Was Jesus an Idealist?

Let’s start with a definition. A quick amalgam of online dictionary entries defines an idealist in the following terms: A person guided by high, noble principles, often prioritizing perfection, potential, and “the big picture” over immediate practical considerations. They are optimistic, visionary, and believe in bettering the world, sometimes regarded as impractical or “dreamers.”

Hmmm. What’s your instinctive response to that in relation to Jesus?

We can certainly see some qualities in that description. Idealists will no doubt identify with it in a positive sense. People who are realists by nature, however, will likely want to add a few qualifications and cautions.

It’s possible that your personal understanding of Jesus (your “Christology”) will lead you to think: “Jesus was God, so he must have been the perfect blend of both.” And that’s fair. But I’m not sure it’s a complete answer when we look at some examples of things Jesus said.

For instance, “You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it” (John 14:14). I’ve tried that out, and I regret to report that it doesn’t always “work.” Idealistic, then? Guilty of “prioritizing perfection, potential, and “the big picture” over immediate practical considerations”?

OK, I was “proof texting” there—taking the verse out of its context and assigning (or assuming) a meaning in isolation. But the reality is that the immediate context in John 14 offers no additional insight.

What about this one? “Do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also.” (Matthew 5:39). Doesn’t that sound even more idealistic? In the immediate context, we find further reinforcement of those shocking ideas: “Love your enemies” (Matthew 5:44).  

We can perhaps turn to genre to help us make sense of those Matthew 5 verses: Jesus deliberately exaggerating to reinforce an underlying point, rather as I think he was doing in Luke 14:26: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters … such a person cannot be my disciple.” We might compare this with Jesus’ apparently similar saying in Matthew 10:37: “Anyone who loves their father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves their son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.” We can then stretch a point by saying Matthew’s version is what Luke had in mind. Maybe. But it’s “not very evangelical” to interpret away Luke’s apparently plain meaning. Whither the “authority” of the biblical text?

What about when it comes to generosity? In Luke 3:11, Jesus tells us, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none . . .” This would appear to be a command to be a one-coat person, or at least a helpful warning for us to avoid encountering any coatless people if we want to hang on to a couple. But to be serious, I guess we can turn this into a general principle of sacrificial giving that’s intended to apply to all our money and possessions. And since this is something that would seem to be within everyone’s power to do—especially when it’s approached as a general principle—it hardly seems fitting to designate it “idealist.” It’s only idealistic to the extent that we don't want to obey it!

How about a slightly different one, that is again within our power to choose: “Do not judge, so that you will not be judged” (Matthew 7:1). That seems pretty clear, wouldn’t you say? Is it idealistic? Not really, save insofar as we decide that either (a) we, personally, are exempt from Jesus’ command, or (b) that if an issue is important enough in our mind, then we can ignore it—in other words, we assume Jesus would “obviously” have made an exception for our issue, had someone asked him at the time. One or other of those “excuses” seems to me to be what happens in practice, even though, once again, it’s “not very evangelical” to do a swerve around the plain sense of Scripture like that; every time someone does that, they undermine their supposed belief in Scripture’s authoritative status.

Let me offer a contemporary example to illustrate this. The fact that it’s a controversial example enhances rather than detracts from the underlying point that I’m making. Because conservative evangelicals insist that same-sex marriage is wrong, they believe it to be their duty—despite Matthew 7:1—to judge other evangelicals who hold an inclusive view (I don’t think that “judge” is too strong a word to apply here).

In other words, they deem that issue exempt from Jesus’ “do not judge” invocation. They place it in a special category (called “that’s different”), even though Jesus himself offered no list of exceptions to Matthew 7:1. Many conservatives will not only judge but also personally shun those who hold a different view.

Conservatives may respond, “So are you saying that ‘anything goes’?” To which the answer is plainly, “No, of course not.” But any remotely well-informed conservative will know—or their church leaders ought to be willing to tell them—that inclusive evangelicals have a serious theological and hermeneutical basis for their view which plainly does not amount to ‘anything goes’. Nor is it a subject on which a central tenet of creedal orthodoxy is being denied, such as the divinity of Jesus or his bodily resurrection.         

While it may be said that some of Jesus’ statements can, indeed, appear idealistic, they are, at a minimum, challenging us to think about them more deeply, and to take them more seriously (i.e., more literally), allowing ourselves fewer get-outs through correcting what he actually said to what we think he should have said.      

The opposite of an idealist is not a pessimist but a realist. And it’s easy to see in the Gospels that Jesus’ idealism (if we can call it that) was grounded in a concurrent realism, not least concerning the world we live in and the challenges of human life. Jesus was not teaching a naïve pie-in-the-sky optimism. For example, in the same John’s Gospel where we see some apparently very idealistic sayings, we also see Jesus saying, “In this world you will have trouble” (John 16:33). And similarly, “You will always have the poor among you” (John 12:8—echoed in Matthew and Mark).           

I suggest there’s a fine line—centred more in perception, perhaps, than inherent difference—between an idealist and a visionary. God has always been in the “vision” business, granting his prophets a divinely inspired picture of how the world can be and one day, by his grace, will be. Jesus inevitably shared in that vision (that he called “the Kingdom of God”); the Holy Spirit continues to bestow that vision, whether it’s for individual lives, churches, localities, or wider society. Our calling is to share in that divine vision and advance it as best we can within our personal spheres of influence.

I’m apparently known for not really answering the questions I pose. If that’s so, it’s because I prefer to suggest how we should think about the answers for ourselves, rather than dictating them. Today I will make an exception. I think Jesus was an idealistic realist. And a realistic idealist. Both/and rather than either/or. And so, too, should we be.

Let’s keep in mind, however, that realism is not pessimism. Pessimism comes too close to lacking vision and ultimately lacking faith—the belief that by God’s grace and the power of the Holy Spirit, great things may be possible. A little optimism (in the sense of us being more “can do” than “can’t do” or “won’t do”) is no bad thing. Praying expectantly is one example.

I will finish with a challenge. It is not idealistic—and hence it is not to be written off as impractical—when the fulfilment of an ideal for something to happen (such as meeting someone’s need) is within our power to deliver, through personal sacrifice (for example, in the principle underlying Jesus’ “two coats” command).

The same is true for what might at first glance seem “idealistic” about Jesus’ prayer for Christian unity in John 17:21–23: “That they may be one... brought to complete unity.” We can choose either to align ourselves with that prayer or to frustrate it. It’s in our power to make it happen or stop it from happening. The Son’s prayer to the Father depends not so much on the Father (who surely wishes to grant it) as on us, our free will decision.

On what grounds will we decide to go against Jesus’ prayer? Which of our pet doctrines, that we have decided are important enough to grant us an exception to obeying Jesus’ command, will we happily stand before God to defend on that final day, when we will be judged in the exact same way—to the same degree of pernicketiness, perhaps?—that we decided to take it upon ourselves to judge others?