The Left's Elevation of Donald Trump

An unintended (?) consequence of the corruption of public norms practiced by the Obama administration, the Clinton campaign, and the FBI as revealed in the Durham report is the elevation of former President Donald Trump. In a just world, Trump would be an embarrassing former President. We have plenty of those. (We'll have another when President Joe Biden leaves office.) Electing embarrassing presidents is the American way. 

But instead of his deserved status as an embarrassing ex, Donald Trump now holds the status of a vindicated martyr. I didn't say that his followers think he's a vindicated martyr. He is a vindicated martyr. The left did that. We all laughed in 2016 when candidate Trump said the Obama administration was spying on his campaign. He was right. Many were skeptical, to say the least, when Trump claimed that his alleged collusion with Russia was a completely fabricated and fictional hoax, a "witch hunt." He was right again. 

So instead of a former president whose morals are questionable (at best), whose relationship with the truth is strained, and whose personality is repellent to many, Trump can with some justification portray himself as no less moral, no less repellent, and probably more truthful than his political enemies. Trump may not deserve this elevated status, but gifts aren't deserved, they're freely given, and Trump's martyr status is a gift from the left.

Trump will now be that much harder to beat in 2024. If you're happy about that (and many are), send a note of thanks to Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, and James Comey. If you're troubled by that, Durham has shown you who's to blame.

Reflection on Embarrassing SOTUs Past

As I thought about tonight's SotU address, I recalled the former House Speaker Nancy Pelosi's childish display (pictured above) after the SotU three years ago and the predictable responses on right and left:

From the right -- outrage at the defiling of our "sacred" institutions.

From the left -- whataboutist references to Joe Wilson.

The references to Joe Wilson's outburst fourteen years ago were meant to suggest that Pelosi's act was no great breach of decorum, but rather business as usual in Washington. When Wilson disrupted President Obama's SotU address in 2009, the issue was healthcare, and the President was arguing that undocumented migrants would not be covered under Obamacare. At that moment, the previously little-known Congressman from South Carolina shouted out "you lie!" The left's reference to Wilson's outburst was not without rhetorical force -- it was shockingly indecorous. But I fear that few may remember what happened after Wilson's outburst.

First, leaders from both parties immediately condemned Wilson's action and called for him to apologize.

Second, Wilson apologized right away and without equivocation.

Third, President Obama graciously accepted the apology.

Fourth, the House (with Pelosi presiding as Speaker) approved a "resolution of disapproval" against Wilson.

So far from showing that Pelosi's display at the SotU was business as usual, the Wilson episode shows how far we fell in the eleven years between Wilson's outburst in 2009 and Pelosi's display in 2020. If Wilson's incivility provided a template for Pelosi's, we should have seen a bipartisan condemnation of Pelosi's incivility (didn't happen), she should have apologized (nope), Trump should have graciously accepted the apology (never), and the House should have formally condemned Pelosi's action (not that Congress).

Many reading this can only think about how either Pelosi or Wilson was justified (or at least accurate). If that is you, then I respectfully suggest that your reaction proves my point.

Will there be another outburst of incivility tonight? Hopefully not, but if there is, does anyone seriously think this Congress will do any better than the group in 2020? Even if nothing happens tonight, eventually, there will be another outbreak of incivility, and when there is, it really will then be business as usual, and that's too bad.

Harvard Prof Wants to Brainwash My Kids? I Pity the Fool!

I live in a subculture that is hostile to "government schools," but I still send my kids to those schools. I don't intend to explain my educational decisions here. I mention the environment in which I live so that the reader will understand that it has often been necessary for me to defend my decision to send my kids to the government schools. "Don't you understand that they want to brainwash your kids?" (Btw, Harvard now is proving that my homeschooling friends' suspicions are correct.) In my own defense, I have often said that if a teacher thinks he can be more influential over my kids than I am, then I pity that fool. Four out of my five children are grown now, and so I can say with some certitude that I think I was right.

In fact, I think both the left's attack on homeschooling and the right's attack on public education really are, at best, proxies for a bigger fight -- for presumptive control over the upbringing of children. As long as parents are primarily responsible for the upbringing of their children, I believe parents will be the primary influencers over those children, no matter how those kids are educated. The left gains little by effectively forcing almost all parents to send their kids to the government schools. I offer my four oldest children as exhibits 1-4.

