I have argued elsewhere that the real divide between Protestants on political thought (i.e., church and state) is the perennial debate encapsulated at the Westminster assembly between Erastians and, well, everyone else. (The same kind of debate stretches back to Marsilius of Padua and the late medieval Conciliarists.)
To summarize my prior characterization of radical-modern Erastianism—Robert Rodes called it “free-enterprise Erastianism”—proponents of such (i.e., the default evangelical position today) similar to their predecessors (at least in name) subjugate the church to the state in terms of her exercise of censures and discipline. That is, they demote the church to one amongst a plurality of voluntary associations with no more public import according to her doctrine and judgments than the Lion’s Club or YMCA (and considerably less than, say, the ACLU). Rodes: “Erastianism, properly understood, is not a subordination of religious to secular concerns; rather, it is a placing of religious concerns on the same level with all other concerns of a Christian government.”
In this scenario, the state alone possesses public concern for the souls of the populace and discerns the extent to which, and for what cause, persons will be punished for heretical-blasphemous and moral infractions. And the only option is a pluralist Christendom, at best. What actually ensues is a public indifference toward religion wherein market forces dictate influence according to demand and each consumer does what is right in his own eyes. I do not think that Erastianism of the seventeenth century has been thoroughly or properly litigated as an historical matter but Rodes’ descriptive use of the term as applied to modern America is, in my view, apt. Unfolding presently is a divide amongst Protestants between the more magisterially (i.e., High Church) minded and today’s Erastians—a default, liberal, often Baptist posture or assumption.
More to the point, the regular occurrence of similar divides (i.e., Erastian v. High Church)—adjusted in form and context—exposes laziness on our part when we compare present squabbles with their predecessors. For instance, who today (whether Baptist of Presbyterian) is framing the duty of civil power vis a vis the church in terms of Christ’s mediatorial office? No one, I’ll wager. Mostly, cherry-picked proof texts extracted from context (i.e., both Testaments) are substituted for fully orbed, theologically informed socio-political vision. “What could Christ’s mediation possibly have to do with it?” ask our atrophied brains.
In an appendix to a sermon before the House of Lords (1645), George Gillespie (1613-1648) vigorously interrogated his Erastian interlocutors, specifically Thomas Coleman (1597-1646). Like other Erastians, Coleman argued that only civil authorities could exercise “spiritual censures,” or church discipline. Part of Coleman’s rationale was that Christian magistrates—all governments, in fact—derive their authority from Christ as mediator. Gillespie calls this proposition “most dangerous.”
Practically, under Coleman’s thesis, no pagan ruler can ever be legitimately installed. Sed contra, Gillespie insists that “God and Nature hath made Magistrates, and given them great Authority: But from Christ as Mediator they have it not.”
Church officers, indeed, receive their power from Christ’s mediatorial office and, therefore, rule under Christ the mediator. “But I do not finde in Scripture that the Magistrate is to rule, or to make Laws, or to manage any part of his Office in the Name of the Lord Jesus Christ.” For the kingdom of the mediator is not of this world. This is not to deny that Christ as the eternal son of God and second person of the Trinity rules over all temporal kingdoms or, generally, “all power in heaven and earth.” But as to his mediatorial office, “he is onely the Churches King… and hath no other Kingdom,” and “Christ is properly King of his Church onely.” “He is the Head to none but the Church.”
For that office was bestowed upon Christ post-resurrection and, for Gillespie, the mediatorial office does not apply outside of the elect unto the salvation of their souls. There is, then, no general mediatorial role for the second person of the Trinity such as can be found in Thomas Goodwin, John Arrowsmith, or Richard Baxter. For the Scotsman, Coleman’s theory exceeds the scope of the office in view.
“It is one thing to say that Christ is exalted to a dignity, excellency, preeminence, majesty, and glory far above all Principality, and Power, and Might, and Dominion: Another thing to say that Christ is head of all Principalities and governments, and as Mediator exerciseth his Kingly Office over these. The Apostle [Romans 9:5] saith the former, but not the later.”
