Christian Nationalism: Faith, Power, and the American Experiment

There are moments in public life when a phrase suddenly appears everywhere—used confidently, argued fiercely, and rarely defined. Christian nationalism is one of those phrases.

What is Christian nationalism?

The term is often used, frequently misunderstood, and almost never examined with the historical depth it requires. At its simplest, it suggests that a nation—particularly the United States—was, or should be, defined by Christianity in its identity, governance, and public life.

At first glance, that idea can seem self-evident. Even admirable. A nation guided by moral clarity, rooted in faith, anchored in shared belief.

But history has a way of complicating what first appears simple.

Was America Ever a Christian Nation?

There is a persistent assumption—often unexamined—that the United States was founded as a distinctly Christian nation and has since drifted away from that identity.

The truth is more nuanced.

Many early colonies were explicitly religious. English Separatists, who sought to build a “Bible Commonwealth,” founded the Plymouth colony. Massachusetts Bay was shaped by Puritan vision and borrowed a phrase from the Sermon on the Mount to articulate their mission to be a “City set on a hill.” William Penn explicitly launched the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania as a haven where Quakers could live out their faith. Even Virginia, which some historians view as secular, was not nearly as secular as is often claimed. Three days after the first settlers made landfall, Anglican priest, Robert Hunt, preached the first Protestant sermon in the nascent colony and promptly erected a large cross on the site. Faith was not merely personal—it shaped law, community, and culture.

But the Founding itself tells a different story.

Neither the Declaration of Independence or The Constitution contains an explicit reference to Christianity. The First Amendment enshrines not religious dominance, but religious freedom—and just as importantly, the prohibits the establishment of religion. This was a deliberate departure from the European model, where church and state were typically fused, sometimes with devastating consequences.

Even among the founders, belief was not uniform. Patrick Henry approached religion very differently than Thomas Jefferson. Henry argued for public support of Christian teaching; the other, Jefferson cut miracles out of his idiosyncratic “Jefferson’s Bible;” . And yet, both helped build a republic that would not enforce a single religious identity.

America was never fully a Christian nation in the formal, legal sense like England.

It was, however, so deeply influenced by Christianity that Alexis de Tocqueville described the young republic in 1835 as, “a nation with the soul of a church,” which is to say that the nation was shaped and animated by Christian impulses.  

Still, the Bill of Rights committed America to freedom of religion, the idea that anyone could practice any religion they wanted to and be free of persecution.

And yet, the guarantees of the Bill of Rights were not extended to non-Christians. George Washington welcomed the Jews in his famous letter to the Jewish congregation in Newport, Rhode Island in 1790 and celebrated their contribution to American life. Jews were not welcome in every state. Maryland did not allow Jews to settle in the State until 1826 when the legislature passed the “Jew Bill,” an unfortunate characterization if ever there was one. Muslims were not welcome either. Some states also excluded “infidels,” people of non-faith from public office.

What Is Christian Nationalism?

To understand Christian nationalism, we must move beyond slogans.

Christian nationalism is not simply personal faith expressed in public life. It is the belief that a nation should be explicitly defined, governed, or culturally dominated by Christianity—often with the assumption that this reflects the nation’s original or rightful identity.

For some, this is about a restoration of America’s Christian past.

For others, it is about cultural preservation.

But historically, when faith and national identity merge, the results become more complicated—and often more dangerous—than intended.

The Birth of Nationalism—and Why It Matters

The second half of the phrase is just as important as the first.

Nationalism is a modern idea, emerging in 19th-century Europe as empires began to fracture. It carried a powerful claim: that each people, each “folk,” deserved its own nation.

On the surface, it sounds like self-determination.

In practice, it often created division.

Nationalism tends to draw a line:

• Those who belong
• And those who do not

Across Europe, competing nationalisms reshaped borders and identities. Germans, Italians, Slavs—all sought unity and recognition. But when one group claimed its “place in the sun,” another was inevitably pushed into the shade.

These tensions helped ignite the First World War, where national pride, grievance, and ambition collided with catastrophic consequences. More than 20 million lives were lost.

