” (1). In the 1970s such unabashed sympathy with Soviet oppression, while popular in radical enclaves, remained on the fringes of mainstream society. It is on the fringes no more:
After the death of George Floyd . . . All of a sudden the old Angela Davis narrative appeared everywhere: America was an irredeemably racist nation; whites constituted a permanent oppressor class; the country could be saved only through the performance of elaborate guilt rituals and the wholesale overturning of its founding principles. (2)
Rufo’s book is an attempt to explain how this great reversal came about.
Viva La Revolución
America’s Cultural Revolution is divided into four parts: first, a history of the cultural revolution; then a separate section on the outworking of the revolution in the areas of race, education, and power (by which Rufo is referring to the undermining of America’s founding political order through the implementation of CRT, DEI programs, and the like). At the head of each section is a biographical sketch of founding figures in the cultural revolution: Herbert Marcuse, Angela Davis, Paulo Freire, and Derrick Bell, names that will be known to those who are familiar with the various offshoots of critical theory, but that will be less well known to many. And yet, as the saying goes, ideas have consequences, even the ideas of seemingly obscure and irrelevant academics tucked away in the dark nooks of musty university libraries. The ideas of these four have fundamentally altered nearly every aspect of modern American life. The success of the “long march through the institutions” of thinkers inspired by such ideas has been staggering. However, “the capture of America’s institutions was so gradual and bureaucratic, it largely escaped the notice of the American public, until it burst into consciousness following the death of George Floyd” (4).
Rufo’s narrative framing makes the ideological movements he describes easier to understand than a densely argued philosophical critique. Though he certainly delves into the content of these ideologies he never gets bogged down in overly technical or academic language. Some will inevitably fault him for this, but he is very clear that his book is not an academic exercise for the purpose of nuanced conversation. It is, instead, a powerful warning and a call to action. In Rufo’s adept telling of the story, it is easy to follow how all of these radical ideas have come to infect our society, and it is easy to see how devastating they are.
Put differently, the narrative approach makes it easier for non-academics to understand the origins of the complex ideas of the radical left and how they have led us to the present moment. Reading Rufo we can see that radical assaults on America’s past are not attempts to be honest about the messiness of history, or the fallenness of man, but are in fact attempts to undermine, scorn, and reject the entirety of the American project (apart from the ideology, stories, and heroes of the radical left). Today’s radicals will not be content until they have remade America wholly in their own image. Thus, founding figures in our history–whether Jonathan Edwards, John Witherspoon, George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, or Abraham Lincoln–all must go. We must tear down their statues, we must rename buildings named in their honor, we must erase them from our cultural memory. Consider how they talk about Rufo himself: He is a “shrill ideological bully” who engages in “militant fascist rhetoric” as part of a “reactionary impulse bent on the radical transformation — if not the outright destruction — of America’s leading institutions.” All of this is written about someone whose stated goal is merely to return America to the founding philosophy embodied in the Declaration of Independence and Constitution. The goal of radical leftists is not nuanced historical understanding. It is total control of all levers of power, with no dissent allowed.
In a short review only the briefest of outlines can be sketched as to the detailed historical information Rufo highlights. He begins his story with Herbert Marcuse, whom he calls the “Father of the Revolution.” Marcuse’s chief insight was that class-based efforts at overturning the “bourgeois order” had failed in Western nations (especially America) due to the fact that the working class in a society that allows for upward mobility almost always remain socially and economically conservative. Absent the restrictions of feudalism or absolutist monarchies the working class would rather rise up to greater levels of wealth and social prestige than burn the system down. Marcuse, therefore, realized that the key to social revolution was convincing other groups to fight against the supposedly oppressive conditions holding them down. Race became the key at first, though other “categories of oppression” were eventually added (gender, sexual orientation, etc.). If you can convince someone with an immutable characteristic (skin color, for example) that he can be nothing other than the target of societal oppression then you are well on your way to creating the conditions of permanent revolution.
