Politics as Prudential and the Texas Abortion Law

I have spent the last decade arguing in public that:

a) politics is not ultimate
b) Politics is an essential forum in which Christians can love their neighbor
c) politics is prudential
d) Christianity offers essential resources to our politics
e) Christians ought to be very careful about making political decisions matters of faithfulness in and of themselves.

One pushback I’ll often receive on point e, particularly when I’m speaking with evangelicals, is something like: well, I can see how that is true when it comes to issues where the Bible is not clear, like tax cuts, but surely you can’t be a real Christian and not oppose abortion.

My response has generally been to say that even if we were to accept that political opposition to abortion is intrinsic to being a Christian (reminder: I am pro-life), in the realm of politics there is really no such thing as theoretical opposition to abortion, just as there is no such thing, really, as theoretical opposition to war or immigration or regulation.

One reason our politics is so toxic is that our discourse operates on the level of the theoretical, when politics, the art of governance, really has little use for the theoretical detached from the practical. That is, when we come to politics, we should have our ideal and our ideals in mind, but our ideal and ideals don’t do all the work for us once we’re talking about what we must actually do.

I really want to dig in here. Our political rhetoric is binary and streamlined. Particular policy instruments are abstracted into personifications of an ideal, but policy instruments are never abstract. But to acknowledge nuance, to acknowledge that one might fully support an end, but disagree on the means—and that the means are worth arguing about even if the end is shared—would be to make things quite inefficient for those in power.

One of the clearest, easiest ways to see how this works is to simply pay attention to how legislation is named. Legislation is often not named for the instrument that is being used, but on the end that is being pursued. Support equality? Then you should obviously support the Equality Act. If you don’t support the Equality Act, you must oppose equality. Support families? Then you support the American Family Act. If you don’t support the American Family Act, you must oppose American families. This is not always necessarily nefarious, but it does tend to beg the question. Is this approach really the best way to advance equality? Is this approach the best way to support families? We have a politics of gestures and symbolism, but the work of politics happens in the particularities, the nuance, the concrete.

And so to take it back to the conversations I often have at my events: while it may be wise to advance that Christianity advances certain public truths, and sets forth ideas or understandings that ought to inform our politics, we should be careful before we baptize specific policy instruments. Indeed, we should be careful that our pronouncement in favor of certain policy goals is not taken to imply an endorsement of specific policy measures in pursuit of those goals.

The Texas abortion bill is illustrative of the point. Whatever one thinks of its supporters’ stated goals, the novelty of its approach helps make clear that there are many possible routes to achieving such a goal. It is when the concrete is introduced that all of a sudden what was previously discussed in theory as a binary (“I support pro-life legislation”), is now nuanced. Perhaps, though, we can remember that the work of translating transcendent ideals into public policy is an imperfect art at the outset of our debates, and allow that to inform how we proceed.

Let’s remember this lesson moving forward: when it comes to the issue of abortion, but also every other political issue. I recently wrote about Afghanistan, which is another one of those policy decisions that people have been eager to make abstract and theoretical without tending to the fact that real decisions were being made and real decisions had to be made within a particular set of circumstances.

When we try to hang the ultimate on the penultimate, when we try to turn the prudential into articles of dogma, we place a burden on objects which they cannot bear. We cannot bear it. Because here’s the thing: prudential decisions often work out in unpredictable ways. And if we are responsible, in an ultimate sense, in the sense of being faithful or unfaithful, for the outcomes of our every political action and leaning, then we will be utterly paralyzed (which will then welcome condemnation for our paralysis).

Again, the Texas bill helps prove the point. I don’t know how the politics of this will play out, but it is certainly possible that the “aggressive” action of Texas stokes a backlash that actually sets back the pro-life cause in the state and in the country. This Congress did not have the incentive to pass legislation to codify Roe, but it does now. It is certainly possible that the bill helps provide momentum for a pro-choice gubernatorial campaign. What if, in practice, the Texas law is a disaster which serves as a cautionary tale for any other state to pursue pro-life legislation? In other words, if we want to make supporting or opposing specific legislation a matter of faithfulness, then shouldn’t people be culpable for the fallout of that legislation?

For some reason (and I have some ideas), what Jesus seemed most concerned about is most unsatisfying to us: the orientation, the disposition, of our hearts. Intent was important to Jesus, and while we’re often so afraid that the consideration of content somehow lowers the bar, the people Jesus came across often seemed most concerned that Jesus would be interested in their intentions, rather than just what they did. While many came to Jesus seeking to check a box, Jesus was looking for them to live a certain kind of life.

We have to start getting used to the fact that political positions are not going to check the box, and they certainly aren’t going to live our life for us. We have seen so many utterly lack faithfulness in politics, and that has been such a theme over the last five years, that I’m afraid we’ve become confused that faithfulness begins and ends in politics. It does not. The lack of faithfulness we’ve seen did not originate in policy positions or decisions to vote for a certain candidate, and the lack of faithfulness we’ve seen is not synonymous with those things. We must assert faithfulness as a possibility in politics, without always jumping to the accusation of faithlessness when it comes to particular political decisions.

Maybe the debate over the Texas bill will help us see that now and in the future.