Is God a Republican?: Why Politics Is Dangerous for Religion

SIZE="-1">Illustrations by Taylor Jones

The
1996 campaign has been sobering for Americans who believe that Jefferson's
declaration of a "wall of separation" between church and state forms a
fundamental point of national agreement. It is hard to recall a presidential
contest when religious voices and a religious coalition have intruded in such
partisan ways. A poll recently conducted by the Pew Research Center points to a
striking change in the attitudes of Americans, especially evangelical
Christians, toward mixing religion and politics. Evangelicals were once
committed to the view that Christian churches exist primarily to carry out God's
work of saving souls; now about 70 percent of evangelicals, both black and
white, agree that "churches should express views on social and political
matters." This does not necessarily imply an abandonment of belief in
church-state separation, but it is a shift that commands our attention.

ALIGN="RIGHT" SRC="../images/28kram1.gif" BORDER="0" WIDTH="216" HEIGHT="385">Consider
how far we have come from the moment in Houston during the 1960 primary campaign
when John F. Kennedy confronted a group of Protestant ministers, mainly Southern
Baptists, who vented their ancient suspicion that Catholics could not as a
matter of faith accept the American separation of church and state. One
unappreciated irony in the exchange was that throughout American history
Catholics and Baptists had been the strongest opponents of efforts by other
Christians to mix religious and political agendas. Baptists and Catholics both
regarded themselves as the victims of state-sponsored moral legislation.
Although Kennedy's answer to the southern Protestant ministers on that occasion
probably did not win him their votes, it reflected a position that they shared
with him. As a religious person, Kennedy said, I am influenced in my moral
attitudes by my religion, and this will affect my behavior as president. But I
will in no way seek to use the powers of the state to force my religious and
moral convictions upon people who do not share them.

Against that memory, we may set the more recent image of Pat Buchanan,
another Catholic who wants to become president, courting support in Southern
Baptist churches for a moral and cultural crusade to take back America for
right-thinking Christians. Other candidates this year have also paraded their
religious convictions like military medals—a strategy that may have reached
rock bottom when Phil Gramm's flagging campaign implied that a sound view about
Christ's Second Coming was relevant in judging aspirants to the presidency. So
much for the spirit of Article 6 of the Constitution, the clause proclaiming
that "no religious test shall ever be required as a qualification to any
office or public trust under the United States."

The idea that right-thinking Christians should take back America has been a
rallying cry for Ralph Reed's Christian Coalition, now the strongest
special-interest group in the Republican Party. Without doubt, the coalition has
helped transform many Protestant evangelicals into GOP zealots. But the
connection carries considerable risk. Reed has tied his religious troops to the
fortunes of Republican candidates in November. If they win, the Christian
Coalition will remain in the news—at least until the next election. If they
lose, and especially if they lose because of perceived close links to what many
voters view as strident moral crusading that quotes the Bible on behalf of
slashing welfare and defeating bans on assault weapons, Reed will pass into
history. In either case, religion is diminished because Reed's gamble makes the
cultural force of religion depend upon the number of votes it can command. And
that result is precisely what religious champions of separation of
church and state have most feared.



RELIGION IN A SECULAR STATE

Religion and politics have always mixed in this country's history. The line
between legitimate and illegitimate mixture is not always easy to draw, but the
Constitution provides some guidance. That document, we have argued in our recent
book The Godless Constitution, is intentionally godless, as many of its
opponents charged in the state ratifying conventions of 1787 and 1788. Not only
did Article 6, in a revolutionary step, abolish any religious test for public
office; the preamble to the Constitution also failed to mention God. The United
States Constitution was a creation of "we the people." Unlike the
earlier Articles of Confederation or the state constitutions, it did not suggest
any divine ordinance or divine mission.

The new secular constitutional order alarmed many people, and they predicted
the destruction of religion and the state. The ban on religious establishment in
the First Amendment increased their gloom. Nonetheless, organized religion
prospered in the American republic beyond anyone's wildest dreams. As a result,
most Americans began to regard the constitutional placement of religion in the
private sector, beyond the control of politicians, as a great blessing. During
the nineteenth century, all of the states—which were free to deal with
religion as they chose—fell in line with the basic principles of secularity
in the federal Constitution. The states did so not because of the Supreme Court,
but because Americans generally recognized the benefits to religion of a secular
state.