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Written by Ben C. Dunson |
Tuesday, July 25, 2023
When Jesus refers to the kingdom of God he is referring to the final form of God’s kingdom, which is the saving kingdom that he ushers into the world through his perfect life, atoning death, and glorious resurrection. That is to say: Jesus is not referring with the phrase “kingdom of God” to God’s universal kingship over all things in a generic sense, but to the kingdom that will be manifest in the salvation he accomplishes and then pours out on his people. It is a “spiritual” kingdom, though it has profound implications for how its citizens live in this world.

A Wall of Separation
Thomas Jefferson famously wrote in an 1802 letter to the Danbury Baptist Association that the First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution prohibiting the Federal government from making any laws “respecting an establishment of religion” meant that there was, and must be in America, an absolute “wall of separation between Church & State.”
Although Jefferson was only referring to establishment on the Federal level, which is indeed prohibited in the First Amendment, his phrase has come to represent for many Americans something much more expansive. It has, in fact, become a commonplace to indicate that the State can have nothing whatsoever to do with God or even the basic moral truths found in the Bible. Such an understanding has become predominant even among many Christians. But is it correct?
Separating church and state is extremely important. It is thoroughly biblical to do so, and the best thinkers in the Christian tradition have recognized the importance of doing so, although in a way very different from the modern conception of Jefferson’s wall of separation. There is a sense in which church and state must be absolutely separate and a sense in which they cannot be thought of separately at all. Each has its own unique realm of authority that must be preserved from unwarranted intrusion from the other, while neither can be sealed off completely from the other.
However, to adequately address the relationship between church and state we have to back up. The broader historical-theological concept into which the discussion of church and state falls is that of God’s “two kingdoms.” At its most basic level, the classic Protestant two kingdoms doctrine means that God rules over his spiritual kingdom, the church, in one way, and rules over the world outside the church in a different way. This is sometimes taken (wrongly) almost as if God doesn’t rule over the world outside the church at all, but it should not be understood in that way.
In this article I will introduce the doctrine of God’s two kingdoms, and then I will more briefly focus on how this idea illuminates the relationship between church and state. I’ll also explain some key biblical texts that deal with these difficult (and often fraught) relationships. The goal is to help Christians understand the divine purposes for each realm.
Defining the Two Kingdoms
As Brad Littlejohn puts it, for classical Protestant thinkers: “The two kingdoms were not two institutions or even two domains of the world, but two ways in which the kingship of Christ made itself felt in the life of each and every believer.” Referring to Christ’s comprehensive reign over all things Abraham Kuyper famously wrote that “there is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human existence over which Christ, who is Sovereign over all, does not cry: ‘Mine!’” All fine and good, but what does this mean precisely? For example, if Jesus is king over all things should church and state be merged, with the officers of the church ruling the state as well? Should the state rule over the church? Is there another way that such realms should be related? The classic Protestant doctrine of the two kingdoms helps answer these very questions.
This is not an exhaustive historical survey, so I’ll simply quote from John Calvin to illustrate this historical strand of thought:
The former [the spiritual government] has its seat within the soul, the latter [the temporal government] only regulates the external conduct. We may call the one the spiritual, the other the civil kingdom. Now, these two, as we have divided them, are always to be viewed apart from each other. When the one is considered, we should call off our minds, and not allow them to think of the other. For there exists in man a kind of two worlds, over which different kings and different laws can preside . . . . The question . . . though not very obscure, or perplexing in itself, occasions difficulty to many, because they do not distinguish with sufficient accuracy between what is called the external forum, and the forum of conscience.
Though it is sometimes mistakenly taken as such, Calvin’s point (which is representative of classic Protestant thinking on the whole) is not that there is one realm in which Christ rules (the spiritual realm) and another with which he has nothing to do (a non-spiritual realm), but rather that the Christian always lives simultaneously in both worlds. And it is also the case that Christ rules over both worlds, though his rule looks different according to the specific nature of each realm (for the sake of clarity and consistency I will refer to the “spiritual” and “external” kingdoms in the rest of this article).
