FOR almost 80 years the Princeton Evangelical Fellowship has aspired, in the words of its first president, to take a “definite stand for Christ on the campus.” Yet in August the student body dropped the word “evangelical” from its name. It had become “misunderstood” by students, its current boss said. “There might be certain assumptions that all evangelicals are Republicans”.

That would not be unreasonable, given that 81% of self-identified white evangelicals voted for Donald Trump and, amid the shambles of his presidency, they remain his most devoted fans. But it is easy to see why some Princetonians might find that hard to stomach. Ever since the founding of Jerry Falwell’s Moral Majority in 1979, white evangelicals have justified their pre-eminent role in American politics in part by standing for high moral character in public office. That is not a standard Mr Trump meets. Yet there were also encouraging exceptions to this depressing capitulation by white evangelicals, which could have impressive consequences. Disgusted by Mr Trump, many younger Christians, in particular, are rethinking the nexus between politics and faith. This raises a glimpse of two much-needed renewals—of America’s democracy and of its foremost religious tradition.

To explore this, Lexington paid a visit to Wheaton College in Illinois, which illustrates some of the strengths of that tradition. One of America’s foremost Christian institutions, it was founded by abolitionists in 1860 and doubled as a stop on the Underground Railway. These days its leafy campus also houses a museum dedicated to a famous alumnus, Billy Graham, “America’s pastor”, in the admiring phrase of George H.W. Bush. And in the political-science class to which Lexington was welcomed, the students, 14 evangelical sophomores from across America, seemed mindful of that dual legacy.

They were contemptuous of the acquiescence, or worse, of their co-religionists to Mr Trump’s racial divisiveness. “Evangelical Christianity is supposed to be about love thy neighbour,” said Tim, a uniformed soldier from Ohio. “It gave me a sense of betrayal,” said Jessica, a Mexican-American from San Diego. “It was like our own community turned against my family.” Like Mr Graham, the students also worried that the church had become too political and too partisan. “We’ve become over-identified with a political party,” said Drew, from Pittsburgh. Only two of the students had voted for Mr Trump (though most of their parents had). Nine said they were now uneasy about being identified as evangelical.

Princeton and Wheaton are rarefied places. Yet polling data suggest many young white evangelicals feel similarly, and also why. It is not because they are better than their parents at spotting a phoney. Older evangelicals also know what Mr Trump is. (Last year they flipped from being the voter group most likely to say personal morality mattered in a president, to being the group least likely to say that.) Yet they are burdened by deep anger and racially tinged resentment at the secular turn America has taken, and Mr Trump vowed to redress that. By comparison, their offspring are more relaxed. Having never experienced majority status, they do not mourn the loss of it. White evangelicals now represent only around 17% of the population; those under the age of 30 represent a mere 8%. Inspired by writers such as Russell Moore, a Southern Baptist leader and scathing critic of Mr Trump, many youngsters even consider their moral minority status a sort of spiritual liberation. “Throughout its history, Christianity has always tended to get into a tangle with power,” quips James Forsyth, a 33-year-old pastor in McLean, Virginia.

While not obviously less prayerful than their parents, young evangelicals, semi-freed from the culture wars, are also culturally more in step with the rest of America. This is apparent in a widening generational split on gay rights. A big majority of older white evangelists oppose gay marriage; almost half of younger ones are for it. Among the students at Wheaton, ten said they were comfortable with gay marriage and only one was not.

Thus liberated, young evangelicals are also embracing a far more diverse, and heterodox, set of concerns than their “evil elders”, as the Wheaton students, with no hint of irony, referred to their parents’ generation. They are more concerned, at Wheaton and everywhere, about the environment, the plight of refugees and immigrants, and criminal justice reform, which are mostly preoccupations of the Democrats. This raises an intriguing question: are young white evangelicals about to turn left?

Don’t take liberties with the religious

It seems unlikely. Inheritors of a protestant tradition founded on distrust of central authority, they are still conservative. Polling also suggests young evangelicals are as hostile to abortion as their elders. Another important conclusion from the election, moreover, is that they will not consider a Democratic Party that does not respect them. Where Barack Obama, in 2008 especially, launched a serious and rather successful bid for white evangelical votes, Hillary Clinton’s strategists hardly bothered with them in 2016; some framed the contest against Mr Trump as America’s “first post-Christian election”. With white evangelical numbers in decline, and the Democrats increasingly in hock to groups that consider abortion less a necessary evil than a splendid right, that high-handed attitude may endure.

But this would be a mistake, most obviously because it may be some time before the Democrats’ demographic advantages deliver the easy wins their activists seem to expect. Meanwhile they will need every white vote they can get—and at least some young evangelicals look persuadable. Moreover, the deep meaning of the generational divide in Christian America is that the electorate, mercifully, is more dynamic than the lumpen logic of tribal politics suggests. To adapt to it, Republicans plainly need to heed the cultural concerns of today. Yet the Democrats’ task, which is to embrace pluralism as well as diversity, is no less pressing.