In early 2024, Texas state representative and seminary student James Talarico went viral for a sermon he preached on October 22, 2023, at St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church in Austin, in which he declared, “There is nothing Christian about Christian nationalism.” The message resonated with many who have grown increasingly uncomfortable with the way self-described proponents of Christian nationalism have shifted the goalposts ever further toward far-right authoritarianism.
At the same time, the message was not a new one. Many on the Christian Left have denounced Christian nationalism in recent years as a heretical distortion of what they regard as “true Christianity.” Progressive Christian pastor John Pavlovitz wrote a blog post on “The Heresy of Christian Nationalism” in 2018. William J. Barber II, founding director of the Center for Public Theology & Public Policy at Yale Divinity School, called Christian Nationalism “a form of heresy” in a 2023 interview with CNN. That same year, John Fanestil, executive director of Via International, published American Heresy: The Roots and Reach of White Christian Nationalism. And Jim Wallis, founder of Sojourners magazine, calls Christian nationalism the “false white gospel” in his latest book, contrasting it with the “true faith.”
Many on the Christian Left have denounced Christian nationalism in recent years as a heretical distortion of what they regard as “true Christianity.”
But what exactly is the “true faith”? If we ask this question of Pavlovitz and others, we hear the standard litany: the example of Jesus in the gospels, the inclusive message of the Bible, the spiritual kingdom of God that judges all earthly kingdoms, etc. Pavlovitz tells his readers to “check out the Old and New Testaments again. Read through the Gospels a few times. Use any translation you’d like: No America First.” He says that Jesus “came to usher in a countercultural kind of interdependent community, in direct opposition to the power-wielding Roman Empire he stepped into.” Others make similar kinds of claims. For instance, Wallis says that the true faith is a “gospel of unity.” Over against the tribalism that he sees in the message of “Make America Great Again,” Wallis says that the apostle Paul’s message in Galatians “represented a radically countercultural movement.”
One can appreciate these efforts to claim a more politically inclusive vision of Christianity — one that counters the powers and principalities of empire. But for whom does this application count as the “true faith”? According to what standard does this vision define real Christianity?
Critics of Christian nationalism have been quick to use the language of heresy without much introspection about whether such language suits their purposes. Fanestil comes the closest to doing so. He acknowledges that “one person’s heresy is another’s orthodoxy,” and he poses the important question, “Who decides which is which?” But he never answers the question. After asking this question in American Heresy: The Roots and Reach of White Christian Nationalism, he goes on to say he considers “white Christian nationalism a Christian heresy because it encourages adherents to celebrate the English colonization of North America as a divine calling superior to God’s calling on other peoples.” According to Fanestil, this violates the First Commandment as well as the twofold command of Jesus to love God and neighbor.
“One person’s heresy is another’s orthodoxy…” — John Fanestil
Fanestil assumes it is obvious that English colonization is a violation of these commandments, but this assumption overlooks that Christian nationalists use the command to love one’s neighbor to support their worldview. In their book, Christian Nationalism: A Biblical Guide for Taking Dominion and Discipling Nations, authors Andrew Torba, the founder of the right-wing social network Gab, and pastor Andrew Isker claim, “A Christian loves his country – his place in the world – and because he loves his neighbor he seeks to take dominion and disciple it for the glory of God.” In other words, Christian nationalists see no conflict between colonizing the land and loving one’s neighbor. As they see it, these are the same thing. But even if Fanestil could prove there was a conflict, disobeying biblical commandments has never been the criterion for heresy. The idea of heresy has instead been a way for some Christians to push out those they disagree with, even if their opponents live morally flawless lives.
Wallis’s appeal to an original “gospel of unity” stands in uneasy tension with the fact that followers of Jesus from the start were engaged in infighting over who could claim to have the true gospel. Paul’s letters attest to this in abundant detail. In Galatians he declares that “there are some who are confusing you and want to pervert the gospel of Christ” (1:7). His first letter to the Corinthians indicates that some were calling themselves followers of Paul in contrast to others claiming to follow Apollos (3:4). These divisions only become more stringent with the passing of time, as seen in later texts like 2 Peter, where the author writes at length about “false prophets” and “false teachers” who “secretly bring in destructive opinions” and deserve “to be caught and killed” (2:1, 12).
