Originally Published by Ben Crenshaw of the American Reformer
Toward Christian Prudence
Editor’s note: The following was delivered by the author at the ISI American Governance and Politics Summit in October of 2025
In the Western political tradition, there has been great emphasis upon the natural law. The natural law is a moral law that can be known by all men through their reason, by natural inclination, and by an internal moral sense. This law is capable of directing men to create political life together that is “by nature.” In Europe, England, and America, this political tradition has been both an aspiration and, in many cases, a reality.
The first use of the term “natural law” occurs in Plato’s Gorgias on the lips of the sophist Callicles. There, in response to Socrates, he asserts that
But nature itself, I should think, declares that the very thing that’s just is for the one who’s better to have more than the one who’s worse, and the more powerful more than the less powerful. [And thus, those people who act for the advantage of the best and the advantage of the stronger, these people] are acting in accord with nature—the nature of justice [κατὰ φύσιν τὴν τοῦ δικαίου]—and yes, by Zeus!, in accord with law too—the law of nature [κατὰ vόμον γε τὸν τῆς φύσεως]—though maybe not in accord with the one we make [i.e., convention, nomos] (483E).
Callicles intends his reference to a “law of nature” as paradoxical or contradictory, because a natural law like this is unconventional—against the laws of the city. If there were truly a moral law of nature, would not each city follow it? In all places, men seek to preserve themselves; they marry and have children, and they worship a higher order than themselves. Yet justice is not the same among any two people, so why think there exists a natural teaching about good and evil, the just and unjust, beauty and ugliness? Callicles advances the common argument that maybe there is no natural law that is the same everywhere and for all men because the law codes of men are markedly not the same.
In addition, Callicles notes that nature seems to teach things that are wrong or impossible. Nature seems to declare that justice requires favoring the best over the worst, and the stronger over the weaker. Yet the advantage of the stronger was commonly associated with tyranny and slavery, a Persian malady and an outcome all Greeks sought to avoid. And how, exactly, if nature teaches that the best and strongest are both to triumph, is it that wisdom and power are to be combined in the same polity, constitution, or man? Such an achievement would be ideal, but as everyone knew from experience, it was rare indeed. If this is the law of nature, then nature is either unrealistic or cruel—hardly a standard of justice men ought to pursue.
Aristotle also reflected on the natural law or a natural standard of justice in his Ethics when he wrote:
What is naturally just has the same power everywhere, and is not affected by whether it seems so to people or not, but what is conventionally just is something that at first makes no difference to do this way or some other way. … But it seems to some people that all justice is of this [the conventional] sort, because what is by nature is unchangeable and has the same power everywhere, just as fire burns both here and among the Persians, while they see what is just being changed. But this is not the way [justice] is, though it is so in a certain sense, and while among the gods no doubt nothing changes at all, among us there is something that is by nature even though everything is changeable. (Ethics 5.7, 1134b20-30)
Aristotle’s commentary on natural versus conventional justice can be confusing (especially depending upon the translation). But his argument can be boiled down to three kinds of justice: the justice of the gods, the justice of nature, and the justice of men (or of the city). The justice of the gods is eternal and unchanging, not admitting of exceptions. The justice of nature is both unchanging and yet still changing (in some way). And the conventional justice of men always seems to be changing according to particular custom, or nomos (law).
The Challenge of Prudence
This seems relatively straightforward: perhaps Aristotle has resolved the dilemma of how one can put divine law (divine justice) and conventional justice together: the natural law acts as a bridge between them, in being unchangeable in its principles but conventional in either its exceptions or its application. We will return to this shortly.
But one book later in the Ethics, in his discussion of prudence (φρόνησις), Aristotle tells us that “no one deliberates about things that are incapable of being otherwise…” (Ethics, 6.5, 1140a30). Aristotle just told us that “what is by nature is unchangeable and has the same power everywhere,” and that “among the gods no doubt nothing changes at all.” The law that is by nature and the law of the gods are unchanging and incapable of being otherwise; therefore, they are not things to be deliberated about but merely known and then followed without fail.
It is relatively straightforward as to why divine commands are about things that cannot be otherwise. If God is perfectly good, all-knowing, all-wise, and all-powerful, then he would only ever command those things that are pure, righteous, and just. By his very nature, God would not be able to command us to do wrong or evil. Therefore, God’s commands contain moral absolutes that cannot be otherwise. Likewise, as Aristotle asserts, natural law (i.e., nature justice) is unchangeable—it must teach the same thing in Persia as it does in Greece—otherwise it would not be part of nature, which has regularity and constancy to it. Thus, both divine commands and the natural law are universal and unchanging; they are the same for all people, in all places, and at all times.