This fight is not really about the quality of education. Kids with poor home lives will struggle whether they're home schooled or educated by the government. I am sad to report that I see examples of both all the time. Government schools cannot rescue kids from bad homes. And, of course, home schooling can't either. Kids in great homes will thrive both in a home schooled environment and in the government schools. I've seen plenty of examples of both of those as well.

The reason that I am firmly behind the home schoolers in their debate with the elites (even though I send my kids to the government schools) is that I believe that it is vitally important that fit parents be primarily responsible for the care of their children.

Confessions of an Erstwhile #NeverTrumper

I have been a #NeverTrumper for more than four years now, and much of my opposition to Trump has stemmed from my Christian commitment, or so I have said. But my #NeverTrumpism has not been a static thing, and over the last four years, I have come to several realizations that I confess here in the hope that they will inspire other Christians to learn from my mistakes.

Confession #1: I was a knee-jerk #NeverTrumper. I became a #NeverTrumper on June 16, 2015, the day Donald Trump rode the “golden escalator” to his candidacy. But my early opposition to Trump was more out of annoyance than out of principle – I did not take Donald Trump seriously as a candidate, and I feared that his brand of showmanship would demean the electoral process (and it did). I wanted Trump to get out of the way so that the “more serious” candidates could get down to debating the issues. But I badly underestimated candidate Trump. I did not recognize that Trump’s candidacy was for real until he had all but sealed up the nomination, at which point I was forced to replace my knee-jerk #NeverTrumpism with a more serious consideration of candidate Trump’s merits.

Confession #2: My #NeverTrumpism was a form of virtue signaling. My first instinct post-nomination was to say that there is a minimum standard of moral acceptability to win my vote and that Donald Trump did not make the cut. I dismissed arguments to the contrary as “mere consequentialism.” I was better than that. I would not sully myself with a vote for the morally flawed Donald Trump, as though a morally depraved creature like me could further corrupt myself by casting a vote. If I am being honest, I wanted it to be known that I was more virtuous than Trump (and perhaps more virtuous than those who were willing to vote for Trump). Of course, I never quite put it that way, by I am afraid my Trump supporting friends got the message.

Confession #3: My #NeverTrumpism survived my realization that every vote is a vote for the lesser evil. Not until the month before the election did I discern that my opposition to Trump might not be based on some transcendent moral principle. But sustained reflection forced me to admit that any vote for a human was a vote for a depraved creature. Jesus never is on the ballot. This realization led me to the next leg of my #NeverTrumpist journey – the utilitarian calculus. I finally reconsidered all the “consequentialist” arguments that Trump supporters had been making to me. What about the Supreme Court? What about religious liberty? What about limited government? My ultimate decision to reject Trump in 2016 was based on a complicated calculation that concluded Trump probably was the more dangerous of the two leading candidates. (Perhaps it was my refusal to vote for Hillary either that was based on moral principle?)

Confession #4: Reasonable Christian minds could differ on voting for Trump. Such complicated utilitarian calculations about votes are notoriously not susceptible to precise mathematical quantification. Therefore, my former #NeverTrump moral dogmatism was unjustified. As a Christian, I should categorize such difficult voting choices under the “doubtful things” of Romans 14. Much too late, I finally stopped questioning the morals of my Christian brothers and sisters who chose to vote for Trump. I do not know now how I could not have seen this ambiguity when I myself felt compelled to vote for a third-party candidate, a sure loser. But by Election Day, my previously virulent and judgmental #NeverTrumpism was watered down to a third-party protest vote combined with a more live-and-let-live attitude.

Confession #5: I was a jerk. I stand by my 2016 #NeverTrump vote, but I am not proud of everything I did leading up to Election Day. Like many #NeverTrumpers, I was brash and outspoken. That is a nice way of saying I was an obnoxious jerk. I alienated some of my friends, including some of my Christian friends. Well, with 2020 around the corner, I am determined to do better this time.

Confession #6: My #NeverTrumpism was placed in abeyance when Trump became president. I fought vociferously, even viciously, against the Trump candidacy until Election Day, but once he became president, he became my president. Christian #NeverTrumpers can’t be part of the not-my-president crowd. Romans 13 (among other Scriptures) does not permit that.

