Prefigurative politics, reformed political ethics and ecumenism: a call to act

Introduction[1]

Recent research into the early decades of Christianity[2] paints a fairly accurate picture of the spirit that characterised the early communities: charismatic, highly missionary groups, driven and sustained in a manner unexpected given their circumstances by an experience and a message that was as urgent as it was highly improbable in the context of the 1st century: the new world had arrived; God had definitively revealed himself through the resurrection of an outcast condemned to death, Jesus of Nazareth, and was soon to establish his reign of peace. This is why Christians can and must already live in anticipation of this future world and align their daily lives with this future reality, which is already possible in the world and in the Church. Several passages in the New Testament and the writings of the early theologians provide evidence of this eschatology lived out in the present. We know, for example, that women and/or slaves played a leading role in many communities, served as deacons or prophetesses, preached, and were close to the apostles (cf. e.g. Rom. 16:7), and that soldiers and children took part in worship alongside women, dignitaries, educated people and so on—all things unthinkable in traditional Roman society. This kind of transgression of social and religious norms could also sometimes be found in other mystery cults. These breaches of certain norms were not intended to foment widespread revolt, but rather expressed the urgent need for new ways of behaving more in keeping with the significance of Christ’s resurrection—a foreshadowing of the Messiah’s definitive return, bringing peace and justice, in accordance with the prophecies of Judaism’s founding texts. Through the Spirit, Christians were already partaking in this new world, even though it was not yet fully present. These new behaviours inevitably had a social impact, beyond Sunday celebrations, bringing members of the communities into conflict with the social norms of their context.

In recent years, scholars of the New Testament era have identified a strand within political science that has recognised and conceptualised a similar phenomenon in 20th-century social and political movements, known as ‘prefigurative politics’.

In this study, we shall first briefly outline what is meant by the concept of ‘prefigurative politics’. We shall then highlight parallels in recent research on early Christianity. We shall then see that this analysis is also relevant to the ecumenical movement. We shall conclude by highlighting a possible parallel between this discipline and Protestant political ethics, and its relevance for the Churches in the context of the urgent challenges facing our world today.

1.     Prefigurative politics[3]

Prefigurative politics is a field of political science that was first observed and described as early as 1977 in the USA, in particular by Carl Boggs and Winifred Breines, in the context of discussions surrounding the ‘New Left’ movements. It can be defined as follows: ‘The deliberate and experimental implementation of desired future social relations and practices in the here-and-now’ (Raekstad-Gradin: 10, 36). If one wishes to bring about change to the order of a society in crisis, one must envisage the state of that society after the change when determining how to bring it about (57). This line of thinking is, first and foremost, a critique of Marxism, which claimed that to change society, one must first seize power, control the state and nationalise the economy. But it also takes issue with anarchism by stating that ‘our societies do not need resistance, but reconstruction’ (2). Nor is it an alternative to the struggle against injustices, oppression and so on, but rather a way of living out that struggle. Nor should it be seen as the one and only way to bring about real change. On the contrary, the authors repeatedly emphasise that it is all the more effective when combined with other reforms. Nor is it something entirely new: the authors see numerous precursors in pan-African, indigenous and anti-colonial movements, the Indian independence movement (with Gandhi himself as a particular example), Black Lives Matter, feminist movements, Occupy, the World Social Forum, Nuit Debout, etc. Without dwelling on it, Raekstad and Gradin mention in passing the early days of Christianity (19) and its ‘phenomenal prophecy’, meaning ‘something real and historical which announces something else that is also real and historical[4] ’. We shall return to this possible connection. As for the theoretical sources, these are to be found in 19th-century utopian socialism and a particular strand of 20th-century anarchism, that of Proudhon. The latter developed an early version of the idea that change comes about by establishing the desired practices in ‘the here and now’ rather than through a state revolution (22). In doing so, Proudhon was a firm believer in the idea of federalism, which advocates power organised from the bottom up, in overlapping layers of local, regional and global councils enjoying a high degree of autonomy[5] .

Prefigurative politics is characterised primarily by the following assertions:

In their presentation, the authors refer to concrete examples of prefigurative actions, such as the Zapatista movement in Mexico, Rojava in Kurdistan or Occupy New York. It is surprising, however, that the authors make no mention of environmentalists and ecologists, to name but a few such movements.

Prefigurative activism is, of course, not without its weaknesses, nor is it immune to criticism. The most common criticisms relate to political naivety, its applicability being merely marginal and peripheral to small entities, an inability to defend itself against opponents, and the division of left-wing forces. In the final chapter, the authors revisit these arguments (133–148).

