Christian Identity Politics, Part 2
Stephen Wolfe's new book is a stunning achievement.
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According to Al Mohler, president of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, “Nationalism is always a clear and present danger.” And he was right.
Then.
He said that shortly after the events of January 6, 2021, before much of the American right decided that day was just a bit of spirited protest and nothing more. Within a few months, Mohler had capitulated, as his constituency demanded.
“We have the left routinely speaking of me and of others as Christian nationalists, as if we’re supposed to be running from that,” Mohler came to say, adding: “I’m not about to run from that.”
Christian nationalism surely gives its target audience what it wants. It is today’s most sinister fad.
As discussed in the previous TBL, nationalism has a long and ignominious history here in the U.S. and was rejected for very good reasons.
Today’s new Christian nationalism has found favor among a small slice of American evangelicals at the intersection of patriarchal, Reformed fundamentalism and alt-right politics – not necessarily in that order. Its adherents hope to redeem the term. However, they want the power and authority of Jesus without adopting the way of Jesus.
Talking his book (literally and figuratively), pastor and publisher Doug Wilson claims, “If you want to attack Christian nationalism from now on, and do so seriously, you’re going to have to contend with Stephen Wolfe’s [new] book,” The Case for Christian Nationalism, which seeks to describe and systematize this ideology.
Challenge accepted.
For the last 500 years or so, pretty much since Martin Luther nailed his theses to that famous door in Wittenberg, most basic Protestant political philosophy has argued that the state should promote “true” religion. Wolfe eagerly joins this tradition and merges it with historical nationalism within an expressly Reformed context.
The American Founders (many of whom were Reformed) thought otherwise … and I stand with them. I’ll explain why within the context of responding to Wolfe’s book.
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More Equal Than Others
Stephen Wolfe’s new book, The Case for Christian Nationalism, is a stunning achievement. In essence, he has reimagined Animal Farm and, astonishingly, turned the pigs into the heroes of the story.
He is convinced that liberal Democracy has failed simply because it has not provided him with his desired outcomes. Therefore, Wolfe and pigs are now aligned in their desire to replace what they see as a secular authoritarianism with an authoritarianism of allegedly Christian origin, with them in charge. Naturally.
“At this time, power is wielded against the church. Let us wield power in support of the church” (p. 386).
Many of today’s young men (especially) are dissatisfied with their lives. The “system” hasn’t worked for them; the “regime” hasn’t supported them. They were told they could be whatever and whoever they wanted and are disillusioned to find the statement false.
As a result, they are shopping for meaning within the political sphere. They want to believe in something bigger than themselves. They want to matter. They want confident certainty. They want to feel powerful and to be powerful. They want to fight. They want to win.
They aren’t entirely wrong, but they are largely wrong and are paranoid, too … which isn’t a new thing for evangelicals.
In 1798, Jedidiah Morse, a Massachusetts evangelical congregationalist, drew national attention by suggesting that a secret organization called the Bavarian Illuminati was at work to “root out and abolish Christianity, and overturn all civil government.”
When Thomas Jefferson was running for president in 1800, Federalist evangelicals claimed that if the Virginian won the election, he and his henchman would try to close their churches and confiscate Bibles from their homes.
When Irish Catholics started arriving in the United States in the early 19th century, Lyman Beecher and other evangelicals feared that these newcomers would undermine the Protestant nation they were trying to build. Historian Richard Carwardine wrote that such a nativist impulse “hinted at the paranoia.”
I think it was more than hinting and would add that similar overstated fears drive evangelical politics today.
Wolfe’s book offers one means to respond to the hysteria — but it is a sinister one that is doomed to failure.
The Wolfe book is easy to dismiss. Its arguments will be rejected out-of-hand by the vast majority of Americans.
For some, Wolfe’s thesis will be rejected for alleged racism consistent with nationalism’s ugly history.
Wolfe defines “nation” as a small people-group whose members have a great deal in common including language, shared values, and a sense of place (pp. 135-145). He defines “ethnicity” idiosyncratically.
“I use the terms ethnicity and nation almost synonymously, though I use the former to emphasize the particular features that distinguish one people-group from another. Since every people-group has internal differences (e.g., class-based differences), nation is used to emphasize the unity of the whole, though no nation (properly speaking) is composed of two or more ethnicities” (p. 135).