Confession #7: The calculus in 2020 might be different. Will I still be a #NeverTrumper in 2020? We’ll see. The landscape in which I will make that decision certainly has shifted. First, in 2016, I discounted all of the consequentialist arguments Trump supporters made because I simply did not trust Trump to do what he promised, and with good reason – his relationship with veracity has been strained, at best. But I have to admit that President Trump has pretty much done what candidate Trump said he would do, and I like most of his administration, if not his style. Second, while President Trump has been just as personally embarrassing as advertised, my worst fears of international destabilization have not come to fruition. So, for me, Trump’s pluses have increased and his minuses have somewhat diminished. And with leading democrat candidates running on potentially disastrous policies like taxpayer-funded abortion on demand, the Green New Deal, Medicare for all (including illegal immigrants), reparations for slavery, and an aggressive agenda against Christian dissenters, voting for President Trump in 2020, depending on his democratic opponent, is no longer entirely out of the question for me. So by the time the major parties choose their candidates, I may be a #MaybeTrumper.

Confession #8: Important remnants of my #NeverTrumpism remain. But even if I “ever” vote for Trump, certain “nevers” will remain. First, I will never praise his personal virtue. It should go without saying that praising evil is wrong, and yet Jerry Falwell Jr. has compared Trump to Jesus. To Christians, that should be beyond offensive. You always know that someone is about to excuse Trump’s evil when they lead with, “I know Trump’s not perfect, but” . . . . “Not perfect” does not quite cover Trump’s moral flaws. Of course he is not perfect. Nobody is perfect. Those who say Trump is “not perfect” are providing cover for the fact that he is one of the more despicable human beings to whom most of us ever will be exposed. I have heard Christians praise Trump as a “great family man” (apparently because he has provided for his children financially) even though he was essentially absent as his children were raised by his serially abandoned wives. This sort of praise of Trump from Christians demeans true Christian virtue. If I ever vote for Trump, I will do so while holding my nose, not while praising his non-existent personal virtue. I will show no enthusiasm for what I believe I must do. My Christian testimony demands as much.

Second, if I “ever” vote for Trump, I must “never” criticize democrats for ignoring their candidates’ moral flaws. Hypocrisy still is wrong. Remember this passage from the 1998 “declaration concerning religion, ethics, and the crisis in the Clinton presidency”? “But we maintain that in general there is a reasonable threshold of behavior beneath which our public leaders should not fall, because the moral character of a people is more important than the tenure of a particular politician or the protection of a particular political agenda.” Some who signed this declaration that President Clinton was unfit because he had sex with an intern in the Oval Office have given serial adulterer President Trump a pass. We have to be consistent. Either there is a moral minimum for president, or there is not. I have reluctantly concluded that maybe there is not. If there is a moral minimum standard, I do not see how President Trump can get over even a minimal bar.

Third, if I “ever” vote for Trump, I am determined “never” to do so out of fear. In support of candidate Trump, evangelical icon, Dr. James Dobson said, “Hillary scares me to death.” That kind of fear is not a good look for a Christian who supposedly trusts a sovereign, omnipotent, and loving God in whose hand is the heart of the king. I am determined not to vote out of fear.

Fourth, even if I “ever” vote for Trump, I will never violate my conscience to do so. If I get in the voting booth and find that I just do not feel right about the vote, I will not cast it. As Martin Luther declared before the Diet of Worms, “to go against conscience is neither right nor safe.” I still reject consequentialism, so I am pretty sure God does not need my vote to accomplish His will, and I am even more sure that He does not expect me to violate my conscience (even if my conscience is too weak) in service to some political end that He can accomplish without me.

Tim Keller's "Justice" Demeans Grace and Mercy

There’s a debate raging in evangelical Christianity. One side of the debate is led by Tim Keller, author of the book Generous Justice. To oversimplify greatly, Keller suggests Christians should be engaged in social justice. On the other side is a group led by several evangelical luminaries, with perhaps John MacArthur as the leader. This group has published The Statement on Social Justice & the Gospel. I don’t intend to critique Keller’s book, I haven’t even read it. Neither do I intend to express an opinion on the wisdom of issuing “Statements” like MacArthur’s. I’m agnostic on that, although I have read much of the statement and agree with all that I read. Rather, I want to take issue with Keller’s use of the term “justice.”

In explaining his ideas, Keller cites Jesus’ parable of The Good Samaritan. Keller describes the Samaritan in Jesus’ parable as doing “acts of justice.” I think Keller’s using the word “justice” in this way is confusing and counter-productive. I think Keller is confusing “justice” with “grace” or “mercy.” I think by taking acts of grace, mercy, or charity and calling that “justice,” Keller demeans the concepts of grace and mercy and diminishes the Christian obligation.