2.     The eschatology of the New Testament world[7]

One cannot help but note that the early writings of the New Testament, and those of Paul in particular, are set within the historical and literary context of Jewish apocalyptic eschatology (Enoch, Psalms of Solomon, Apocalypse of Baruch, Apocalypse of Ezra, Jubilees, …). This tradition focuses primarily on the theme of the parousia, the end times, and thus on the contrast between the present age and the age to come. Whilst Paul draws on this widespread framework of thought, he does, however, modify one essential element: namely, that the resurrection of Christ is the sign that he is the Messiah who is to (re)come. Moreover, the resurrection marks the beginning of a series of forthcoming apocalyptic eschatological events, culminating in the resurrection of all believers (1 Cor. 15:23–24). His apocalyptic eschatology does not merely contrast the two times (present versus future); rather, he asserts that, through the resurrection, the two times collide or converge, and that the time to come therefore also concerns the present and the way in which the believer perceives it. This is an integral part of revelation: the believer already shares in this parousial event through their participation in the resurrection of Christ by the Spirit, for example during the celebration of Holy Communion. Consequently, the solution (the future) must address the problem of the present. It is not merely a matter of waiting for the Last Judgement.

There are several passages in the New Testament where this tension between the present and the future is evident. One thinks, of course, of the use of terms commonly found in Roman law or referring to the power of the Roman authorities or the Emperor, but attributed to Christ; of the assertion that Christ’s authority is superior to that of the Emperor (‘Render unto God the things that are God’s’, Matt. 22:21), the characterisation of Christians as ‘citizens/migrants without rights ’ (paroikoi) within the Empire, regardless of their civic and social status (1 Peter 2:11), to that of ‘citizens (politeuma) of heaven’ (Phil. 3:20), or even Luke’s very harsh description of what awaits those who do not share all their possessions (Acts 5:1–11). Paul’s writings are perhaps the clearest, when he speaks of living ‘in Christ’, ‘in the Spirit’—and thus without limits—or when he urges the congregation in Corinth (1 Cor. 11:17–34) to set aside social and class differences because of Christ’s presence at the Lord’s Supper. The fact that this element is found, on the one hand, in a ritual – and therefore physical – act, and that it is the central element of faith in Christ and of community life, where participation in the reality of the resurrection and the parousia is strongest, indicates the centrality and importance of this foreshadowing in testing the authenticity of the faith lived out within the community. The reality promised by Christ’s resurrection is already being lived out in concrete terms within the community. Studies show that this discourse is not merely rhetoric or ‘coaching’, and that it was not simply a virtual temporal anticipation, reserved for moments of ecstasy during celebrations, but that it must be understood in a prefigurative sense, in the sense that these experiences had an impact on the social life of the early Christians: the new reality was lived out experimentally within the old one, so as to demonstrate its truth, its possibility and its plausibility to society as a whole. The communities were called to become pilot projects for a way of life different from the norm, already realising what their hope for change called them to do, beginning with giving obedience first and foremost to Christ and his Spirit rather than to rules that purported to hold authority over people and to be of divine origin. Similar observations were made upon close examination of the text of Phil. 4:7–9 (addressed to a predominantly non-Jewish community in a Roman colony with a large garrison of soldiers), particularly regarding the significance of the presence of God’s peace brought by Christ and of Christ as the ‘God of peace’, the ‘pax Christi’ being in clear tension with the ‘pax romana’.

Even if this was not the original intention of the authors of the New Testament, their message could be interpreted as anti-imperial, atheistic and anti-social. This was a criticism often levelled at them during the first two centuries. Traces of this can be seen in the Book of Acts, where on several occasions Paul’s activities are criticised for their religious, economic or social consequences for certain groups of people (cf. Acts 14:11–20, 16:16–21, 19:11–16, 23–28, 35–40). Or in the fact that when Paul speaks to the Philippians of the peace of God achieved through Jesus’s condemnation to death and crucifixion by the local authorities, he himself is in prison at that very moment.

These various examples clearly show that such prefigurative practices blurred the dichotomy between the present and the future, between means and ends, between presence and absence, the ideal and reality, the last and the penultimate, religion and politics[8] .