This definition, together with references to “blood relations,” the “volk,” a “community in blood,” the “principle of similarity,” and more sound like dog whistles to nationalism’s racist history. To be fair, however, Wolfe claims that his is “not a ‘white nationalist’ argument” (fn. 3, p. 172), and I’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt on that.
Still, Wolfe’s affirmative message — that ethnicities (even using his idiosyncratic definition) shouldn’t mix, that heretics can be executed, that violent revolution is currently justified, and a charismatic “Christian prince” with autocratic power is the best way to lead a nation — bears a striking resemblance to the blood-and-soil nationalisms of the recent past. At a minimum, Wolfe exhibits a lack of clarity on matters of race and is highly racist-adjacent.
Moreover, his arguments are readily adaptable to evils such as the promotion of the “curse of Ham” or Kinism.
According to George Washington, it is “[t]he unity of government which constitutes you one people.” Wolfe prefers ethnicity.
If Wolfe is cagey about his views on race, he is utterly unambiguous about his views of the patriarchy. He contends that “the most basic unit [of a nation] is not individuals but teams of husband and wife” (p. 57). Within these teams, the “man governs the household, orienting it to the divine mission he received from God, which he is responsible to see fulfilled” (p. 58). Accordingly, “the public signaling of political interests (whether through voting or other mechanisms) would be conducted by men, for they represent their households and everyone in it” (p. 73).
“We live under a gynocracy – a rule of women. This may not be apparent on the surface, since men still run many things. But the governing virtues of America are feminine vices, associated with certain feminine virtues, such as empathy, fairness, and equality…. The rise of Christian nationalism necessitates the fall of gynocracy” (pp. 448; 454).
Furthermore, despite paying lip-service to viewpoint diversity, Wolfe outlines Christian nationalism’s authoritarian goals in plain sight. In his Christian nation, it will be unacceptable to subvert public Christianity, oppose Christian morality (as he interprets it), teach heresy (as he understands it), or for non-Christians to have any significant social or political influence.
“A Christian society that is for itself will distrust atheists, decry blasphemy, correct any dishonoring of Christ, orient life around the Sabbath, frown on and suppress moral deviancy, and repudiate neo-Anabaptist attempts to subvert a durable Christian social order” (p. 214).
Wolfe expressly supports civil magistrates determining what is true and false religion and thus the civil law enforcement of Sabbath observance together with the civil punishment of blasphemy, heretical teaching, and irreverence (p. 35). Competing ideologies will be crushed.
Wolfe avers that “arch heretics” may be put to death, but charitably allows that “banishment or long-term imprisonment may suffice” (p. 391; he doesn’t cite Luther on this point in that the great reformer opposed the burning of heretics as unbiblical).
Finally, Wolfe is not merely a social conservative who advocates against, say, abortion or gay marriage. He is committed to a blatantly unconstitutional overhauling of the American political process to establish and serve his brand of Christianity. He has no real interest in persuading the culture at large. He wants to invite American culture to a Red Wedding. He advocates the overthrow of the government by a violent minority so (a certain sort of) Christian can run things his way.
For Wolfe, a Christian minority may impose its will on a non-Christian majority without consent simply because they are right (p. 346).
Few Americans – indeed, few Christians – are likely to accede to this vision.
Thus, the Wolfe book is easy to ignore. Those who do not accept its premises have little reason to do otherwise. However, because of the growth and influence of Christian nationalism within the evangelical tradition – my tradition – I will try to critique it seriously.
Note that Wolfe calls his book *The* Case for Christian Nationalism, implying it is not one among various or competing cases. At first glance, it seems odd that Wolfe would exclude allies who are Christian but not Reformed or whose theological interest extends beyond 1800.
However, it would be a mistake to see the primary purpose of the Wolfe book as trying to convince anyone or to make political allies. The primary purpose of the book is to provide cover for a certain kind of would-be Christian nationalist in his political desires and tribal allegiances by affirming his priors at every opportunity. As if to belabor the point, Wolfe’s Epilogue presents a disorganized series of culture war touchpoints that add nothing to his argument but clearly show what team he is on.
