Last fall, an itinerant preacher named Mario Murillo held a rally in Eau Claire, Wis., one stop in a series of appearances he dubbed the Courage Tour. Among the 2,000 or so attendees was a writer for The Atlantic,Stephanie McCrummen, whose published description of the event detailed faith healings, charismatic singing and chanting, and extensive warnings about the Democratic Party and the existential threat it represented to American life and society. Above all, Ms. McCrummen reported, Mr. Murillo was conditioning his listeners to think of themselves as “warriors.” The Courage Tour was saturated in martial metaphors, with audience members encouraged at each turn to dedicate themselves to the cause. Ms. McCrummen’s piece, “The Christian Radicals Are Coming,”rapidly went viral.
Ms. McCrummen has been writing about politicized Christianity for several years now, and she is not the only one worried. Concerns about Christian nationalism have given rise to a slew of books and exposés, typically offering lurid glimpses into radicalized Christian subcultures, paired with warnings that their influence is far deeper and wider than most Americans realize. Inanother piece, Ms. McCrummen declared that about 40 percent of American Christians, “including Catholics,” are under the influence of the New Apostolic Reformation, a charismatic Christian movement that teaches followers they are divinely called to dominate American media, education, business and government. Some would put the numbers even higher. InTaking America Back for God, the sociologists Samuel Perry and Andrew Whitehead argue that over half of all Americans are rightly classified as Christian nationalists.
How concerned should Americans be about this? It is hard to get perspective in such a tumultuous political moment. If the country is indeed being bent to the will of militant theocrats, that is deeply concerning. Still, the sensationalism of some of the reports inspires a certain skepticism in many people. Clearly, a contingent of radicalized Christians exists and has rallied around President Donald Trump, viewing him as a kind of prophetic figure. But how representative are these people of American Christianity more broadly?
Christian influence has waned in American public life, especially among the highly educated. The Pew Research Center suggests that 28 percent of Americans are now religiously unaffiliated, and a Gallup poll indicates that only three in 10 Americans attend religious services regularly. It is hard to tell whether the scholars and journalists decrying Christian nationalism have a sufficiently nuanced understanding of faith and the complex ways in which it can shape believers’ lives. They are right to recognize that there is something amiss in the blending of Christian faith and right-wing politics, but it’s reasonable to ask whether they have a balanced understanding of the situation. Dramatic events like last year’s Courage Tour, which encouraged politically conservative Christians to serve as election workers and poll watchers, are more eye-catching than people quietly going to church or reading their Bibles at home. But they may not really be representative of what Jesus means to most American Christians.
Defining Christian Nationalism
In fairness, it really is hard to know what metrics to use to quantify the politicization of faith. Christian nationalism has been a major topic of discussion in the past few years, but it is surprisingly difficult to formulate a clear definition. Dr. Whitehead and Dr. Perry describe it thus: “Simply put, Christian nationalism is a cultural framework—a collection of myths, traditions, symbols, narratives, and value systems—that idealizes and advocates a fusion of Christianity with American civil life.” Everyone seems to agree that politics and Christian faith are being linked in problematic ways, but it is not terribly easy to describe that connection with precision. It is “a form of political idolatry,”warns the theologian Drew Strait. Paul Miller, a contributing editor at Christianity Today,says that it is “a bad political theory, illiberal in theory and practice, and at odds with key features of the American experiment.”
All of these authors seem to agree that Christian nationalism represents a real threat to American democracy, but none can furnish a single, clear marker that would divide nationalist Christians from the more benign variety. Christian nationalists, it would seem, believe that the United States is properly Christian, and that Christians make the best Americans. That is an ugly sentiment. But it also throws open a host of difficult questions.
Faith and Politics
What are “the key features of the American experiment?” How does one distinguish “political idolatry” from healthy civic participation? If Christian nationalism improperly combines politics and faith, the most constructive critique will be rooted in a clear, reasonable view of the rightway to relate those two things. Do critics of Christian nationalism have that? Does anyone? This is a problem, not just for Christians, but for people of faith generally. The question of how God and Caesar fit together has always been very hard, no matter which god one has in mind, or which Caesar.