3.     Faith in the Church as a prefigurative element in the ecumenical movement[9]

It is worth recalling that in the version of the creed adopted at Nicaea in 325, the Holy Spirit was mentioned only briefly at the end, without further comment. In the final version adopted in 381 at the Council of Constantinople, this element was expanded upon. Above all, it was directly followed by the article ‘I believe in the one, holy, catholic and apostolic Church’, which would later appear in the Apostles’ Creed and at the Council of Chalcedon in 451. This juxtaposition of faith in the Holy Spirit and faith in the Church—the fruit of Pentecost and the ‘body of Christ’— has been the subject of much discussion amongst theologians and, in particular, has caused no end of headaches for the Reformed, who struggled – quite rightly at the time, and still struggle today – to recognise any divine visibility in the institution and/or the building known as the ‘Church’. Yet there is no doubt that the Church Fathers very quickly recognised, even before the Constantinian shift, an eschatological and sacramental function for the Church as such. The Church foreshadows the kingdom of God; she is the new creation, which opens up space for transformation and change, for renewal, to bring her into conformity with the Church of Christ. This transcends the dichotomy between the visible and invisible Church and emphasises the presence of the Church’s future in its present, whilst maintaining the tension towards the final fulfilment of unity. This is the heart and driving force of the ecumenical movement. Examples of this understanding can already be found in Methodius of Olympus (†311), Gregory of Nyssa, Tertullian and Leo the Great. They draw, for example, on Paul’s passage: ‘Now I know in part, but then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known’ (1 Cor. 13:12). Or they draw a parallel between the Law, which foreshadowed the coming of Christ, and the Church, which foreshadows the Kingdom of God. This understanding is rooted in sacramental practice—in particular the Eucharist mentioned above, but also in the Incarnation—and gives the Church an eschatological dimension that transcends its concrete reality, whilst inviting it to realise that reality even more fully.

The ecumenical movement has taken up this patristic vision, for example in the two foundational documents of the Faith and Order Commission: the Lima Document (‘Baptism, Eucharist and Ministry’, 1982) and ‘The Church: Towards a Common Vision’ (2013), as set out in paragraph 33: The Church is an eschatological reality, already
anticipating the kingdom, but not yet its full realization. The Holy Spirit is the principal agent in establishing the
kingdom and in guiding the Church so that it can be a servant of God’s work in this process. Only as we view
the present in the light of the activity of the Holy Spirit … do we begin to grasp something of the mystery of the Church (cf. also paragraphs 42, 58 and 69). This understanding is also found in bilateral ecumenical dialogues.

We may conclude that the phrase ‘I believe in the one Church…’ is an extension of the phrase ‘I believe in the Holy Spirit’. One can believe in the Church insofar as, and only if, it allows itself to be guided by the Holy Spirit. The community of the saved can be experienced, albeit imperfectly and partially, here and now, whilst remaining clear that this is still and always a ‘not yet’. This awareness of the scope for progress and change is an invitation to acknowledge one’s imperfections and serves as a warning against any triumphalism, as well as against any confessional exclusivism. This space serves as a reminder of the expectation of the Kingdom of God proclaimed by Jesus. It is the eschatological dimension of the Church’s existence and concerns both the inner life of the Church and its outward action on behalf of all humanity.

Understood in this way, the Church gains in credibility and authority. This applies both to what distinguishes the Church’s internal life from its external life and to the question of its credibility in the wider world. This is the transition from ‘creed to credibility’ (Williams: 16). Christian communities can be seen as attempts to reconstruct human identity. The aim is to show that what God does through and within his Church is of value to humanity as a whole. To the world’s age-old question: ‘Why should we listen to the Church?’, ‘the answer is not provided by a Church that’s struggling to be fashionable and intelligible at all costs, but by a Church that lives and speaks in such a way that it sharply challenges what the world takes for granted’ (Williams: 17).

To what extent does the Church demonstrate that it makes sense to the world? This depends solely on the way in which it allows God to work through it. When reading the very earliest Christian writings (such as the Didache, for example), one encounters this question right from the start: How do we know that it is a true Church? ‘It is always a matter of Christians being transformed into people who can be believed’ (Williams: 28), because they collaborate in the work of reconciliation and the rebuilding of humanity. Such is the authority of the Church.

4.     Reformed theology and political ethics, and prefigurative thought

From all of the above, one will note a certain similarity between the foundations of prefigurative politics and classical Reformed politics or political ethics. We shall limit ourselves here to the most significant parallels:

In political theological ethics, the question that arises is this: Who can legitimately hold power, and how is it controlled? The answers are traditionally as follows in the Reformed world, and indeed in Protestantism in general:
Ultimate sovereignty belongs to God (Calvin); it is his presence that determines whether authority is genuine or not.
All human power is derived and must be limited (Augustine) and distributed.
Resistance to tyranny and injustice is permitted, indeed required. ‘Take away justice, and behold: what are these kingdoms but bands of criminals on a grand scale?’ (Augustine, The City of God, 4.4)
The exercise of power is a collective, inclusive, symbiotic phenomenon aimed at securing for all a life in which nothing necessary or useful is lacking. (Althusius, *Politica*, 1603). It involves establishing alliances and agreements with other powers.
The sovereignty of spheres: ‘a concept which asserts that each sphere of society — such as the state, the Church, the family, the school, the economy, associations, industry or science — possesses its own authority, derived directly from God, independent of the other spheres, but accountable for the manner in which it exercises that authority. These spheres are organically linked but must not intermingle, for any overstepping of boundaries leads to social disorder, a consequence of sin and the neglect of the duties specific to each sphere. The sovereignty of the spheres offers a vision of society in which each sector is autonomous, accountable and cooperative, ensuring a balance between independence and harmonious interaction, whilst limiting the excesses of centralised power’ (Abraham Kuyper, Herman Dooyeweerd)[10] .
Alongside this interpretation, which originated and is popular in the Netherlands, northern Europe and North America, it should be noted that the Calvinist tradition in the rest of Europe has also fostered the adoption of the principle of subsidiarity from Catholic social ethics. In both cases, participation, inclusion and collaboration must be at the heart of the exercise of power if it is to be (perhaps) authentic.

