In 2025, the Republican Party under President Donald Trump has closely aligned with Christian nationalism, particularly through Project 2025, which promotes a government based on conservative Christian values. This movement frames political issues as moral battles, arguing that America is fundamentally a Christian nation. This perspective fosters exclusion and contradicts the principles of religious freedom and pluralism that are central to the U.S. identity, posing challenges to the country's diverse democratic values.
The connection between Christian nationalism and the Republicans entails a deliberate fusion of American identity with Christianity, effectively establishing a cultural hierarchy. This aligns with Trump’s base, who support conservative values like anti-abortion and oppose LGBTQ+ rights. Trump's rhetoric stirs a sense of nostalgia for a time of white Christian supremacy, drawing on nationalist themes of "religious liberty" and the notion of America's "Judeo-Christian heritage" (Wikipedia). While Christian nationalism represents a prominent faction within the GOP, most Americans do not share its beliefs, but its influence is significant in shaping cultural and identity-driven policies (Jones, 2025).
Mapping Thomas Hobbes' "Leviathan" to a 2025 white Christian nationalist movement may be interpreted as providing a justification for religious persecution within a Christian nationalist and Republican regime (Soper). His assertion of sovereign authority over all aspects of life, including religious beliefs, suggests that the state could dictate acceptable religious practices, viewing deviations as threats to social order and justifying persecution to maintain unity. Additionally, Hobbes' concern about dissent undermining sovereign power could lead to the suppression of alternative religious interpretations, labeling them as dangerous. A Christian nationalist regime might promote a singular religious identity aligned with its ideology, marginalizing minority faiths to ensure stability. The intertwining of nationalism with religious belief could legitimize persecution, framing dissent as not only a challenge to the state but also to divine order.
White Christian nationalism has transformed from Puritan theocratic ideals into a significant political force, primarily represented by the Republican Party. Trump's presidency marked a monumental shift, demonstrating that evangelicals overlook his personal flaws in return for crucial concessions, such as Supreme Court appointments. This alignment addresses key culture war issues, including anti-abortion, LGBTQ+, and anti-immigrant policies, reinforcing Christian dominance in the political arena. This Fundamentalist resurgence, particularly after the Civil Rights Movement, represents a reaction to demographic changes, redefining conservatism by portraying progressive movements as existential threats and underpinning a Republican Party commitment to a vision of America as a white Christian nation.
This essay will address these critical issues and explore the essence of the "American soul," thereby demonstrating that Christian nationalism is far from a new phenomenon. Moreover, the term "Christian" serves as a facade for an ideology that portrays democracy not as a viable alternative to Republicanism, but rather as a trivial spectacle—an illusion of participation that obscures the true structures of power at play. The argument is that the ideology of Calvinist-Puritanism serves as the foundation of American power, underpinning white Christian nationalism and its links with Republicanism. This convergence highlights that democracy is merely an accessory, rather than a fundamental principle, of the American project.
Unitary Executive Theory and the Authoritarian Christian Nationalist Agenda
Wikipedia describes Project 2025, also referred to as the 2025 Presidential Transition Project, as a political initiative aimed at transforming the federal government of the U.S. and consolidating executive power to promote right-wing policies. Launched in April 2023 by The Heritage Foundation, a prominent American conservative think tank, this plan was designed in anticipation of Donald Trump winning the 2024 presidential election. As the ninth version of the Heritage Foundation's Mandate for Leadership series, Project 2025 is founded on a contentious interpretation of the "unitary executive theory," which posits that the president has complete control over the entire executive branch. Supporters argue that the initiative would dismantle a government bureaucracy they view as largely unaccountable and liberal. However, critics have labeled it an authoritarian, Christian nationalist agenda that could lead the U.S. toward autocracy. Legal experts warn that it threatens to undermine the rule of law, the separation of powers, the separation of church and state, and civil liberties.
Further, according to Wikipedia, Ruth Ben-Ghiat, a scholar of fascism and authoritarian leaders at New York University, described Project 2025 in May 2024 as a plan for an authoritarian takeover of the U.S. disguised under a seemingly neutral name. She criticized the project's goal of abolishing federal departments and agencies, arguing that it aimed to dismantle the legal and governance frameworks of liberal democracy while establishing new bureaucratic structures staffed by politically vetted individuals to facilitate autocratic rule. Ben-Ghiat noted that appropriating civil rights for white Christians serves the Trumpist agenda of undermining racial equality and promoting Christian nationalism as a fundamental aspect of domestic policy. She highlighted the desire among many proponents of Trumpism, including Project 2025 contributor Russell Vought and far-right figure Michael Flynn, to eliminate the separation of church and state. Additionally, continues Wikipedia, former Naval War College professor Tom Nichols expressed concerns about Trump’s intentions to imprison opponents and restrict American citizens' rights.