These words have long-accepted meanings. Plato’s definition of justice, “giving every man his due,” still is widely accepted. And as we all know from Sunday school, “grace” is giving someone something good that they don’t deserve, while “mercy” is withholding something bad that they do deserve. In the Bible, justice, grace, and mercy frequently go hand-in-hand. For example, in the Deluge, God delivered justice to humankind, while Noah and his family received grace and mercy. Sodom and Gomorrah received justice at God’s hand while Lot and his daughters got grace and mercy. As Christians, we understand that God’s justice was poured out on Jesus on the cross, while we, His people, get grace and mercy.

When Keller uses the term “justice” to describe good things that one person does for another, I think what he’s really describing is “grace” or maybe even “mercy.” Did the Good Samaritan owe the man who fell among thieves the help that he delivered? Was that justice? Or was he extending grace or mercy? Oh, Jesus was teaching a moral obligation to help people like the man who fell among thieves, to be sure, but I think Keller’s chosen example illustrates grace, not justice.

This isn’t just semantics, for when we describe the Christian obligation to help those in need as “justice,” we strip the parties involved in the acts of kindness of a proper response to the situation. My obligation as a Christian is to go beyond mere “justice,” giving people what they deserve. I am to extend grace and mercy. I understand why Keller uses the wrong word, he’s politicizing the idea. In America, we have a long tradition of the government not requiring its citizens to do good. We must do justice, but we need not extend charity. The charitable obligation is enforced, if at all, only privately, not by the state. So to justify compelled charity (an oxymoron, I know), we instead call it “social justice.” The state can compel us to do justice, to pay what we owe. But this verbal sleight of hand deprives those doing the good of the opportunity to extend genuine Christian charity. After all, if it’s owed, then the benefit is merely paying what is due, not giving out of Christian charity.

Many probably would suggest that “justice” is the correct word to use here because in many social circumstances some people have been systematically disadvantaged and therefore are owed something from the rest. Perhaps. My problem, though, with Keller’s use of the term, especially in conjunction with teachings such as Jesus’ parable of the Good Samaritan is that frequently people are in trouble because they deserve to be in trouble. They’ve made bad, often wicked, choices, and they are suffering the consequences of those choices. Social “justice” would not reach that person, and yet I believe Christian charity should. Using the term “justice” instead of “grace,” “mercy,” or “charity” tends to cramp the true Christian obligation and deprive the believer of the opportunity to voluntarily sacrifice for the good of others.

Just as troubling, calling charity “social justice” deprives the person helped of the opportunity for gratitude. What was the proper response of the man attacked by thieves to the Good Samaritan who helped him? Well, if the Samaritan were only doing justice, only delivering what the man was owed, then his response might be “What took you so long?” But if the help extended by the Good Samaritan is seen as grace, mercy, or charity, then the proper response is gratitude, and that proper response will edify both helper and helped. And if you don’t think calling charity “justice” can inculcate a spirit of entitlement and ingratitude, then I respectfully suggest that you are not paying attention to what is going on in our society today.

I want to hasten to clarify that I am not criticizing Tim Keller generally. I am sure that I agree with eighty per cent of what he says and teaches. And I think his emphasis on the charitable obligation of evangelical Christianity is much needed – we’ve been leaving such important work to the Roman Catholic Church for far too long. But I think that attempts to politicize the gospel, both on the left and on the right, end up in the ditch, and that is where I fear Keller’s ministerial commitment to social “justice” is headed.

My libertarian message: "If you need a club, a car, or a torch to deliver your message, it's not free speech."

As I have been reflecting on the Charlottesville tragedy, I can't help thinking that the Supreme Court of United States encouraged that result with its decision in Snyder v. Phelps. The Phelps family are the "God hates fags" cultists. The Snyder family is a national treasure -- a gold star family. Not surprisingly, the Phelps family has trouble getting anyone to pay attention to their hate. So they hit upon an idea -- let's "protest" the funerals of fallen war heroes. Then people can't ignore us. And so they did, and the Snyder family took them to court under the long-accepted tort doctrine of intentional infliction of emotional distress ("IIED"). Under this cause of action, a defendant who intentionally or recklessly inflicts severe emotional distress on a victim through extreme (very unusual) and outrageous (very bad) conduct can be held legally responsible for the severe emotional distress that they intentionally inflict. Not surprisingly, the Snyders won their civil suit, and the Phelps family appealed all the way to the Supreme Court claiming that the First Amendment protected their funeral "protest" stunt. The Supreme Court (except for Justice Alito) agreed with the Phelps family.

