Church, State, and the Chosen People Myth
Christian Nationalism as a Fiction of Divine Appointment and Holy War
There’s a story some political movements tell about a nation: that it was chosen, set apart, and therefore entitled to special status in the world. When that story borrows religious language and channels it into politics, it becomes a potent force — one that reshapes citizenship, law, and public life. What we call Christian nationalism is not simply about private belief; it’s a public mythology that fuses church and state into a single narrative of divine mission.
What the myth says
At the heart of this story are two core claims. First: the nation is chosen — uniquely favored by God, blessed above others. Second: the nation therefore has a divinely-appointed destiny — to uphold a particular moral order, to triumph over perceived enemies, or to reassert its rightful place in history. Together, these claims transform ordinary policy disputes into moral struggles, elections into spiritual contests, and dissent into apostasy.
Why the myth is persuasive
Myths of chosenness are psychologically powerful. They answer deep needs: the need for meaning, belonging, and moral certainty. In times of rapid change, economic anxiety, or cultural pluralization, a myth that promises restoration offers solace. It gives people a narrative that explains why they matter and reassures them that history will bend back in their favor.
Religious language adds moral clarity. Framing political aims as God’s will elevates ordinary disagreements — over schools, immigration, or legal norms — into cosmic battles between good and evil. That clarity can feel morally motivating; it also discourages compromise.
Where the myth comes from (a brief history)
The idea that a polity is divinely favored is older than modern nation-states. It has roots in many religious traditions. In the American context, strands of providential thinking — the sense that a people or project has God’s blessing — mixed with settler narratives, civic exceptionalism, and later political movements that fused religion with national identity.
Over time, cultural anxieties (about immigration, secularization, or shifting social norms) have made that providential tale into a rallying story for some groups. When joined with political institutions, the story gains material power: laws, administrative priorities, and public symbols begin to reflect a fused religious-national identity.
The civic consequences
When a state inherits the language of divine chosenness, several harms can follow.
1. Erosion of pluralism. If one tradition is treated as the moral baseline of public life, minorities can be marginalized — their rights framed as exceptions rather than equal claims.
2. Political absolutism. Moral certitude tends to delegitimize compromise. Seeing opponents as not merely mistaken but morally corrupt makes democratic give-and-take harder.
3. Policy distortions. Moral framing can short-circuit pragmatic debate. Complex social problems are often reduced to moral prescriptions that overlook evidence and nuance.
4. Mobilization of conflict. When political struggles are cast as spiritual wars, escalation becomes more likely — rhetoric hardens and the stakes feel existential.
Not all religion in public life is the problem
Faith communities have long contributed to public goods: hospitals, charities, education, and moral formation. Religion can inspire civic generosity and critique injustice. The issue is not faith per se, but when religious identity is fused to national identity in exclusionary or coercive ways.
Alternatives to the chosenness narrative
If the goal is a healthy civic life, we need stories that sustain belonging without requiring sameness.
Civic humility recognizes a nation’s strengths and its faults. It resists claiming moral perfection and encourages learning and repair.
Pluralist patriotism celebrates shared institutions and common purpose while protecting the equal dignity of diverse faiths and none.
Shared stewardship reframes political life as collective caretaking, not divine conquest — focusing on mutual flourishing rather than moral domination.
Conclusion: myths can be revised
The “chosen people” story is alluring because it promises certainty and significance. But modern plural democracies depend on narratives that allow difference without delegitimization. We don’t have to strip religion from public life to preserve democratic norms; we need to resist fusion — the use of sacred language to justify exclusion, coercion, or political absolutism. Rewriting civic myths means offering belonging that is generous rather than possessive, and durable enough to hold a diverse polity together.