History shows us that the relationship between religious faith and political movements is fluid and endlessly shifting. Religious language may be used by statesmen for honorable ends, or by tyrants on their quest for power. Adolf Hitler, Francisco Franco and Franklin Delano Roosevelt did not draw on religious themes to the same extent or in the same ways, but each clearly tapped into religious feeling and used it for a political end. Hitler and Franco used religious language in cynical and evil ways to establish themselves as dictators, but Roosevelt moved his countrymen deeply with his references to “almighty God” in his famous fireside chats.
Martin Luther King Jr. was a Baptist minister who freely used Christian language in his public (and political) speeches. Abraham Lincoln wrestled with agonizing questions about the workings of divine Providence, clearly understanding his responsibilities as president within that theistic framework. Abolitionists, suffragettes and anti-war protestors are among the many groups in American history who have publicly used Christian themes to advance social and political causes.
When we see Christian language and imagery are being used opportunistically by corrupt politicians (here in the United States, but also in other countries such as Hungary and Russia), it is only prudent to worry about where that road might lead. Already it has gone to troubling places. No one can forget the Trump Bible, a flag-festooned volume of the Word of God hawked by the American president and the country singer Lee Greenwood, or the rash of “Christian” books and memes declaring Mr. Trump to be God’s chosen instrument on earth. We should keep in mind, though, that faith and politics can never be neatly separated. American history, in general, has been a story not of rigid secularism, but rather of a nation in which people of many backgrounds and convictions have mingled freely in the public square, working out their differences through the democratic process. Americans have generally preferred to keep religious radicalism in check not by aggressive weeding, but rather by allowing a thousand flowers to bloom.
The rise of Christian nationalism reflects Christianity’s increasingly fraught relationship with mainstream politics and culture, increasingly noticeable over the past 15 years. Writers like Ms. McCrummen are resonating, not only with progressives and secularists, but also with many Christians who have personally watched people they love get swept up in conspiracy theories and extreme views. Christian nationalism is particularly alarming insofar as it channels anger and cultural resentment, which irresponsible grifters (and especially President Trump) have molded into a reactionary radicalism. But when Christians are drawn to illiberal fantasies of repressive theocratic regimes, that is a manifestation of their cultural weakness, not their dominating cultural strength. Christian nationalism is not harmless, but neither is America hurtling toward theocracy. There are, certainly, good reasons to be concerned about threats to our Constitutional order, and a theologically tinged authoritarianism might contribute to that problem. But even or especially if that is true, the goal at this juncture should be a civic peace, negotiated among Americans of all convictions.
The Antidote
The best antidote to Christian nationalism will not be a high and impenetrable “wall of separation” between religion and public life, but rather a healthier and better-integrated public square in which people of all faiths and backgrounds can work together for common goals.
Of course, Christian nationalists are directly opposed to such a healthy integration. Unfortunately, far too many of Christian nationalism’s critics are also unable to articulate this kind of robust engagement of religion in public life as a goal. This becomes immediately evident when one digs into the methodology that leads sociologists to declare that huge swaths of American society are infected by Christian nationalism. Drs. Whitehead and Perry, in their influential study, used a six-question survey to gauge respondents’ levels of sympathy with Christian nationalism. Respondents might be tipped into the Christian nationalist category for doubting that “the federal government should enforce strict separation of church and state,” or agreeing that “the display of religious symbols” should sometimes be permitted in public spaces. Believing that “the success of the United States is part of God’s plan” is another sign of Christian nationalism for the two researchers, though respondents seemingly were not asked whether God also wants other nations to succeed or has a plan for them. Thinking the federal government should allow (not require) prayer in public schools was also taken as evidence of Christian nationalist sympathies.