And so the law of the land is that staged stunts that get out a message by intentionally hurting other people are constitutionally protected free speech. I think that's nonsense. 

I'm not suggesting that the government should be allowed to sanction mere hateful words. It's important to remember that the Snyder family did not sue the Phelps family because of the hatefulness of their message. I'm attuned to the danger of attempts to regulate so-called "hate speech," but the Phelps family was not being held responsible for their message. The offensiveness of the message isn't the point. It's the mode of delivery. The Phelps family is perfectly free to deliver precisely the same message in a variety of ways (and they do). What they should not be allowed to do is intentionally inflict severe emotional distress on other people to get attention for their message. The trial court found by a preponderance of evidence that the Phelps family did more than spew hate. 1) They targeted mourning family members at the funeral of their young son. 2) They intended to cause severe emotional distress. 3) They successfully caused severe (probably clinical, akin to a physical injury) emotional distress. 

I think the First Amendment "absolutely" protects messages, but not delivery methods (at least not delivery methods beyond normal speech and press). This brings me back to Charlottesville. I believe the road to the Charlottesville tragedy started with the flag burning case. Justice Scalia was one of my judicial heroes, but I think he went off the rails constitutionally with the flag burning case. I think flag burning should be protected, but it just isn't speech. Once we start providing constitutional protection for expressive stunts like burning a flag, why not protect other stunts like burning a cross, or protesting a funeral, or marching around carrying torches, or plowing a car into a crowd?

Many Justice Scalia fans proclaim themselves "First Amendment absolutists." But is that really possible? Let's see. If I am a rabid statist, do I have an absolute First Amendment right to get my message out by carving "down with liberty" onto the side of the pickup truck belonging to the most libertarian/small government person on campus? Those are words I put on the truck, so they're absolutely protected, right? (Remember this has nothing to do with the offensiveness of the message.) Consider another example. Let's assume that you have six kids, and I think your population explosion is over-burdening the planet, so I go to your four-year-old's preschool and walk up to her on the playground and follow her around screaming "I wish your dad knew about birth control." Those are words, so they're absolutely protected, right? If I do that, and you try to sue me in a civil suit, that's prohibited government regulation, right? I speak as a fool. Clearly the right to express yourself is not absolute. Some speech delivery methods, such as a scrawled message on a pickup or screaming in a toddler's face, might be actionable as a trespass to chattels or an IIED, the First Amendment notwithstanding. We can have a discussion about whether what the Phelps family did ought to constitute IIED. I think it should, and the trial court agreed with me. I have no problem giving a plaintiff a cause of action in circumstances like Phelps or like the harassing of the child scenario I suggested. So the Phelps message may have been constitutionally protected, but the method of delivery should not have been. Getting in the face of a two-year-old and screaming threats would not be merely "hateful words," it would be verbal violence.  I'd call what the Phelps family did a form of "verbal violence" targeting vulnerable victims, not utterly unlike screaming in the face of a small child.

It's a pretty subtle distinction I'm making. People can say what they want, but they still should be responsible for how they deliver the message. If I'm a statist and want to get out my big government message by picketing the biggest libertarian on campus, would the First Amendment protect my right to stand outside his car holding up a sign that said "Down with liberty"? Would the First Amendment protect my right to scratch "Down with liberty" into the paint of his truck? Is there a difference? I think the difference is the mode of delivery. The first way of getting my message out isn't a tort. The government shouldn't prevent me from doing that. The second method is a tort (trespass to chattels). I think the First Amendment doesn't privilege the tort. The Snyder v. Phelps court disagreed with me, but I think there is a difference between protecting speech that is otherwise tortious (like burning a cross in front of someone's house, which I'm not even sure constitutes speech, although I think Scalia would have thought so) and pure speech that does not constitute a tort. 

This was not a case of the government targeting the speech of the Phelps family with a regulation made for them. The tort of intentional infliction of emotional distress existed long before the Phelps family started inflicting emotional distress for attention. The tort wasn't created for them, but it fits. And it was crafted taking First Amendment values into consideration, hence the limitations on the cause of action. 