According to Wikipedia, by February 2024, Project 2025 had secured partnerships with over 100 organizations. The Southern Poverty Law Center recognized seven of these organizations as hate or extremist groups. Wikipedia continues that in May 2024, Vought was appointed as the policy director for the Republican National Committee's platform committee. He is the founder of the Center for Renewing America (CRA) and also held a position on the advisory board for Project 2025. The CRA drafted executive orders, regulations, and memos that facilitated the swift implementation of Trump's plans in 2025. The organization identified Christian nationalism as a key priority for a second Trump administration. Vought asserted that Trump endorsed the CRA, suggesting that any attempts by Trump to distance himself from Project 2025 were merely political maneuvers. Vought is a "self-described Christian nationalist" whose CRA opposes "critical race theory" and promotes the idea of America as a "nation under God" (Wikipedia).
The Purpose of Project 2025: Rooting out "Wokeness"
Critical race theory (CRT), explains Wikipedia, is an academic discipline that examines the interplay between social conceptions of race and ethnicity, political and legal frameworks, and mass media. Emerging from Critical Theory and postmodernism, CRT is an existential threat to Christian nationalist Republicanism, with Project 2025 serving as a case study in an indictment of "woke" (Wikipedia). The Guardian's Rachel Leingang says, "Project 2025’s policy guidebook, Mandate for Leadership, describes an America poisoned by “wokeness” and overtaken by lawlessness and chaos, where conservatives need to seize power immediately – and for as long as possible – to right a sinking ship." The backlash against "wokeness" involves dismissing and criticizing various ideologies, including CRT. Berta E. Hernández-Truyol labels this "the most explosive issue in American civilization": the significant role of law in maintaining White supremacy and the associated hierarchies related to gender, class, and sexual orientation.
CRT posits that racism is systemic, embedded within various laws and institutional practices rather than merely stemming from individual biases. Wikipedia goes on to explain that a central concept in CRT is intersectionality, which explores how different aspects of identity—such as race, class, gender, and disability—interact to shape experiences of inequality. CRT scholars regard race as a social construct without biological foundations, arguing that unequal racial outcomes arise from complex social and institutional dynamics rather than overt individual prejudices. Leingang's reading of Project 2025 is that is was deeply entrenched in the culture wars, labeling numerous aspects of governance as "woke"—such as the "woke" Treasury Department and "woke" weather reports—ultimately diluting the meaning of the term.
Project 2025 aimed to reshape the Republican Party's governance and policy framework in response to what they perceive as liberal overreach, focusing on education, economic policy, and cultural values aligned with traditional conservatism. It outlined a comprehensive plan for a potential Republican administration in 2025, advocating for the rollback of Biden-era policies and the reassertion of conservative values through regulatory reforms and budgetary changes. It challenged progressive policies emphasizing diversity, equity, and inclusion, framing them as threats to national unity and traditional values, while seeking to marginalize discussions on race and gender as radical. The proposals could significantly alter education and public policy, prioritizing a conservative worldview and potentially undermining initiatives aimed at addressing systemic inequalities.
A Statement on Christian Nationalist Principles
The Statement on Christian Nationalism & the Gospel, crafted by James Silberman and Dusty Deevers along with contributing editors William Wolfe, Joel Webbon, Jeff Wright, and Cory Anderson, articulates a clear definition of Christian nationalism by outlining a series of affirmations and denials concerning its principles. The core argument centers on the belief that Christ's Lordship extends to all aspects of life, including the civil sphere, and that faithful application of Scripture necessitates a nation that honors Christ in its governance.The authors recognize the various interpretations of Christian Nationalism, clearly disavowing any that contradict their beliefs. The statement is structured around fourteen articles, each addressing a specific aspect of Christian Nationalism's tenets.
The articles, numbered one through fourteen, collectively propose a comprehensive framework grounded in Christian nationalist principles. The first seven articles assert "Bible inerrancy" as the sole authority for faith and ethics, rejecting all external sources of truth (Wikipedia). They emphasize the Bible as the exclusive source for saving knowledge, advocate for nations to honor God through acknowledgment of the Christian faith, and position God's Word, particularly the Ten Commandments, as the ultimate standard of justice. These articles also define a nation as a distinct entity with a shared culture and interests, advocating for national autonomy against globalist threats. They underscore Christ's Lordship over all creation, including civil authorities, who are seen as accountable servants of God.