It is fair to assume that the attendees of Mr. Murillo’s rallies would overwhelmingly be classified as Christian nationalists. But the category might capture a wide range of other people, too. Some may find it ironic that a subject in Dr. Perry and Dr. Whitehead’s study might be classified as a Christian nationalist for believing that Muslim students should be permitted to pray during the school day or that Amish citizens should be given religious exemptions from a military draft. They might be Christian nationalists for being comfortable with Jews displaying a Star of David on a booth at a public festival or simply for thinking that the United States, like all nations, is held in God’s Providence, such that any success the nation enjoys is part of a divine plan.
Dr. Perry and Dr. Whitehead’s work contributed to a moment of panic in many circles. That concern gave rise to a whole range of conversations, with some comparatively sober and others more histrionic. Georgetown University and the Berkeley School of Theology held conferences on how Christian nationalism threatens democracy. The Center for American Progress declared that Christian nationalism represents the “single biggest threat to American religious freedom,” while Americans United for Separation of Church and State warned that these “extreme Christian fundamentalists” are backed by a “billion-dollar shadow network” that “will stop at nothing to secure their power and privilege” by forming a theocratic state. It all sounds deeply alarming, and indeed, if roughly half of Americans wanted to jettison democracy and freedom of religion for an Iranian-style theocracy, that truly would be alarming. But in fact, none of the views the sociologists identify as “Christian Nationalist” obviously entail, or even clearly imply, a desire to repress or marginalize non-Christians. There may well be some groups that harbor such intolerant desires, but the research that has been conducted does not allow the authors, or anyone else, to make informed conclusions about their size, reach or support from ordinary American Christians. If anything, the research may simply show that ordinary American citizens have a more tolerant and nuanced understanding of religious faith than do academic sociologists.
Is Religious Neutrality Possible or Desirable?
In many ways, the Christian nationalism debate illustrates that there is much work to be done in multiple camps. Through most of American history, Christians of various stripes contributed to different political parties and movements in a wide range of ways. Our Constitution prohibits the imposition of “religious tests” as a requirement for voting or holding public office, but until quite recently almost no one supposed that this made religion a taboo subject in political contexts. Of course religion will shape believers’ sensibilities and views, contributing to public discourse and motivating many social reformers. America’s founders wanted to protect freedom of religion in part because they saw it as a crucial ingredient of a healthy polity and culture, which needed to be protected from co-option by the state.
In the later part of the 20th century, a desire for “religious neutrality” became more commonplace, especially in elite legal and scholarly circles. The Supreme Court’s 1962 ruling in Engel v. Vitale, which forbade prayer in public schools,was foundational to this new understanding of neutrality. Many of the core ideas of religious neutrality were developed further by legal theorists of this era, such as Justices William F. Brennan and Warren E. Burger. These men showed a strong interest in protecting the private consciences of individuals by building a public square that would be accessible to Americans of all faiths and persuasions.
Concerned that state support for religious institutions would be exclusionary and divisive, they argued that government initiatives should always have clear secular goals and be presented in secular language. Their apparent concern was to avoid state entanglement with religion, but they failed to ensure that religious Americans were not marginalized in their public activities and expression. This led to a widespread perception among late-20th-century jurists that the Constitution itself demanded a high and secure “wall of separation” between church and state. That is, public schools, public festivals and other initiatives involving the government should be scrupulously secular.
Even outside legal circles, this probably seemed like a reasonable approach in a time when Christianity, although ebbing, was still overwhelmingly the dominant American faith. When Christianity was perceived as the default belief system, avoiding open or public expressions of Christian faith may have looked like an act of generosity and tolerance, meant to ensure that non-Christians were not marginalized or deterred from civic participation. When committed and churchgoing Christians started to move into a minority status, those same rules and mores took on a different cast. They began to feel oppressive to many Americans, and in a very real sense perhaps they are.
Consider Dr. Perry and Dr. Whitehead’s assumption that “religious symbols” should not be permitted in public spaces. This view immediately invites many clarificatory questions: What counts as a religious symbol, or a public space? Should everyone be prohibited from displaying religious symbols, or only people plausibly viewed as representatives of the state? No matter how one interprets the claim, it is obvious that a wide range of nonreligious symbols are permitted in public spaces, including many that are socially divisive: pride flags, a MAGA hat, the raised fist of Black Lives Matter, a Blue Lives Matter flag, or the logos of politically controversial organizations such as Greenpeace, the National Rifle Association, or the American Civil Liberties Union, for instance.