Christ rules over the spiritual realm, or kingdom, by his word. In this kingdom the consciences of believers may only be bound insofar as Scripture itself binds them, and the focus of this kingdom is eternal salvation and the spiritual well-being of the saints. The spiritual kingdom is the sum total of believers and their children.
Does this mean the external realm, or kingdom, is a moral free for all? Not at all. Christ also rules over that realm, although in a fundamentally different way. The charter of the external kingdom is not the Bible (strictly speaking) though the Bible informs life in the civil kingdom. The charter for the external kingdom is derived in different ways from the imprint of God’s law in nature, the human conscience, the voice of tradition, human law and history, and more.
Properly separating the spiritual kingdom from the external kingdom that encompasses everything outside of the spiritual is vital. The spiritual kingdom, God’s saving work in the lives of his people, must be distinguished from everything earthly and temporal. Distinguishing, however, is not the same thing as radically separating or divorcing. My leaf blower’s engine requires a precise blend of oil and gasoline to operate. Oil is not gasoline; they are distinguished. But my engine will not run without both; they cannot be radically separated. The same is true of God’s two kingdoms.
The Two Kingdoms in Scripture
So far I’ve only been giving definitions and explanations. Now we must turn to Scripture. The focus in this section will be on a variety of texts that show us the distinction between God’s two kingdoms.
The Spiritual Kingdom
God is king over all things. Of this there is no dispute: “The Lord is king forever and ever; the nations perish from his land” (Ps 10:16); “For God is the King of all the earth; sing praises with a psalm” (Ps 47:7)!
In Jesus’s earthly ministry he also proclaims his Father’s dominion over all things, for example, teaching his disciples to pray for God’s kingdom to come, and his will be done, on earth as it is in heaven (Matt 6:10). But something unique and vital is introduced into Christ’s preaching of God’s kingdom.
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Written by Ben C. Dunson |
Friday, July 21, 2023
Four unique ways in which Proverbs provides wisdom for political rule: 1) the way in which good government–contrary to the liberal dream of moral neutrality–is wise government, 2) the nature of true social justice, 3) the nature of a virtuous, healthy nation and what is necessary to maintain it, and 4) the necessary moral competency of rulers at all levels of government.

Yoram Hazony has risen to prominence as a political philosopher and commentator. My first encounter with him, however, was through his book God and Politics in Esther, which is a fascinating reading of the biblical book of Esther. Most Christian interpretations of Esther (that I am familiar with anyway) would see the central theme of the book as God’s hidden providence: God’s name does not appear, and yet the circumstances that lead to Esther’s triumph over the enemies of God’s people are nothing short of miraculous.
Hazony, however, takes a very different approach. He contends that Esther seems
to bypass issues of theology and religious observance to cope with the more burning issue of the actual physical survival of the Jews. For this reason, the book of Esther deals first and foremost with the problem of a Jewish politics in exile: how the Jews, deprived of every sovereign institution of power, may nevertheless participate in, and in the last resort make use of, the authority of an alien government to ensure their own vital interests, and in this case their lives. Esther offers its readers a choice between two antithetical conditions – the one being a nightmare of impotence . . . and the other, in which Mordechai the Jew rises to a position of great power with the ability to act in defense of the Jews . . . The nature of this utterly political choice – and how it is to be made in practice – is the principal concern and teaching of the book of Esther. (p. 3)
I think the hidden providence of God is a more important theme in Esther than Hazony does. However, his approach to the book sparked my interest and got me wondering what it might look like to study other books of the Bible to see what could be gleaned from them regarding political action.
In this article, I will focus on Proverbs. I do this because Proverbs often explicitly addresses what we would today call politics: many of its aphorisms are unambiguously about what governing officials should be like and how they must rule. In doing so it addresses politics at its most basic and fundamental level.