That’s also why Wolfe so carefully limits his source material and avoids the criticisms he deems illegitimate.
Wolfe seems perplexed that the “post-war consensus” rejected nationalism. Yet, anybody who has read even a bit of 20th Century history will recognize immediately why that consensus developed. It’s no wonder Wolfe avoids talking about nationalism historically – it’s an obvious loser of an argument. When somebody does so (“I’m not here to talk about the past.”), you know they have already lost.
Wolfe’s primary theological sources are Reformation-era Calvinists and the scholastics that interpreted them, ignoring others.
It is as if, for Wolfe, the “end of history” came in 1789. Thus, for example, he avoids considering the work of the “Old Princeton” theologians, who were American, Reformed, came after the Enlightenment, and embraced liberal Democracy. He also avoids the Confessing Church theologians, also Reformed, who demolished the nationalist ideas of the Third Reich.
These theologians don’t help his case and don’t confirm his target audience’s priors, so he ignores them.1
Wolfe makes a universal claim about his Christian nationalism: “Affirming both the principles of nature and the truths of grace necessarily leads to Christian nationalism or, if you prefer different terms, to the traditional claims of Christendom” (p. 186). However, and for example, no Catholic, Orthodox, Methodist, or Anabaptist would consider his claims as anything like their traditional Christendom. That’s because of his assumed premise that “civil government ought to direct its people to the true religion” (p. 183). He takes as given that his particular brand of patriarchal Reformed theology is “the true religion.”
Those who don’t also start there are unlikely to agree. So he ignores those ideas, too.
Wolfe acknowledges the “godlessness” of the Constitution (pp. 428-429). While he sees it as a “mistake,” he attributes it to religion being a state, rather than federal, matter. That said, by avoiding post-Founding sources, Wolfe merely alludes to the American trend away from religious establishment generally. Indeed, by the time the Constitution was drafted, “many Founders were beginning to question the wisdom of establishments altogether (usually because they feared that they hurt rather than helped Christianity).” Moreover, Wolfe ignores the 14th Amendment to the Constitution – which made the First Amendment applicable to the states – entirely.
Wolfe provides ready justification for the idea that people by nature are drawn to those who are like them. “Indeed, one ought to prefer and to love more those who are more similar to him,” he claims, “and much would result in the world if we all preferred our own and minded our own business” (p. 25). This assertion echoes the nationalism of Mein Kampf, wherein Hitler claimed the purpose of the state is to maintain a community of people “who are physically as well as spiritually kindred.”
Like Dorothy, Wolfe insists “there’s no place like home.” As he says: “It is also evident, from both instinct and reason, that we ought to prefer our own nation and countrymen over others. This instinct is not from the fall or due to sin; it is natural and, therefore, good” (pp. 150-151).
Indeed, watching teams and fans singing their national anthems at the World Cup this week has been powerful. However, chosen allegiances can be stronger still (further examples here and here), and Wolfe neglects that reality, too.
Wolfe claims Christian unity (another allegiance of choice) isn’t sufficient in this world, ranking behind nationality and ethnicity.
“But this brotherhood – being fit for a heavenly kingdom – is wholly inadequate as to its kind for cooperating to procure the full range of goods necessary for living well in this world” (p. 199).
Remarkably, Wolfe makes no effort to support his claim. He offers no data, or even examples, in support of his bare assertion that “it simply doesn’t work” (p. 199). Were Wolfe correct, there would be no successful multi-ethnic, multi-racial, multi-ideological states, but of course there are. I live in one, present difficulties notwithstanding. The same logic would require that friendships, marriages, and churches – again, allegiances of choice – do not work. But they do.
Similarly, Wolfe avoids dealing with the Bible, insisting that the theological interpretations of 16th and 17th century Calvinists are sufficient for his purposes. Doing so allows him to ignore Reformed and other theological traditions that actually engaged with liberal Democracy (his favored theological sources pre-date it) and, especially, pesky New Testament texts. In the Leipzig debate of 1519 with John Eck, Martin Luther declared: “A simple layman armed with Scripture is to be believed above a pope or a council without it.”