Indeed, there are particular symbols (such as a swastika) that most Americans agree are too offensive to be tolerated in public, but it is understood that free societies should allow people wide latitude to express their views and allegiances through symbols. If religious symbols are treated as an exception case, that starts to look rather repressive. Why are religious people’s desires to give visual expression uniquely suspicious?
We might apply a similar line of reasoning to the subject of education, which inevitably forces us to encounter hard questions about socialization, civic norms, and which ideas or practices are most important or worthy of consideration. When a strong majority of Americans were Christian, excluding religion from public schools might have seemed like a reasonable way of making education more inclusive. Today though, religious perspectives jostle publicly with a range of social and political ideologies, which are clearly competing for social influence whether or not they are classified as religious. If public school students read Karl Marx or the author Ibram X. Kendi, but never encounter thinkers like Pope Leo XIII or Pope John Paul II, religious believers might begin to feel justified in their belief that the public square has been engineered in such a way as to marginalize them. It is not entirely surprising that some then conclude that it is necessary to be more aggressively political.
It is worth considering these points as some Republican-led states, like Oklahoma and Texas, debate whether biblical lessons should be permitted, or even required, in public schools. There are some obvious problems with forcing public school teachers to include the Bible in their curriculum, regardless of their own religious views. But it may also be a mistake to suppose that a default exclusion of religious material achieves a truly neutral approach in such a diverse and divided society.
Respect and Confidence
Radicalized Christians almost certainly are not numerous enough to establish a repressive theocracy, but it does not follow that Christian nationalism is not dangerous. A very small number of zealots in key political roles can be dangerous under the direction of a malevolent leader. And their number may not be so very small. Even if American democracy is not at serious risk, radicalization can carry other costs. It can seriously damage the credibility of Christians, making evangelization more difficult. It can feed into vicious cycles of polarization that are already poisoning our culture and political sphere. It can certainly do real harm to individual souls and lives.
A lasting solution may require Christians to become more comfortable with holding a minority status, at least in certain spheres of American life. Extremists need to be reasoned with and, in most cases, condemned. Catholics may have a role to play here in helping our Protestant compatriots get a perspective on the situation: We have more experience building healthy subcultures within a larger American polity that has sometimes regarded Catholics with suspicion.
At the same time, a lasting solution will also require other Americans to work harder to carve out a space for Christian traditionalists within our civic life. If devout religious believers cannot see a path to healthy civic participation, in accord with their own consciences and convictions, it is inevitable that some will continue to radicalize.
Unquestionably, building a mutually respectful public square is a challenging task, requiring considerable patience and prudence. Hard questions will need to be broached, over gender ideology, public health, immigration and more. There will be times when particular radicalized subgroups are deemed too offensive or hateful to be tolerated in the mainstream. We must find ways to live together, despite deep disagreement, and this is never easy. Ironically, though, we might actually find a source of hope in the astonishing incivility of the public square in recent years, simply because it points to the possibility that greater cooperation and harmony might really be possible if more people embraced this as a goal.
The drafters of the U.S. Constitution had great respect for religious faith. They chose the path of disestablishment, not creating a state-sponsored church, because they wanted people of diverse views and convictions to be free to live and pursue happiness in keeping with their own consciences. They worried about the effects of zealotry and factionalism, both religious and political, but believed that these could be best contained by respect for the law and the constitutional process. It clearly was never their intention to see religion relegated to the cloisters. Today, it may be the founders’ vision that truly feels utopian. Can we really live together peacefully, despite deep disagreement? Is our Constitution up to the task?
It is certainly worth a try. And even in a frenzied hour, we should take up the task with a certain confidence. Americans have a long track record of working out differences in peaceful ways. We know how to do this. It is time to revive our tradition of respectful tolerance.