This may initially strike readers as a strange thing to say. More often than not Proverbs is read by Christians as a series of isolated wisdom statements meant to illuminate the path of their own personal piety. The book is read, in other words, individualistically.
The opening verses of the book (1:1–2), however, point us in a very different direction:
The proverbs of Solomon, son of David, king of Israel: To know wisdom and instruction, to understand words of insight, to receive instruction in wise dealing, in righteousness, justice, and equity . . . .
Two things stand out: Proverbs is written by a political officer (the king) and is about much more than personal piety: it is about wise governance, righteousness, justice, and equity. These are the fundamental issues of government, thus, of politics. This is not to say that Proverbs isn’t relevant for one’s personal spirituality; it certainly is, but its opening framing points in a different direction, the direction of political order.
This focus is consistent throughout the book (a few examples will suffice):
Proverbs 16:12: “It is an abomination to kings to do evil, for the throne is established by righteousness.”
Proverbs 25:2: “It is the glory of God to conceal things, but the glory of kings is to search things out.”
Proverbs 29:12: “If a ruler listens to falsehood, all his officials will be wicked.”
These are the central realities of statecraft: how kings are to rule and the consequences that follow if they rule either well or badly.
In this article I will focus on four unique ways in which Proverbs provides wisdom for political rule: 1) the way in which good government–contrary to the liberal dream of moral neutrality–is wise government, 2) the nature of true social justice, 3) the nature of a virtuous, healthy nation and what is necessary to maintain it, and 4) the necessary moral competency of rulers at all levels of government.
Good Government is Wise Government
John Stuart Mill famously built his theory of liberal political order on the notion that the state should stay out of the business of arbitrating competing moral visions: “Mankind are greater gainers by suffering each other to live as seems good to themselves, than by compelling each to live as seems good to the rest” (On Liberty [Hackett, 1978], p. 12). What “gains the most” for mankind should be the sole business of the state, ensuring that no moral or religious system be imposed on anyone who does not adhere to it personally. Many, if not most, people living in democratic states today would agree, or at least claim to agree. “At the heart of liberty,” Supreme Court Justice Anthony Kennedy wrote in Planned Parenthood v. Casey, “is the right to define one’s own concept of existence, of meaning, of the universe, and of the mystery of human life.” The state, we are told, is to stay out of moral matters. Those are for the individual to decide in whatever way the zer/ze/zim decides. I’m under no illusion that tolerant liberals are indeed as tolerant as they claim to be (“bake the cake, bigot”), but governmental tolerance of any and every morality is what most claim they support.
Proverbs will have none of that. Good government, Proverbs 8:15–16, says, is founded on true wisdom: “By me kings reign, and rulers decree what is just; by me princes rule, and nobles, all who govern justly.” There is no such thing as a morally neutral government. A ruler either rules wisely, which will lead to just laws, or he rules unwisely, which leads to the flourishing of wickedness and injustice.
Rulers, Proverbs 20:8 tells us, are obligated to rule in favor of what is just and true: “A king who sits on the throne of judgment winnows all evil with his eyes.” The apostle Paul agrees (Romans 13:4): “For [the governing authority] is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer.” “A wise king winnows the wicked and drives the wheel over them” (Proverbs 20:26). The civil magistrate who would fain neutrality regarding good and evil is the epitome of foolishness and wickedness. A ruler is to bring down the wicked. The opposite is not blessed neutrality, but societal devastation and destruction: “Like a roaring lion or a charging bear is a wicked ruler over a poor people.
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Written by Ben C. Dunson |
Friday, July 14, 2023
Pursuing faithful political order and rule, using the power of the state to do good, as has been recognized by Christians throughout the ages, is a good and noble vocation. But Christian political action is also not presumptuous. It is realistic about what can be accomplished in this fallen, evil age, an age in which God has not promised ultimate victory, even as it is optimistic because it entrusts itself to a God who in his infinite wisdom sovereignly rules human history.

Man was made to order and rule over the world that God made. Although there is a unique (and theologically important) sense in which this was true of Adam, it is inherent in the image of God and continues to be the case even after the Fall.