That’s one 16th century quote Wolfe didn’t use … because it, like the Bible generally, works so strongly against him.
Paul (then Saul), devout Jew and Roman citizen, aggressively persecuted those he viewed as unorthodox before his Road to Damascus experience. That sudden conversion, as recounted in the New Testament, inspired at least three missionary journeys totaling about 10,000 miles to spread the Word to the world – jump-starting Christianity so as to become the planet’s most influential and popular faith. Paul went from inquisitor and judge of the heretic to hearty servant and lover of the healed – from every tribe, tongue, and nation.
Paul, the one-time persecutor, became a persuader, arguing “persuasively about the Kingdom of God” (Acts 19:8), mostly among Gentiles and available to all. That view was offensive to the early Christians in Jerusalem, who insisted that Christians remain or become observant Jews. Paul went to Jerusalem and prevailed at the first church council (Acts 15), through the force of argument and the loving provision of food and support.
Paul’s persuasion model is better than Wolfe’s (and Saul’s) persecution model. We are led to repentance not by the sword, but by God’s kindness, forbearance, and patience (Romans 2:4). The Kingdom of God is not built by crusade or conquest. It is built by God’s grace when women and men take up crosses and follow Jesus.
The parable of the Good Samaritan and Pentecost, among other things, show the power of cross-cultural engagement.
Like Acts 15, Galatians 2 demonstrates that ethnic segregation is wrong, at least among Christians. In Christ there “is not Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave, [or] free” (Col. 3:11).
Therefore, Christian identity politics is as dangerous and erroneous as any other identity politics. Political partiality isn’t redeemed because the partiality is based upon (purported) faith.
Oddly, for such a committed Calvinist, Wolfe’s doctrine of sin isn’t nearly robust enough and he ignores humanity’s total depravity altogether. The reality is well encapsulated in the first part of Tim Keller’s famous signature phrase: “The gospel says that you are more sinful and flawed than you ever dared believe and more accepted and loved than you ever dared hope.”
The Old Testament shows us plainly that humans can have God’s law handed down from on high and written in stone, God’s personally selected leaders, and God’s own presence in the temple, yet we still worship other gods and sacrifice our children to idols.
King David’s example provides the other side of the same coin. We humans are too sinful to be trusted with substantial power. David was the greatest of Israel’s kings and a man after God’s own heart. Yet, even he, when accorded imperial power, used it to murder, abuse, and exploit Uriah and Bathsheba. The desire for an autocratic leader to speak for God has a long and dreadful history. God had to be talked into it. It didn’t go well.
It will come. The promise will be fulfilled. But not by us. “‘Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit,’ says the LORD Almighty” (Zechariah 4:6).
It should go without saying that those who are not Christians will reject the Wolfe book out-of-hand, but so will many Christians. That’s because Wolfe’s brand of Christianity will be rejected by most Christians. The non-Reformed will object. Those who would have women act with agency will object. Those favoring any sort of diversity or multi-culturalism will object. And those who are committed to American freedom and liberal Democracy will object.
There are good practical objections, too.
When Christian nationalism comes to power, rejects limited government for good, and suspends the First Amendment, will it be the Presbyterians, Baptists (Southern, General, or otherwise), Anglicans, CRC, Disciples of Christ, UCC, Lutherans, Pentecostals, non-denominationalists, or some other group in charge of the purge?
Wolfe openly refutes representative constitutional democracy in favor of a nation mediated by a “Christian prince” who is the “head of the people.” That point of view is uninformed by the Bible … and real life. As Wolfe concedes, in a footnote: “Experience over centuries might make the Christian students of history wary of this [authoritarian] civil power. I share that concern. But I state here not to insist that all civil rulers everywhere exercise it but to simply affirm that civil rulers have this power and, at appropriate times, can exercise it” (fn. 70, p. 325).
In sum, Wolfe would like to exchange their authoritarian for his authoritarian.2
The King David example should carry the day here. But, there are many other excellent ones.
Enlightenment thinkers generally believed that humans are basically good, and that through proper education they could be perfected. As Louis Hartz recognized, “Americans refused to join in the great Enlightenment enterprise of shattering the Christian concept of sin, [and] replacing it with an unlimited humanism.”