However, Aristotle then goes on to argue that prudence or practical intellect is something quite different. Prudence is not an item of knowledge like the divine and natural law, because it cannot be demonstrated or proven conclusively—it is a one-time judgment. As Aristotle defines it, prudence is “a truth-disclosing active condition involving reason that governs action, concerned with what is good and bad for a human being.” In other words, prudence is a judgment by the practical intellect that guides a person in doing what is good for them at the right time in the right way for the right reasons and the right end. As such, the deliverances of the practical intellect are always variable—they could have been otherwise. This is why Aristotle concludes that prudence is neither knowledge nor art: it is not a thing that can be demonstrated ahead of time because it is variable, and it is an action of doing, not of making (as art is).
From this, the following conflict or dilemma emerges. Divine commands and the precepts of the natural law are unchanging and unchangeable, not variable. Divine commands and the natural law can both be demonstrated, because they are items of human knowledge. In fact, both divine commands and the natural law are almost exclusively the domain of the speculative intellect: the mind investigates what it is that God commands of us or teaches us to do by nature, and then, once determined with surety, commits to obeying those divine commands or natural precepts in every circumstance throughout life without exception and without deviation. And thus, divine commands and the natural law preclude the practical intellect, deliberation, and judgment. There is no prudence to be found here.
There are two further considerations on this point. First, so far, divine commands and the natural law have been lumped together, which one might object to—these are quite different, are they not? And indeed they are. But in the Christian tradition, the Ten Commandments are often taken as a summation of what the natural law teaches, and the essence of the natural law (to love God and love your neighbor) can be boiled down to the Ten Commandments: the first five are about loving God, and the last five are about loving your neighbor. So on Christianity, the commands of God and the essential precepts of the natural law are one and the same.
Second, and to bring this crisis to a head, what is the crowning virtue of the political statesman? Prudence. Because the statesman is a man of action, and prudence is the intellectual virtue that tells you the best course of action for the situation you’re in right now. This is why prudence is not only compatible with classical natural right, but classical natural right simply is prudence in action. There is, in fact, a natural justice or natural right in every action—doing the right thing in this particular circumstance, for the right reason in the right manner with the right motive—so that you can say, ‘what I did was right and just.’
So the virtue of the statesman is prudence. But prudence is excluded by divine commands and the natural law; therefore, the Christian statesman who is bound to obey God’s laws and the laws of nature cannot act prudently—meaning, he cannot be a statesman. And thus, Christian statesmanship is impossible on this account. The Christian politician, unlike the ancient statesman, merely needs to discover in the divine law or the book of nature the unchanging things that he ought to do, and then do them without question and without deliberation. He will be commended both by his conscience and by God for a job well done.
Neo-Kantianism, Biblicism, and Mass Democracy
This way of thinking and the dilemmas it generates guide much of the political method of evangelical Protestants in America today. This method has two aspects: first, it takes the form of neo-Kantianism in its universalization and systematization; and second, it leads to biblicism, or the intention to discover in scripture guidance or teaching for every possible life situation.
Immanuel Kant, of course, is well known for his categorical imperative, which Kant, in his Groundwork on the Metaphysics of Morals, defines as “I ought never to act except in such a way that I can also will that my maxim should become a universal law.” Kant was concerned with pure, practical reason that does not depend upon the empirical world (neither experience nor nature nor God) and does not reason teleologically from ends to means.
Kant was concerned not just with knowing how to act morally, but with having a good will. For him, a good will is acting on the good because it is intrinsically good, and it obliges you to do so regardless of the outcomes. When asking yourself the question, ‘Why should I do this?’, the answer ought to be, ‘Because you should. It is good in itself.’ There is no teleology or hierarchy of ends. For Kant, the realm of freedom is pure, practical reason and obedience to the duties of the categorical imperative.
Evangelical Protestants follow in Kant’s footsteps in various ways. They instinctively search for a system of morals that can be rationally grasped and applied universally, equally, and fairly to all men. The universality and inflexibility of the moral law make it predictable, just, and enforceable in society. Evangelicals, of course, look to divine commands and natural law for the content of this moral system (which makes them neo-Kantians because Kant rejected both nature and God as his standard for his moral philosophy, and substituted in their place a pure ratiocination). Evangelicals then define a good will, good intentions, or the goodness of their hearts by whether or not they followed these commands and laws willingly and without question or considerations of practical results. This divine and natural standard allows them to judge others fairly by asking, Did you transgress the natural law or God’s commands or not? Finally, this system excludes using the ends to justify the means, which is an immoral compromise and leads to seeing and using men as means instead of ends.
In this way, evangelical Protestants are neo-Kantians in their moral philosophy and political life. And it is important to note that Kant contrasted his moral system with the classical virtue of prudence. So the more evangelical Protestants Kantianize their morality and politics, the less they have use for prudence.