In Ancient Christianities: The First Five Hundred Years, historian Paula Fredriksen points out how early Christians all saw a diversity of belief as antithetical to truth and consequently claimed unanimity for their side while charging their opponents with differences. The rhetorical battle between “orthodoxy” and “heresy” has its origins in this ancient conviction that divine revelation requires uniformity. If everyone is not in lock-step agreement, that must be a sign of sinful waywardness. Fredriksen observes the problem that, “despite the ideology of unity (in Christianity), diversity – even within the notionally same community – always prevailed.”
The rhetorical battle between “orthodoxy” and “heresy” has its origins in the ancient conviction that divine revelation requires uniformity.
Fredriksen goes on to demonstrate that the diversity of opinion demonstrated in Scripture continued in a new way after Roman Emperor Constantine’s conversion to Christianity in 312. Rome’s switch from persecuting Christians to embracing the religion introduced the coercive power of empire to the young faith. When Constantine converted, “orthodoxy was what the emperor said it was. Charges of ‘heresy’ became a weapon in the hands of enterprising bishops.” From this point on, when a powerful Christian leader wanted to expel an opponent from the church – or worse – they could appeal to the emperor. This is precisely what Augustine, the Bishop of Hippo, did with respect to Pelagius and his followers, who, among other points, emphasized free will in a way that conflicted with Augustine’s convictions about original sin. Pelagianism, according to Fredriksen, “was largely invented by Augustine,” and after “heavily lobbying the imperial capital,” Augustine succeeded in getting Pelagius “banished from Rome by the emperor’s decree. … The question of Pelagius’s ‘orthodoxy’ had been settled by imperial fiat.”
We easily forget that early Christians constructed orthodoxy — considering sacred texts and liturgical practices, yes, but constructed nonetheless, often influenced by personal whim, political maneuvering, and imperial favor. Orthodoxy has always been highly flexible, adapting to the needs of whoever is in charge at a given moment. As Fredriksen observes, “What is right belief in one period becomes wrong belief in a later one.” What remains consistent is that orthodoxy is an effort to purify the church by expelling the heretic(s). With the example of Constantine and Augustine, purifying the church was also an effort to purify the empire.
The beliefs that Christians ascribe to orthodoxy – the doctrine of the Trinity, Christ’s consubstantial deity, eternal judgment, and the like – were defined over time by the decisions to declare certain people heretics who held beliefs that those in power deemed heterodox. The content of orthodoxy is less important than how flawed human beings have constructed orthodoxy, a process that is suffused with coercive violence and the arbitrary establishment of rules and boundaries that suit those in power.
The content of orthodoxy is less important than how flawed human beings have constructed orthodoxy …
Today’s Christian nationalists stand in the tradition of Augustine, rather than supposed heretics like Marcion or Valentinus or Pelagius. Like Augustine, they are eager to use political power to dominate and cleanse the realm – to “drain the swamp,” so to speak, of heretics, religious and political alike. It is little wonder that many Christians see their values reflected in Trump’s promise to Make America Great Again. What defines Trump’s political vision is the punishment of those he considers threats. In addition to immigrants – a favorite target of his going back to his first campaign – Trump has promised to use the power of government to exact revenge on his political enemies. Christian nationalists see in Trump the same militant spirit that has characterized Christianity since at least Constantine. The efforts to purify the church and to purify the nation (i.e., the American empire) go hand in hand, and each cause supports the other.
When Christian nationalists cozy up to Trump and seek to gain a seat in American government to punish their enemies, they are thus continuing a tradition going back to the fourth century, when Christian bishops used Constantine’s political authority to decide which version of Christianity would have legitimacy.
If we want to understand Christian nationalism, we have to go back much earlier than the Moral Majority or Confederate Christianity or the Puritan colonists or even the Protestant Reformation. We have to look at the earliest centuries of Christianity where battles over orthodoxy became an entrenched feature of “the faith.” Critics of Christian nationalism who speak about the “American heresy” and denounce MAGA Christians as teaching a false gospel are only reinforcing the very logic of heresy-hunting that produces white Christian nationalism in the first place.
If the Christian Left wishes to chart an alternative path forward, it will need to abandon the language of heresy.
The reelection of Donald J. Trump as president of the United States has only further emboldened the proponents of Christian nationalism, who see the 2024 election as divine confirmation of Trump’s mission to advance God’s kingdom. We can expect this will produce new efforts at enshrining a radically repressive version of Christianity in American culture. If the Christian Left wishes to chart an alternative path forward, it will need to abandon the language of heresy. As Audre Lorde famously stated, the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.
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