“America’s founders believed that because humans are sinful it is dangerous to concentrate political power. The Constitution thus carefully separates powers and creates a variety of mechanisms whereby each institution can check the others. Critically, the power of the national government itself was limited by Article I, section 8. Indeed, the very notion of federalism, some scholars have argued, was itself modeled after Reformed approaches to church governance (especially Presbyterianism) and New England civic arrangements which, as we have seen, were themselves heavily influenced by Calvinist political ideas” (Mark David Hall, here).
This shouldn’t be controversial for a Reformed Christian, but Wolfe rejects it.
Within a generation of Calvin, virtually every Reformed leader was convinced that the Bible taught that governments should be limited and that they should be based on the consent of the governed. For example, Stephanus Junius Brutus’s Vindiciae, Contra Tyrannos (1579) stipulates that the consent of the people is necessary for government to be legitimate. Wolfe’s Christian nationalism expressly does not.
Although ecclesiastical structures varied, Reformed churches have leaned heavily toward republican forms of government, and nowhere was this more true than among the Separatists and Puritans who immigrated to America. “Because only God is sovereign, and because of their commitment to the doctrine of total depravity, [Reformers] insisted that both ecclesiastical and civil authority be limited.” Wolfe does not.
As far as I can tell, the current Christian nationalists are the only evangelical group in the world even discussing these ideas because only they seem to think they were divinely elected to rule their country.
Contra Wolfe, America’s Founders, often Calvinist and mostly Christian, created a constitutional order characterized by a limited government, the separation of powers, and multiple checks and balances. Moreover, they embraced a robust understanding of religious liberty, applicable to all. Wolfe’s Christian nationalism is none of those things.
Republican government – representative democracy – is a stunning moral achievement, but it is also more than that. Its global success rests less on its morality than on its realism.
Religious authoritarianism, on the other hand, is under fire in Iran, which has been rocked by weeks of protests following the death of Mahsa Amini at the hands of the morality police. Plain old authoritarianism is under siege in Russia, China, and elsewhere.
Christian nationalists – American authoritarians – view their democratically-elected governments with contempt. They speak of “the regime,” lovingly extol civil war, and are itching to have a president who openly rejects the rule of law. They resent republican rule when it gives power to those they despise. And it fully intends to use liberalism to destroy liberalism.
For our own good. Allegedly. James Madison (Federalist 10) is instructive here.
“Measures are too often decided, not according to the rules of justice and the rights of the minor party, but by the superior force of an interested and overbearing majority.”
“Of all tyrannies, a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive. It would be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies. The robber baron’s cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity may at some point be satiated; but those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end for they do so with the approval of their own conscience. They may be more likely to go to Heaven yet at the same time likelier to make a Hell of earth. This very kindness stings with intolerable insult. To be ‘cured’ against one’s will and cured of states which we may not regard as disease is to be put on a level of those who have not yet reached the age of reason or those who never will; to be classed with infants, imbeciles, and domestic animals.”
What Wolfe and the pigs can’t get by persuasion and the ballot box, they intend to gain by force. In other words, the end (Christian dominion) justifies the means (tyranny).
While oversimplified, the idea that our forefathers came to the New World fleeing religious persecution in Europe to set up a new nation dedicated to liberty for the first time in history has more than a kernel of truth in it. The Wolfe nation doesn’t exist to secure the rights and liberties of its people. It exists to propagate and cultivate the faith and traditions of a singular people.
And, if you have to ask, you’re not one of them.
For Wolfe and the pigs, as on Animal Farm, all animals are equal, but some are more equal than others.
Totally Worth It
Advent is here. Enjoy.
Feel free to contact me via rpseawright [at] gmail [dot] com or on Twitter (@rpseawright) and let me know what you like, what you don’t like, what you’d like to see changed, and what you’d add. Praise, condemnation, and feedback are always welcome.