The second trait is biblicism. If you believe that divine commands and the natural law are the only true guides for private citizens and public leaders alike in their decision-making and behavior, then it becomes imperative to know what God commands and what the precepts of the natural law are.
While the Ten Commandments are a good starting point, this is not sufficient for the complexity of life. Thus, Christians add all the teachings and commands of Jesus to the Decalogue, as well as the rest of the teachings of the New Testament in the writings of Paul and others. Then, using various hermeneutical tools, evangelicals also look to the Old Testament in its moral and civil laws in order to extract timeless principles relevant for today. The results of these efforts are the classic Protestant textbooks of evangelical ethics, which are nothing other than a systematization of biblical morality. You are left with a grand system of ethics that tries to be comprehensive in all areas of life for moral guidance today.
This biblicist habit also teaches Protestants to respond automatically to the question “What should I do?” with “What does the Bible say?” While this is not wrong in itself (and should, in many cases, be the first step in ethical reasoning), the problem is that the modern evangelical doesn’t know what to do if the Bible doesn’t give them an answer or if life prevents a moral complexity or dilemma that scripture never broaches.
In his 1593 book, The Mosaic Polity, Franciscus Junius (1545-1602) argued that this mode of “reasoning” is actually contra rationem:
For anyone who thinks that mutable matters must be administered and cared for by an immutable reasoning and method is someone who would condemn the prudence of parents in ruling their children in the home, the practical knowledge of the plowman in cultivating his crops in the field, and the expertise of sailors in heeding the wind on the sea. But while such a person thinks he preserves a constant and perpetual reasoning, by not reasoning [contra rationem] he will ruin the very matters about which reason reasons.
Neo-Kantian biblicism is against reason. It is an attempt to not reason by having someone else tell you what you ought to believe and do at all times. As such, the more evangelical Protestants rely upon this heuristic, the more their minds atrophy and they develop a reactive anti-intellectualism.
In addition, there are often unspoken and unintended consequences of neo-Kantian biblicism as applied to moral reasoning and political leadership. If prudential decision-making is defined as obeying God’s commands or following the precepts of the natural law, and these commands and precepts can be known by all and obeyed by all (that is, all who have been redeemed), then all persons—private and public persons—can exercise prudence equally in society.
In other words, “prudence” as obeying divine commands turns every citizen into a potential statesman; everyone is equally fit to rule, and therefore there is no need for exemplary statesmen to shine above the rest. If this is true, it justifies mass democracy, popular sovereignty, and an enlightened citizenry. Democracy does not have to lead to degeneracy if the mass of citizens know and follow God’s commands. If this is possible, is it necessary to have aristocratic elites, philosophers and statesmen, or Christian princes?
This approach represents the destruction of ancient statesmanship and the Christian prince, both of which presuppose that some men are better and more capable in political life than the mass of men who suffer a vulgar, cruel, and often brutish existence. Instead of relying upon the leadership and example of great men, it reduces every person to a soul of eternal worth made in the image of God and possessing intrinsic dignity (relegating all other human or social distinctions as irrelevant for politics), and emphasizes evangelism and gospel witness as the means by which societies become moral and free. This, in part, explains the evangelical Protestant hostility toward self-confident Christian leaders in political offices who want to use their influence to promote Christianity.
And thus, on this account, “Christian statesmanship” not only destroys true statesmanship but gives rise to mass democracy and the hope of universal freedom and the salvation of all God’s elect. If this is possible on earth, then men’s millennial hopes could potentially be realized in our lifetimes—a hope that partly explains the strong influence of millenarian politics in America since the nineteenth century.
The Possibility of Christian Statesmanship
There are solutions to the problems addressed, but it is best to deal with divine commands and the natural law separately. Regarding the natural law, we need to distinguish how it is we come to know the natural law (speculative intellect) versus how we are to apply and act upon the precepts of the natural law (practical intellect) once we know it.
As anyone who has studied the natural law knows, knowledge of the natural law is not spontaneous, easy, or even universal in fact. While it is possible for all men to know the primary precepts of the nature law—and we might even say that all men do “know” these precepts by a deep conscience (or syntērēsis) as something that they “can’t not know”—in reality, men need right reason and a properly ordered soul to fully know not only the primary precepts of the natural law, but also the secondary and tertiary precepts. A full knowledge of the natural law is quite rare.
However, we need to complicate our understanding of the natural law. The natural law is not merely precepts that, once known, are simply obeyed. Consider how Junius presents the issue:
We call principles those that are known in themselves, are immovable, and (as the scholastic call them) are indemonstrable … just as, for example, “God exists,” and in life is “preserving our existence, our species, and justice.” We call common conclusions, however, those things that natural reason, with the light of nature leading the way, constructs from the principles, such as, for example, that God must be worshipped, and our life, our species, and the supports of justice must be cared for.