That's the easy part. There remained much to quarrel about. The Constitution
did not settle everything regarding law or common practice. There have been many
efforts to write God or Christ into the Constitution, most dramatically during
the Civil War when it was argued that the bloodshed was God's punishment for
being left out of the founding document. While these efforts to add a Christian
amendment have consistently failed, the full force of the Constitution's secular
base has been modified in various and familiar ways.

Since George Washington, American presidents have sworn their oath of office
upon a Bible and added to their oath of office the phrase "so help me God."
In their inaugural addresses, they have made perfunctory or extended references
to divine protection. Even Jefferson and Madison, the most hard-line watchdogs
of church-state separation of all American presidents, did so. Jefferson even
authorized the use of government money to fund the educational activities of
missionaries among Native-American tribes. Prayer begins sessions of the
American Congress and Supreme Court. The U.S. Treasury prints "In God We
Trust" on coins and dollar bills. And Congress in 1954 placed the "nation
under God" in an amended version of the Pledge of Allegiance, still recited
daily by most American school children despite the injunction against
state-sponsored school prayer.

Most Americans have learned to view these violations of secularity as
consistent with the intentions of the founders, and they have at least this much
reason on their side: All of the founders viewed a religious people as essential
to the success of their democratic republic. Democracy depended upon a moral
citizenry, and most people's morals, in the view of the founders, rested on a
theistic religion. Although the drafters of the godless Constitution believed
that religion would prosper only if government stayed out of religious matters
and did nothing to confuse the work of politicians with the work of religious
leaders, they also did not want government ever to seem antagonistic to religion
or unsympathetic to the important work that religion accomplished in furthering
the nation's success.



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Thus Jefferson as a politician and candidate for president in 1800 never
talked about his religious views. In a private letter he answered his clerical
enemies who falsely accused him of atheism with his famous phrase, "I have
sworn upon the altar of God eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over
the mind of man." Newt Gingrich regularly cites this line to argue that
Jefferson wanted more religious discussion in politics, but the great
Virginian's intention was exactly the opposite. Even so, when Jefferson assumed
the office of the presidency, he took comfort from his view—and he said so—that
Americans were a religious people.



INTO THE BREACH

So the United States began somewhat paradoxically with a godless
Constitution and routine references to religion in much national political
oratory. "The religious habits of Americans form not only the basis of
their private and public morals but have become so thoroughly interwoven with
their whole course of legislation that it would be impossible to change them
without affecting the very essence of their government," wrote Francis
Grund, an Austrian immigrant who became an American citizen, in 1837. Throughout
American history, religion and politics have intersected in diverse ways.
Organized churches in the United States have acted in the past as political
lobbies, taking stands on everything from the abolition of slavery to nuclear
disarmament. In the nation's first half century, religion intruded into the
controversy between Masons and Anti-Masons, between temperance advocates and
drinkers, between slaveholders and their opponents, between immigrants and
Know-Nothings.

Some religious groups in the early republic were not hesitant to demand
explicit government respect for Christianity, as, for example, in the divisive
debate over whether post offices should remain open on Sunday. So-called
Sabbatarians led the charge against Sunday mail from 1810 until 1840 and were
successfully beaten back by other religious leaders who insisted correctly that
it was not the responsibility of churches to dictate how government ran its
affairs. In this era Baptists led the anti-Sabbatarian cause and refined all the
arguments they had long held about the necessity of keeping religion and
politics distinct.
ALIGN="LEFT" SRC="../images/28kram2.gif" BORDER="0" WIDTH="216" HEIGHT="309">Recalling
Roger Williams, that devout Puritan who was kicked out of the Massachusetts Bay
Colony for believing that governments could be as well managed by non-Christians
as by Christians, Richard Johnson of Kentucky, the chair of the Senate committee
on the Post Office and Post Roads and a strong Baptist, successfully argued that
closing the post offices on Sunday was a measure "incompatible with a
republican legislature, which is purely for political and not religious
purposes. . . . Legislators have no power to define God or point out to the
citizen one religious duty." Eventually, of course, post offices were
closed, but not before the telegraph had made Sunday mail less necessary and not
before secular arguments were added to the religious objection.

We do not cite the past connections between religion and politics, and the
disagreements they have caused, to give comfort to Ralph Reed and his Christian
Coalition. Rather, we want to specify where they, like other groups in the past,
have stepped over a line that should not be crossed. Reed, who holds a doctorate
in American history, argues that the only thing new and different in this
election season is that conservatives more than liberals are making use of
religious politics. In his mind he is only following the example of William
Lloyd Garrison, William Jennings Bryan, and Martin Luther King, Jr., who turned
the "sins" of American society into deeply divisive political
controversies. If Jesse Jackson can preach and campaign in churches, black and
white, why can't Ronald Reagan, George Bush, and Bob Dole court the support of
fundamentalists?