As for prefigurative politics, its principle can be summarised as follows: How can we already live as if the solution to problems no longer played a role? As mentioned above, the answers outlined can be formulated as follows:

  1. The end, though perhaps unattainable in its entirety, can be lived out in the present; it can already be lived out in part now through the means used to achieve it
  2. The end in the means: acting ‘as if’, embodying one’s present action in the future
  3. Horizontal and inclusive decision-making
  4. All of everyday life is political
  5. Prefigurative politics is a credible and functional alternative model, which, by its very existence, undermines the legitimacy of the mainstream narrative that claims there is no alternative.

Conclusion

A few brief concluding remarks and suggestions for further reflection:

August 2026

[1] I was inspired to share these few reflections by attending the 2026 IRTI Summer School of Theology, organised by the Protestant University of Utrecht (PThU) and the Free University of Amsterdam, entitled ‘Being Reformed in the 21st Century’, and in particular by the presentation given by Dr Suzan Sierksma-Agteres of the PThU: ‘Prefigurative politics and Reformed political theology in conversation’.

[2] For example: P. Fredriksen, *Ancient Christianities: The First Five Hundred Years*, Princeton, 2024; N.T. Wright & M.F. Bird, *The New Testament in its World: An Introduction to the History, Literature, and Theology of the First Christians*, Grand Rapids, 2019; M. Clauss, *Ein neuer Gott für die alte Welt: Die Geschichte des frühen Christentums*, Berlin, 2015; U. Schnelle, *The First 100 Years of Christianity, 30–130 AD: The Emergence of a World Religion*, Göttingen, 2019.

[3] In this paragraph, we refer to the standard work on this subject: Paul Raekstad and Sofa Saio Gradin, *Prefigurative Politics: Building Tomorrow Today*, Polity, Cambridge, 2020

[4] Quotation taken from Erich Auerbach (German philologist), *Scenes from the Drama of European Literature*, Minneapolis, University of Minnesota Press, 1984

[5] To add a Swiss touch, it is worth noting that the authors often refer to a seminal text of this movement, the ‘Sonvilier Circular’ from the (future) canton of Jura, dated November 1871. See https://www.dictionnaire-du-jura.ch/f/notices/detail/1000426, and also https://panarchy.org.problemistics.org/jura/sonvilier.html.

[6] Carol Hanisch, ‘The Personal Is Political’, in: *Notes from the Second Year*, *Women’s Liberation*, 1970

[7] We draw here on the main points of the following studies: Peter-Ben Smit, ‘Exploring the eschaton: the Lord’s Supper as a cultural technique enabling prefigurative politics’, *Yearbook for Ritual and Liturgical Studies*, Vol. 38 (2022); Peter-Ben Smit, ‘Prefigurative Peace in Philippians’, Revue Religions 15, 2024; Martinus C. de Boer, Paul, Theologian of God’s Apocalypse, Essays on Paul and Apocalyptic, Cascade Books, Eugene, 2020.

[8] There are countless examples of disruptive practices by Christian figures or communities in the history of the early centuries: one thinks, for example, of the rise of monasticism, support for the poor and widows, and a positively ambiguous approach to slavery, etc. The example of Melania (383–439) and Plinianus, the extremely wealthy heirs of a Roman senatorial family, who donated their immense fortune to build hospitals and monasteries as far afield as Jerusalem, is particularly telling: See https://cath.ch/newsf/melanie-et-pinien-premiers-mecenes-du-christianisme.

[9] See Peter-Ben Smit, ‘Believing in the Church as a resource for ecumenical rapprochement: a prefigurative perspective’, in: H. Hurskainen & J. Oeldemann (eds.), *Receiving the First Council of Nicaea Today: Ecumenical Learning from Synodal Discernment in the Early Church* (pp. 189–199); Rowan Williams, ‘The authority of the Church’, in: Modern Believing 46 (15–28), 2005.

[10] Taken from Wikiital.com

[11] See Urs Eigenmann, ‘Which God for Which Society and World? The Council of Nicaea and the Divisions within Christianity’, Exodus, Lucerne 2026