When Paul designates Christ “the Head of all Principality and Power” in Colossians 2:10, Gillespie distinguishes between this use and Coleman’s, noting that Paul is not there speaking of mediatorial office, “but onely as he is God.” In other words, Colossians 2:10, as well as 1:15-16, is considering Christ as to his person, not his “governing and kingly Office, as he is Mediator, but to prove that he is true and very God.” For exegetical support, Gillespie cites Beza, Zanchi, Gwalter, Bullinger, and others, for the point that only in verse 17 does Paul shift to speaking of Christ’s mediation and then designates him head of the church. This distinction permits the twofold headship of Christ, one as mediator and one as God: “the object of the former is every creature: the object of the later is the Church gathered out of the world.”
“Now when Christ shall have put down all Rule, and all Authority and Power, and shall put his enemies under his feet; then shall cease to reign any more as Mediator… But before that be done, he reigns as mediator. So that it can never be proved, that the meaning of these words, He hath put all thing sunder his feet, is, That all Government in this world is given to Christ as Mediator.” For as Gillespie earlier clarified (citing Zanchius), all things save the church have been put under his feet and further, “this must be meant in respect of the Decree and foreknowledge of God.”
In sum, “Though as God, [Christ] filleth heaven and earth; yet, as Mediator, his filling of all in all extends no further then his Body, his Church, which is therefore called his fulnesse.”
For his parting shot, Gillespie informs Rabbi Coleman (as he was affectionately known) that his persuasion would receive a better hearing amongst the Jews “who expect a Temporal Monarchy of the Messiah,” or, alternatively, amongst the Papists “who desire to uphold the Popes Temporal Authority over Kings.” It would not, however, be entertained in Protestant lands if the young Gillespie had anything say about it.
If the civil power receives its authority from Christ as mediator, then the church may be properly subjugated to its rule. If not, then Gillespie’s theory of coordinate (complimentary) powers must prevail. In the case of the latter, the state necessarily exercises its duty unto religion via support of the church and her dogma. If Gillespie is wrong, then the church is merely one among many societal institutions (even if prima inter pares)—a purely voluntary association necessarily subjugated to the earthbound, material (in this case) interests of the state. The key question is, what does it mean when Paul says that Christ is the head of every power and authority?
Now, the next inquiry for the radical-modern Erastians relates to the implications of the historically Erastian view. In order neutralize church discipline at the public level, the state must embody a more sacralized role. It still requires a central cult, a functional morality. But its selection is made a la carte. Here the state selects the true religion rather than acknowledging and embracing it. Or more likely, it produces its own hodgepodge religion gathered from the elements of all faiths on offer according to that which most benefits itself. This is true statism when the civil power possesses the discretion of curation, but that is the inevitable result of an Erastian posture. It is one always asserted on the basis of an over realized spirituality of the church, a felt need to starkly separate temporal and eternal life, and, in some cases (i.e., Thomas Coleman) a belief that government reigns according to the mediatorial Christ. This latter point, the point of this brief essay, will strike modern Erastians as counterintuitive. But as I have just argued, Coleman’s view necessitates a sacralization of the state, and degradation of the spiritual power, as much as the free-market Erastian view.
Again, this paradoxical connection will not be immediately obvious to those who hold (wittingly or unwittingly) the Erastian view today, for they often insist that the temporal power is only subject to natural revelation (or natural law) and further that natural law does not encompass the entirety of the Decalogue. (They are severely out of step with the tradition here, it must be said.) Or, alternatively, they will argue, as my friend Andrew Walker does, that whilst the whole Decalogue is natural law, the testimental transition has radically altered the mode, means, and prospect of enforceability. (Practically, this is a distinction without a difference.) In other words, the New Testament has definitively redefined the role and function of the temporal power… almost as if its authority is now derived from the risen, mediatorial Christ and, therefore, confined by that event and resultant office unto the sacralization of the state—a crime us magisterially-minded are repeatedly accused of, but, per Gillespie, do not actually commit. Erastian projection? Let the reader decide.