The Phelps family argued that they had a permit and complied with its terms, but the permit didn't entitle them to do whatever they wanted in the permitted space. They couldn't set off explosives or lob rocks at bystanders. They couldn't amplify their voices so as to damage the hearing of those around them. Existing tort law provided that if they targeted vulnerable people and caused clinical emotional injury, they would be liable. I can't imagine that their permit purported to wipe out existing tort law. 

I think much of the support of the Phelps case comes from our mothers. My mother taught me "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me." With all due respect to my mom, and probably yours, they were wrong. Words frequently do hurt. That's why there's a long rabbinic tradition grounded in Biblical principle prohibiting lashon hara. I'm not saying that all harmful speech should be actionable, but all American jurisdictions have determined that when someone uses extreme and outrageous methods to deliver speech as a weapon to inflict severe emotional harm, the wielder of the damaging words is responsible for the harm the words do. In Snyder v. Phelps, a civil court determined that the Phelps family's conduct (including their speech but not limited to their speech) was extreme, outrageous, calculated to inflict severe emotional distress and did, in fact, inflict such distress. 

The Phelps decision was an authoritarian decision. I'm a political libertarian, but most of my political friends and allies are conservatives. They sometimes wonder aloud how a libertarian like me can advocate government regulation of speech. Conservatives always get libertarianism wrong. Libertarianism doesn't mean everyone does what they want without consequence. It means everyone is responsible for the consequences of their own voluntary actions. Some libertarians feel torn between the private right of victims to be free from intentional inflictions of emotional distress and the right of victimizers to do and say whatever they want. I think this conflict stems from a misunderstanding of libertarianism. Libertarianism is based in personal responsibility. Everyone bears the consequences of their own choices, and they're not allowed to impose the costs of those choices on others without recourse. The version of libertarianism that says everyone gets to do what they want without regard to the consequences isn't libertarianism at all. I would call that libertine, not libertarian. 

Eight authoritarians on the Supreme Court insisted that their political values trumped the Snyders' private right to redress for severe emotional harm intentionally inflicted on them by the Phelps cult. Providing an outlet for people to get redress against wrongdoers isn't big government, it's a minimum role for government. Government telling me I have to put up with extreme and outrageous verbal abuse at my son's funeral or that I have to tolerate false and defamatory savaging of my reputation because of the First Amendment, that's big government. 

None of this suggests that any of the "speech" at Charlottesville last year was actionable. It probably wasn't. But I think the events of that tragic weekend should cause us to reconsider what I see as the Court's mistake in Snyder v. Phelps. Speech is protected. Delivery methods should not be.

Jeff Sessions and Russell Moore Both Misuse Romans 13 in Political Debate

Attorney General Jeff Sessions recently caused a bit of a stir by citing Romans 13 in a speech on immigration enforcement. Ever since, every Tom, Dick, and Harry seems to be a biblical scholar with the firm opinion that General Sessions got Romans 13 wrong. As someone who has thought and written about Romans 13 for decades, I thought I might add my amateur critique of General Sessions’ exegesis.

Here’s what he said:

If you violate the law, you subject yourself to prosecution. I would cite you to the Apostle Paul in his clear and wise command in Romans 13 to obey the laws of the government because God has ordained the government for His purposes. Orderly and lawful processes are good in themselves. Consistent and fair application of the law is in itself a good and moral thing that protects the weak and protects the lawful.

First General Sessions clearly is right that Paul’s statement in Romans 13:1 is a command backed by Paul’s apostolic authority, which he cites at the very beginning of his letter to the Church at Rome. However, I have to quibble with the General a little. Paul’s command to “every soul” (and that includes animals, by the way) is not to “obey.” He commands them to submit. It is possible to obey without submitting, and it is possible to submit without obeying. Usually the two go hand-in-hand, so I don’t want to be too hard on General Sessions for this mistake.

A more fundamental error is that General Sessions relates Paul’s command to “the government.” Paul does mention rulers later on in the passage, but Romans 13 never mentions “government,” as such, and Paul’s command is to submit to “powers.” Again, I can’t really blame General Sessions for getting this wrong. Pretty much all modern English translations of the Bible translate the object of the obligation of submission as something like “governing authorities.” Imho, that’s a horrible translation. As usual, the King James pretty much gets it right – “higher powers.” I think the word “superiors” works quite well. Rulers are one example of this. Bosses at work are another. This list could be quite long. Paul went out of his way when setting up this command not to limit it to political rulers but rather to extend the obligation of submission to all superiors.