The ingredients for a traditional Thanksgiving meal cost shoppers 13.5 percent more this year compared to last. Several of those items are even pricier on an individual basis, particularly the star of the show: Turkey prices were up 24.4 percent year-over-year in the week ending November 6. Meanwhile, fresh potatoes cost 19.9 percent more, cranberry sauce 18.1 percent more, and salads and leafy greens 8.7 percent more in that period. Eggs and butter (including margarine or spreads) — ingredients key for desserts and sides — jumped a huge 74.7 percent and 38.5 percent, respectively. Beware, however, as some of this data is disputed. In related news, people who like to bake are scouting cheap butter and posting about it on social media. They post pictures of store shelves showing prices. Butter prices reached record highs in September but are expected to come down by the end of the year. That’s because we’ve been eating more butter – consumption rose to 6.5 ponds per person in 2021 from 5.6 pounds in 2015 – and because of lower supply.
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This is the best thing I read last week. The loveliest. The sweetest. The most intriguing. The most American. The most powerful. The most hopeful. The least surprising. A banker needs to fix this. As always, there was much to be depressed about; I’m focused on governments taking over petty crimes (see here, here, here, here, here, and here). Insider trading.
This is the best thing I saw this week; this is the best thing I read. The awesomest. The cleverest. The craziest. The most interesting. The most important. The most poignant. The least surprising. The least self-aware. The best thread. The best images. The best job posting. Here is a terrific investment reading list. Oops. Hmmm. Time’s up. No. I trust you had a happy Thanksgiving.
Please send me your nominations for this space to rpseawright [at] gmail [dot] com or via Twitter (@rpseawright).
The TBL Spotify playlist, made up of the songs featured here, now includes more than 240 songs and about 17 hours of great music. The TBL Christmas playlist is here. Whichever one you listen to, I urge you to listen in, sing along, and turn up the volume.
RIP, Christine McVie.
Benediction
Ben Rector provides our benediction.
But wait, there’s more.
Sadly, we lost the great Frederick Buechner this year. His sermon, “A Room Called Remember,” first published in A Room Called Remember, and later in Secrets in the Dark, is well worth remembering in light of Thanksgiving. Here’s a taste.
“We must, each one of us, remember our own lives.
“Someone died whom we loved and needed, and from somewhere something came to fill our emptiness and mend us where we were broken. Was it only time that mended, only the resurging busyness of life that filled our emptiness?
“In anger we said something once that we could have bitten our tongues out for afterwards, or in anger somebody said something to us. But out of somewhere forgiveness came, a bridge was rebuilt; or maybe forgiveness never came, and to this day we have found no bridge back. Is the human heart the only source of its own healing? Is it the human conscience only that whispers to us that in bitterness and estrangement is death?
“We listen to the evening news with its usual recital of shabbiness and horror, and God, if we believe in him at all, seems remote and powerless, a child's dream. But there are other times — often the most unexpected, unlikely times — when strong as life itself comes the sense that there is a holiness deeper than shabbiness and horror and at the very heart of darkness a light unutterable.
“Is it only the unpredictable fluctuations of the human spirit that we have to thank? We must each of us answer for ourselves, remember for ourselves, preach to ourselves our own sermons. But ‘Remember the wonderful works,’ sings King David, because if we remember deeply and truly, he says, we will know whom to thank, and in that room of thanksgiving and remembering there is peace.”
I trust you had a wonderful Thanksgiving. I’m remembering my parents. Read about them here.
And Christmas is coming! This is one of my beautiful granddaughters last week, after decorating the Christmas tree.
I am blessed beyond measure and grateful for much, including you, dear reader.
Amen.
Thanks for reading.
Issue 131 (December 2, 2022)
I find it odd that Wolfe’s views get most of their support from a strain of patriarchal Reformed Baptists who, preternaturally, detest the elite “regime.” Yet Calvin was an aristocrat through-and-through. As an elitist, he would have hated any sort of populism. Meanwhile, Baptists as a whole have remained admirably consistent over the centuries in their commitment to religious liberty and religious disestablishment. Moreover, as a Presbyterian, Wolfe should be more concerned with the consent of the governed. King George himself reportedly referred to our War for Independence as “a Presbyterian Rebellion.” All in all, Wolfe’s position seems an obvious case of politics informing faith rather than the other way around.
To be fair, Wolfe prefers “Caesarism” to “authoritarianism” because he wants his tyrants to have personality (fn. 2, p. 323).
The most recent example of a Christian Nationalist nation would be Apartheid South Africa.