The aftermath only deepened the problem.

The Treaty of Versailles imposed severe penalties on Germany, creating economic instability and national humiliation. Out of that environment emerged a more dangerous form of nationalism—one that fused identity with ideology.

Under Adolf Hitler, nationalism became something more than political. It became religious. It had its rituals, its symbols, its myths. It demanded loyalty and defined belonging in increasingly narrow terms.

History is clear on this point:

When nationalism becomes absolute, it never remains benign. It will demand conformity and punish divergence.

When Faith Becomes a Tool of Identity

Now place the word Christian in front of nationalism.

The concern is not Christianity.

The concern is what happens when faith becomes fused with power, identity, and control.

Christianity, at its core, is not national. It does not belong to one ethnicity, language, or political system. Its central symbol—the cross—stands as a judgment over all human pride, all human power, all human pretension.

That is precisely why it resists being nationalized.

When faith is absorbed into nationalism, something shifts:

• The cross becomes a symbol of identity rather than redemption
• Faith becomes a boundary marker rather than a call to humility
• Religion begins to serve power instead of challenge it

History offers sobering examples.

In the early 20th century, the Ku Klux Klan presented itself as a defender of “Christian America.” Its members marched openly and claimed moral authority for their cause. Their vision of a Christian nation was not inclusive—it was exclusionary, rooted in fear and control.

Notably, the movement’s strongest influence extended beyond the Deep South, reaching into states like Indiana and into political leadership.

This is the danger at the heart of Christian nationalism:

It can sanctify what can never be sanctified.

Is Christian Nationalism Biblical or Political?

This question sits quietly beneath much of the debate.

Is Christian nationalism an expression of faith—or an expression of political identity using religious language?

Historically, Christianity thrives most when it is not aligned with state power. The early church grew not through political dominance, but through conviction, sacrifice, and community.

By contrast, when faith becomes intertwined with political authority, it risks becoming shaped by the very forces it seeks to guide.

This does not mean faith has no place in public life.

It means that when faith becomes a tool of political identity, it can lose its prophetic voice.

The Other Side of the Divide

It would be incomplete to examine only one side.

Modern secularism, particularly in its stronger forms, also functions with its own kind of absolutism. It establishes boundaries for acceptable belief and often seeks to confine religion strictly to private life.

In this framework, faith is tolerated—but only within limits.

What emerges, then, are two competing visions:

• A religious nationalism seeking influence or dominance
• A secular framework seeking to restrict religious expression

Both struggle to accommodate difference.

Both become rigid.

And both, in their extremes, can erode the center.

How a Republic Actually Works

The American experiment depends on something less dramatic—and far more demanding—than ideological victory.

It depends on toleration.

Not agreement. Not uniformity.

But the willingness to live alongside those with whom we disagree. You might say that toleration is an agreement to put up with each other.

This principle was tested early.

In post-Revolutionary Virginia, unlikely allies came together to challenge state-supported religion. Evangelical revivalists and Deists like Thomas Jefferson made common cause in disestablishing the church—not to weaken faith, but to free it from political control.

It was not a perfect alliance.

But it worked.

It demonstrated something that feels rare today:

Agreement on outcomes, even without agreement on beliefs.

Why This Conversation Matters Now

In today’s political climate, the question of Christian nationalism continues to surface in debates about identity, law, and the role of faith in public life.

The danger is not simply disagreement.

The danger is the loss of shared ground.

When every issue becomes absolute, compromise becomes betrayal.

When identity replaces principle, dialogue becomes impossible.

A republic cannot function under those conditions.

What We Risk Forgetting

A healthy society does not require uniform belief.

It requires shared commitment to common goods.

Education. Stability. Opportunity.

The ability to raise children in communities that are not constantly at war with themselves.

These are not ideological goals.

They are human ones.

And they require something increasingly rare:

The ability to say, we do not agree—but we can still work together.

Reflections

• When does faith begin to serve identity rather than challenge it?
• Are we more threatened by religious overreach—or by the loss of space for belief altogether?
• What would it look like to recover a shared mission in a divided culture?