General Sessions then gives his understanding of the reason for the obligation of submission: “because God has ordained the government for His purposes.” The problem, here again, is that Paul isn’t talking about government. He’s talking about “the powers that be.” Romans 13 is not a tract on government. It is a tract on God’s sovereign rule over all “powers.” God puts all powers in place for His purposes. Therefore, we can safely submit to those powers.

General Sessions then proceeds to describe what he thinks is God’s purpose for government: “Orderly and lawful processes are good in themselves. Consistent and fair application of the law is in itself a good and moral thing that protects the weak and protects the lawful.” Now I happen to agree with both of those sentences, but that is not what the Apostle Paul is talking about in Romans 13. In fact, those hallmarks of our government did not necessarily characterize the governments in place to which Paul was commanding submission. Paul’s point was not “you should obey government because government is good.” Paul’s point was “You can safely submit to your superiors because God is sovereign, has those superiors on a leash, and will use those superiors for your good.”

I recently submitted my grades for the spring, so I am in a grading mood, and I would have to give General Sessions’ exegesis a C-. Honestly, it’s not significantly worse than what I’ve heard all my life, but if you’re going to cite Romans 13 in a political speech, you probably should be a little more careful.

I won’t bother grading the many (other) amateur critics of General Sessions’ exegesis, but I do want to look at one critic who should know what he is talking about. Here’s what Dr. Russell Moore said:

Romans 13 does not mean that any law that the government passes or carries out is a good law or a just law. Romans 13 simply means that the governing authorities are put in place for a reason, and the reason the Apostle Paul says there in Romans 13 is to commend that which is good and to punish that which is evil. It is hard for me to imagine that children clinging to their parents in a very, very difficult time could be classified as evil. I think I understand what the attorney general is trying to say which is that we have a rule of law and we ought to observe that rule of law. I agree with that.

Dr. Moore’s first sentence stating that “Romans 13 does not mean that any law that the government passes or carries out is a good law or a just law” clearly is correct. Of course, General Sessions never suggested otherwise. And yet, Paul commanded all “souls” to submit to their superiors, never mentioning whether those superiors where good or just. In fact, most, at the time, were not. Dr. Moore goes on to say that “Romans 13 simply means that the governing authorities are put in place for a reason.” Well, Romans 13 means a lot more than that. But so far, Dr. Moore appears to agree with General Sessions. Dr. Moore then describes that reason: “to commend that which is good and to punish that which is evil.”

Having established what he sees as “the purpose for government” (something Romans 13 does not directly address), Dr. Moore then goes on to critique President Trump’s immigration policy because “It is hard for me to imagine that children clinging to their parents in a very, very difficult time could be classified as evil.” There is plenty wrong with what Dr. Moore is saying now. His argument essentially is that Romans 13 provides a yardstick by which we can measure the obligation of submission. When a superior fails the essential purpose of government, then the obligation of submission evaporates. But Romans 13 never sets out an imperative norm for government. Rather, it sets out an indicative description that God uses all superiors, including rulers, to praise evil and to punish good, at least in some sense. By taking it upon himself to pass judgment on whether the administration’s immigration policy lives up to the non-existent Romans 13 standard, Dr. Moore has enthroned himself. God can and does use bad superiors to accomplish good purposes. The Bible and history are full of examples. The Christian’s obligation is to submit, even when he can’t obey for reasons of morality.

Dr. Moore then closes by agreeing with General Sessions' fundamental point about the rule of law, which is a good point, but has nothing to do with Romans 13.

Overall, I have to give Dr. Moore a D+. Basically, his exegesis is the same as General Sessions’ and suffers from the same defects. But Dr. Moore adds the additional defect of gutting Paul’s essential teaching by twisting it into something it was never intended to be, a measuring stick by which the believer can determine whether he owes an obligation of submission to superiors.

I have written much more on Romans 13 in an article that surveys historical commentaries on the passage and a few historical political disputes (the American Revolution, the Third Reich, and Apartheid South Africa) in which Romans 13 was deployed on both sides of the political argument. Here is the way I concluded that article: “I see the approach of many Christians from the Middle Ages forward, who have used Romans 13 either to justify or to condemn particular governing regimes (a practice that continues to this day) to be almost entirely beside Paul’s point. In this, I think my view is consonant with that of the non-resistant Anabaptists and with the Lutherans, particularly including Dietrich Bonhoeffer.”