They can and they do. But it is important to distinguish between the moral
witness of religious people who speak out strongly about an issue that offends
their moral conscience, and the use of religion as a strategic means to advance
the fortunes of a particular party or candidate. Political religion can
sometimes be divisive, as it was in the civil rights struggle. What becomes
worrisome is when that division follows party lines and no longer seems to have
much to do with moral witness. Whatever the truth of the idea that God blesses
Americans, God surely does not bless Americans as Republicans or Democrats.

Strictly speaking, there are very few unconstitutional uses of religion in
politics (although there are violations of federal election laws). The
disestablishment of religion gives ministers private professional status with as
much right to run for office as doctors and lawyers, and the constitutional
guarantee of free speech renders religious argument as legitimate as
nonreligious argument in advancing a political goal. Some political uses of
religion, however, plainly undermine the protection the founders sought to
construct for both sound politics and religious authority.

Alexis de Tocqueville held as astute a view as anyone of what American
religion can contribute to public life and what harm is done when it tries to do
something else. There was "no country in the world," he famously
maintained, "where the Christian religion retains a greater influence over
the souls of men than in America." That influence he saw as a virtue as
long as it was indirect. In a critical passage in Democracy in America,
he insisted that while religion must encourage virtue, it must never allow the
claims of virtue to become infected with partisan politics. "If the
Americans, who change the head of the government once in four years, who elect
new legislators every two years, and renew the state officers every twelve
months . . . had not placed religion beyond their reach, where could it take
firm hold in the ebb and flow of human opinions?"

Tocqueville's warning echoed the precise reason that had motivated the
founders to separate church and state in the first place. If religion were to
become despised by one group of people because it let itself be closely allied
to their entrenched political opponents, the moral capital that religion
represented in American society would be squandered. Whenever politically
ambitious men tried to transfer God's work from churches and church groups to
their self-interested political conventions, they injured the reputation of
religion.

Alot of religious Americans know this better than our politicians do. In June the
American Catholic bishops, who represent what has been since the 1850s America's
largest Christian denomination, issued a statement seeking to preserve for
themselves a political voice on important moral issues, such as abortion,
without involving themselves in moves "to advance or to undermine the
electoral fortunes of any individual or party." The Catholic bishops have
been in an especially fortunate position to stay above party politics since the
economic positions they have taken generally give comfort to liberals, whereas
their social positions appeal more readily to conservatives. Whatever their
positions, however, the bishops have been content to state principles, and to
advance moral and religious reasons for their political positions, but otherwise
to avoid party endorsements or to issue statements suggesting that God has a
stake in the outcome of American elections. Like Tocqueville, a Catholic
himself, they stated that "when religious leaders enter into electoral
politics, it is more likely that religion will be debased than that politics
will be elevated."

The bishops' position does not seek to silence religion. It does not declare
religion irrelevant to political debate. Far from it. Rather, it tries to
mobilize moral conscience based on the importance and visibility of religion in
American public life. It bears witness to moral positions in a way that does not
compromise that witness to short-term political gains. Nor does it declare war
on other people's moral positions. To be sure, on the abortion issue many
Catholic leaders are prepared, if they can prevail in the legislatures, to
coerce people who do not agree with their moral stance. That, however, is not
per se illegitimate as long as civil rights are protected and their moral
arguments carry no privileged political authority. What is always unacceptable
is for religious certainty to trump politics and for government policy to
privilege or codify religious belief in ways that preempt a pluralist democratic
process. In politics, a religious lobbyist stands on the same footing as a
lobbyist for General Motors. What they advocate may be good for the country, but
that benefit has to be demonstrated.

The pragmatic issue, from the standpoint of the churches and religious
leaders, is the cost of their political involvement to the prestige and moral
authority of religion. When religious leaders act in ways that render them
indistinguishable from the Doles and the Clintons, they jeopardize the respect
that they otherwise enjoy. This is what the Christian Coalition and its leaders
are risking.



CLEAN AND MEAN

Installed as head of the Christian Coalition by Pat Robertson, who created
it from the ruins of Jerry Falwell's Moral Majority, Ralph Reed found himself in
charge of a well-financed organization that had a deserved reputation for
extreme statements. People involved with the organization were continually
saying that America was a Christian nation and the task of politics was to
restore God to the center of American life. Pat Robertson was on record stating
that separation of church and state was a lie of the left. Reed knew his
American history well enough to recognize that such statements were not only
wildly at odds with the Constitution but also an impediment to gaining national
power. Stealth victories in local school board elections might be useful for
organizing a grassroots movement. But a seat at the table in Washington, which
conservatives covet as much as liberals, was a far better thing.