Nonetheless, Adam’s fall into sin has radically changed everything. Although the vocation remains (order and rule), it can no longer be carried out in the same way as would have been the case had Adam not sinned. What, then, has the Fall done?
A classic principle of Christian theology, one that has been invoked often with regard to Christian political action, is this: grace does not destroy but restores nature. This means that certain aspects of how God made the world do not cease to be operative simply because sin has twisted and deformed those institutions. This would include things like the goodness of marriage and childbearing, as well as the goodness of labor and work. With regard to political order it means that although the Fall has created difficulties with regard to the human vocation of ordering and ruling the world, it has not destroyed the possibility of doing so. Governance is not—even in light of the Fall—a sub-Christian concern, or contrary to human virtue. Man still maintains the capability and responsibility to order and rule the world.
Sin, however, has made this much more difficult. There is now an enmity between those who belong to Satan and those who belong to God (Gen 3:15). This enmity will manifest itself in the world until the coming of Christ when he will return and put every enemy under his feet (1 Cor 15:24–25). The entire created order, political rule included, has been “subjected to futility” and exists in a state of “bondage to corruption” (Rom 8:20–21). Fallen mankind “became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened” (Rom 1:21). “Claiming to be wise, they became fools, and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images resembling mortal man and birds and animals and creeping things” (Rom 1:22–23). Sin has infected everything, the ability to rule well, even the ability to think properly about ruling well.
Had Adam not sinned, faithfully ordering and ruling the world as he was meant to do would not only have been possible, it would have been a joy. With the entrance of sin into the world, the vocation remains, though twisted and distorted by the Fall. Order must now overcome disorder, rule must include governance, but also punishment, and so on.
This does not mean that political order and rule is worthless, nor that much good cannot be done through it, but it does mean that there should be a Christian “eschatological reserve” wherein we recognize that the good we can do this side of Christ’s return is limited. Our political philosophizing must reflect these limitations.
Put simply and succinctly, Christian political action in a fallen world can be defined according to a simple maxim (to be expanded in subsequent articles): Do the good you can, where you are.1
The antithesis between the divine and satanic seeds will not be overcome in this age; the fullness of the kingdom of God will not be manifest until the last day. But God has revealed, both in his word, and in the various facets of the created order, what man’s vocation in the world is, and how that vocation should be carried out. That vocation includes ordering and ruling over the world and its people, in the unique tribes, tongues, and nations that God has established. Nothing about the Fall negates this vocation and responsibility.
While some Christians reject political power as too tainted by the Fall, there is also a temptation for Christians to reject the kind of limited and circumspect approach to politics I’ve begun outlining in this article. This temptation can take many forms, from utopianism to despair and defeatism regarding our present political condition. The latter can even be combined—as strange as it might seem—with hope in some form of nearly miraculous intervention that will usher in a sudden transformation of a given political order. In this way of thinking doing the limited good you can, where you are, just props up a tottering, evil regime. Better to let it all burn and hope an unexpected deliverer will arise to set things right.
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Written by Ben C. Dunson |
Tuesday, May 23, 2023
Claiming that religion can have no part in public discourse, in government, in law, etc., is not a neutral stance regarding religion. It is an overtly hostile and antithetical stance whatever its claims about tolerance; it is hostile to God and therefore to most of what is good, true, and just in the world. 

The Blessings of Cultural Christianity?
I am the beneficiary of cultural Christianity. I didn’t grow up in a genuinely Christian home, though I did attend (very) liberal United Methodist churches beginning in elementary school. These churches did not believe the Bible was true, did not believe in the supernatural events of Scripture, nor the moral teaching of God’s word.
And yet Christianity was the very air I breathed all through my childhood and teenage years. I spent most of my childhood in a small town in northern Oklahoma. In the 1980s the influence of Christianity was all pervasive in such a place. I still remember the assembly at my local public elementary school in which the principal, with no hesitation at all, nor fear that his words would endanger his position, stated unequivocally that our country was under God’s judgment. Christian culture was so pervasive that no one batted an eye.