Here, Junius distinguishes between natural law principles and their conclusions. Both the principles and conclusions of the natural law are universal and the ground for action. However, they are not sufficient for moral judgment and action in themselves. Instead, they require a particular determination or application that is appropriate for oneself and those under you, given your circumstances.
Thus, while it is true that the principles and conclusions of the natural law are unchangeable, as Aristotle asserts, they are amenable to prudence in determining how and when and in what way they may best be implemented and followed. The principles and conclusions of the natural law are by their nature general, and so must be applied in particular circumstances according to the judgment of the practical intellect.
Divine commands, however, seem to exist at the level of determination or application. “You shall not steal.” “Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths.” After defining the terms, ethical application seems straightforward and inflexible. Yet God’s commands in scripture are less about rote, mindless, and mechanical obedience and instead are an invitation for believers to explore the richness of the scriptures and discover the character of God.
Consider, for example, the Ten Commandments in Exodus 20. God speaks the Ten Commandments from the mountain to the people directly. But they are so frightened that they ask Moses to be their intermediary. Thus, the rest of the revelation of the Mosaic Law comes to Moses on the mountainside. In Exodus, what immediately follows the Ten Commandments is known as the “Book of the Law” (Exodus 20:22-Exodus 24:18). The Book of the Law is a particular elaboration and application of the Ten Commandments for the Israelites. It spells out in detail what it means not to make idols and worship other gods, what it means to keep the Sabbath, and how one loves their neighbor and treats them well. In other words, the Mosaic Law is both divine law and human law: an example of how God would apply his eternal law to human societies in a righteous and just way.
This was an application of the Ten Commandments to the Hebrew people specifically. It is a specific law code that is not replicable in its totality to other peoples. What scripture does is to invite Christians today to do the same thing: how are we to apply the essence of the Ten Commandments—to love God and love others—in our societies? Certainly, there are many aspects of the Old Testament Mosaic Law that can provide further principles, frameworks, or paradigms for contemporary Christians. And of course, for Christians, this project will have to include the teachings of Christ in the New Testament, which itself is a very complicated task since Christ both upholds and fulfills the Old Law.
Or consider how the Apostle Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 7, where he makes a distinction between what “the Lord says” versus what “I say, not the Lord” (regarding marriage). The Apostle is clearly applying not only specific commands of Christ, but reasoning about the implications of Christian theology in a prudential way. In the same passage, Paul also makes a distinction between a command and a concession (1 Corinthians 7:6) when he counsels couples to come together to avoid temptation. What this demonstrates is that many of the commands of scripture exist not at the level of determination, but as principles and conclusions from those principles. Human determination of immutable commands is always necessary, and these applications may not look the same in all cases.
Another element of applying both divine law and the natural law in civil society is that law, by its nature, is an ordinance of (human) reason made by the legislator for the good of all. Yet human reason by definition is variable—sometimes due to human frailty and sin, but sometimes due to wisdom and righteousness. A just ruler might want to legislate divine commands immediately, but if he is placed in authority over a wicked society, he must proceed cautiously. To that society, what seems just is not just; and what is just would be repudiated by public opinion and the ruler overthrown. To restore the people to righteousness and maturity will take time and concessions to less-than-ideal conditions.
As Junius puts it, “if a legislator, in the knowledge of the eternal law or in the knowledge of those matters that the laws govern, may make a law, he may also change a law if it is evident it will be useful, and for this reason it may depart from the law that had for a long time seemed equitable” (Thesis 20). The key to changing the law to align it ever closer with God’s law is public utility, for a law that is not immediately useful will be discarded and its authority disparaged. As such, the usefulness of a law at a given time is just as important as its ultimate end or final, perfect form. Public reasoning about law that balances its equity and usefulness is a critical skill of the Christian statesman endowed with a prudence that has been trained by the divine and natural laws.
Conclusion
The timeless commands of God can be easily grasped, but what God commands of us can quickly become a complex matter. Neither divine commands nor the precepts of the natural law overrule the need for prudence, for both must be applied in variable circumstances. These considerations are not an excuse to disobey what God requires, but are merely to acknowledge that even the Bible complicates what we seek to simplify according to our modern methods.
Christian Statesmanship is possible because a form of Christian prudence is possible in the active and political life. Christian prudence, however, will be different in some ways from the ancient or classical ideal of the statesman. Some behaviors are, in all circumstances, off limits. There are probably no circumstances that could justify a civil magistrate commanding what God explicitly prohibits consistently across the entire Christian canon (worshipping idols, murder, adultery, etc.). On this account, both divine commands and the natural law can guide and discipline the Christian statesman in his prudential determinations regarding public life. This in turn makes possible what many disparage in our time: a Christian nation that, in its laws and people, is pleasing in God’s sight.