Reed's mission from the beginning was to clean up the coalition's act. And
so he has, even if it has meant making some of the other leaders associated with
conservative religious causes, especially Jerry Falwell, look inept. Reed has
proclaimed his respect for separation of church and state. He has muted claims
in the coalition's publications about Christian nationhood and has invited Jews
and Catholics into an organization whose base was, and remains, overwhelmingly
Protestant and white. He has pulled the coalition away from the language of
cultural warfare that sank Pat Buchanan as a national leader and has shown a
willingness to put off moral issues that threaten to draw away too many votes
from conservative Republican candidates. He has denied that the faith claims of
the Christian Coalition override the faith claims of other people.

In steering this corrective course, however, Reed has stuck by the man who
butters his bread, Pat Robertson. Robertson's many blundering statements,
according to Reed, never mean what they seem to mean. And in the end, Reed's
efforts to arrange what he calls a "marriage of a sense of social justice
with the practical world of modern politics" transform religious witness
into a politics where nothing must get in the way of winning. Reed is not a
spiritual leader, but, in his own phrase, a "political junkie." What
he doesn't admit but makes abundantly evident in his prose is that, like
Robertson, he loves the smell of power. He claims that the Christian Coalition
is a nonpartisan organization, but that is patent nonsense. We can think of no
religious organization in American history that has so manifestly tied itself to
one political party, indeed, to a particular wing within it.

Reed's recent book, Active Faith, is only sporadically about
religion. In fact, it is hard sometimes to figure out whether his faith has
anything to do with his politics ("My religious beliefs never changed my
views on the issues to any great degree") or whether it acts just as a sort
of energizing bunny. In a disarmingly candid but unmistakably arrogant way, Active
Faith
is about one man's quest for influence, his thrill of traveling in
police-escorted limousines that screech to stops and burn rubber on their way to
rallies where audiences stomp their feet, wave banners, and blow horns when he
appears. Reed has won that influence for the moment. The media assiduously court
him, and candidates line up to seek his advice and intervention.

But
there is a price. Reed's influence depends on the outcome of elections and
whether his movement appears to offer candidates more support than it costs. Our
own guess is that Reed's influence will wane sooner rather than later because
for all his cautious bargaining among leaders of the Republican Party he has yet
to get his troops under control. Reed may have tailored a moderate image for
himself, but his followers too enthusiastically subscribe to Reed's view that
people of faith have fled the Democratic Party; these followers often speak of
their opponents as evil men and women whose moral positions reek of hellfire.
ALIGN="RIGHT" SRC="../images/28kram3.gif" BORDER="0" WIDTH="216" HEIGHT="309">Christian
Coalition conventions have nothing in common with the Social Gospel crusades
that Reed wants to emulate. The delegates are too angry. Their televised images
and their frankly smutty literature suggest neither piety nor political
tolerance. That is among the reasons why many conservative Christians who vote
Republican want no part of them. Media attention notwithstanding, the Christian
Coalition has not spoken in this year for all of evangelical America.

There is still reason to regret and to worry about the retreat of Southern
Baptists from their long-held belief that making or keeping people Christian is
not a business best entrusted to politicians. Historically among the strictest
Protestants, Baptists ought to recognize that a group of Christians who begin
meetings with a cult-like version of the Pledge of Allegiance—"I
pledge allegiance to the Christian flag and to the Savior for whose kingdom it
stands, one Savior, crucified, risen and coming again, with life and liberty for
all who believe"—have not only tainted politics but have pushed
religion over the line into idolatry.

Reed says that government cannot make people moral. Nonetheless, a pledge
that it can seems to be on every candidate's lips. Under pressure from the
Christian Coalition, Republicans have tried to make character the issue of
presidential politics in 1996. The result has too often been the worst sort of
religious politics, a politics of moral name-calling that implicates many
religious people in scurrilous attacks upon Bill Clinton as a moral leper. The
New England clergy who demonized Thomas Jefferson during the election campaign
of 1800 followed a similar strategy. It proved to be a disastrous failure for
the Federalist Party, and it all but destroyed the Congregational Church.
History doesn't always repeat itself. But the thought that it might ought to
give Reed some sleepless nights.



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