When I moved to West Texas in the early 1990s I simply moved from one culturally Christian milieu to another. While the liberal Methodist church I attended there continued to teach the same tepid moralism devoid of the saving work of Christ, I was largely uninfluenced by it. Having spent my whole life in strongly culturally Christian places the thought never even crossed my mind that the Bible could be anything other than 100% true. I had never really even read the Bible. And yet the influence of the culture in which I lived was such that despite the Methodists’ best efforts I never for a second doubted that the Bible was true.
I wasn’t converted until my freshman year in college in the late 1990s, around the time my parents also began to take Christianity seriously. Cultural Christianity paved the way. Having not read the Bible much at all growing up I was shocked when, in a bout of homesickness my freshman year, I picked up my Bible and began reading the apostle Paul’s letter to the Romans. Imagine my surprise, having only ever known liberal Methodist churches, when I encountered Paul’s words about human sin and rebellion against God:
For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men, who by their unrighteousness suppress the truth.—Romans 1:18
…we have already charged that all, both Jews and Greeks, are under sin.—Romans 3:9
…for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God…—Romans 3:23
And then my joy in reading those wonderfully words which follow:
…and are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as a propitiation by his blood, to be received by faith.—Romans 3:24-25
When I read all of this I simply believe d it. It was in the Bible after all, so I assumed it had to be true.
Had I not grown up in the culturally Christian world I did this would not have happened. Could God have saved me anyway? Of course. But does that make the blessing of having grown up in the world I did any less real? Would the same thing have happened, even been possible, if I had grown up as a Muslim in a Muslim nation? Or in a modern radically secular state in Western Europe? God is sovereign, he saves as he pleases, but I am thankful to this day for the way in which my path was prepared for years prior to my own conversion.
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Written by Ben C. Dunson |
Friday, May 19, 2023
Politics is just as self-evidently important from a biblical perspective as it is the case that the Bible is not a detailed manual for political action. If the Bible speaks to living together with others in society (which it does) it speaks to politics.

The Bible is not a political manual, which is obvious on a moment’s reflection. Many Christians—including influential pastors and scholars—emphasize this today. They are not wrong to do so in the abstract, although there are two fundamentally divergent paths that are usually taken once this platitude leaves one’s lips. Some say (or at least live as if it is true) that because the Bible is not a political handbook Christians should not get involved in politics; their lives should be about spiritual things.
Others, although agreeing that the Bible wasn’t written to give us a detailed blueprint for political action today, go in a completely different direction: Christians should indeed care about politics because the state is an important divine institution in the world. Recognizing that the Bible isn’t written to provide detailed instructions for things like precise tax rates, exact immigration quotas, percentage of GDP to be spent on infrastructure, military strategy, and so on, they turn instead to arguments from natural law, the voice of conscience, and even simple observations about governance derived through trial and error over many centuries.
I am firmly in this latter group. And yet I still recognize that the Bible has much to say about the state, which God created for the good of humanity. Scripture does this in a variety of ways. In the next article I will work through what I take to be the building blocks of a Christian approach to politics. I’ll do so by looking at God’s purposes for the world as seen in the opening chapters of Genesis, where we encounter man’s divine mandate to rule over the world God made.
But for now we must begin with a definition of politics. I take mine from the great seventeenth century Protestant political theorist Johannes Althusius (Politica 1.1-3):
Politics is the art of associating men for the purpose of establishing, cultivating, and conserving social life among them. Whence it is called ‘symbiotics.’ The subject matter of politics is therefore association, in which the symbiotes (= “people who live together”), pledge themselves each to the other, by explicit or tacit agreement, to mutual communication of whatever is useful and necessary for the harmonious exercise of social life. The end of political ‘symbiotic’ man is holy, just, comfortable, and happy symbiosis (= “living together”), a life lacking nothing either necessary or useful.
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