The latter seven articles expand on the vision for civil government, asserting its role in establishing justice for God's glory and the welfare of people, while rejecting secular governance. They delineate distinct spheres of authority—home, church, and government—each with unique responsibilities under Christ's rule and highlight the church's specific role in spiritual matters. The articles affirm nations' rights to establish justice and protect citizens, outlining policy priorities for the U.S., including the abolition of abortion and pornography, while advocating for the recognition of Christian orthodoxy and the Ten Commandments as foundational law. They emphasize the necessity of Christians in civil authority, affirm the application of the Great Commission to all spheres of life, and clarify the law's role in reflecting God's righteousness and guiding believers, while maintaining that salvation is by grace alone. These articles are Calvinist in nature while the assumption of an Christian nationalist orthodoxy will be challenged in this essay.
Deconstructing Christian Nationalism
Christian nationalism is a movement rooted in Calvinist ideology, with a diverse evangelical expression. It has a Calvinist intellectual structure, but it has been enculturated into broader Protestant (and even Catholic) circles through a shared mythology of American exceptionalism, moral order, and divine destiny. Arminians and Catholics are drawn to this perspective because it resonates with their fears, aspirations, and political ambitions, despite differing theological foundations. In short, Calvinism provided the theory, but evangelical Arminians such as Baptists, Pentecostals and Wesleyans, and conservative Catholics have joined them in adapting it into a practical movement. For example, Manifest destiny is essentially a secularized version of the Calvinist-Puritan, the Puritans were Calvinists, idea of divine election—America as the "chosen nation," expanding under God's providence. While the phrase itself emerged in the 19th century, the logic behind it traces back to Puritan New England and its vision of a covenantal nation with a divine mandate.
Consequently, Arminian-leaning Protestants, despite their rejection of Calvinist predestination in matters of salvation, still embrace the concept of national predestination. This belief posits that God has specifically favored America with the idea of Manifest destiny. It serves to unify various Protestant factions, from revivalist Methodists to Calvinist Presbyterians, and later includes Catholic and immigrant groups also wishing to demonstrate their loyalty to the American endeavor. Today's Christian nationalism represents a contemporary evolution of this ideology, adapted to address current cultural conflicts. Rather than pursuing territorial expansion, its emphasis has shifted to achieving cultural and political supremacy—reclaiming the nation from the influences of secularism, immigration, and progressive values. It’s the same chosen nation myth, but with different battle lines.
The depiction of President Donald Trump as a divinely appointed leader, often likened to Cyrus the Great, is deeply embedded in Christian nationalist theology and illustrates a predestinationist perspective. This narrative positions Trump as an instrument of God's will, emphasizing that his rise to power is seen as inevitable rather than a result of democratic processes or any personal morality, echoing Calvinist determinism. The belief in providentialism, rooted in American Puritanism, suggests that history is divinely guided, framing any opposition to Trump as opposition to God's plan. Additionally, the concept of moral exceptionalism allows Trump’s personal flaws to be overlooked, as he is perceived to be divinely chosen for leadership.
The narrative of a divine plan not only bestows theological legitimacy upon Trump, effectively countering traditional moral critiques, but also reinforces the consolidation of power among white evangelicals by depicting him as a secular leader committed to restoring a Christian America. The ramifications of this ideology are alarming, as it encourages authoritarianism by equating resistance to Trump with defiance against God. It promotes Christian dominionism by endorsing governance that adheres to Christian nationalist policies, and it nurtures a persecution complex among his supporters, portraying any opposition as an assault on God's chosen followers. The analogy between Cyrus and Trump ultimately functions as a theological instrument that combines Calvinist determinism with nationalist exceptionalism, employing religious language to legitimize political power.
Defining the American Soul: Violence
In order to decode the divine plan narrative, it is necessary to consider the nature of the American soul. Richard Blanchfield observes that in 1923, British novelist D.H. Lawrence provided a bleak evaluation of America and its people: "All the other stuff, the love, the democracy, the floundering into lust, is a sort of by-play. The essential American soul is hard, isolate, stoic, and a killer. It has never yet melted." Blanchfield further notes that in a reflective examination of American violence, historian Richard Hofstadter posited nearly five decades ago that Americans might be considered a people of exceptional violence when compared to other advanced industrial nations. This notion is echoed in contemporary political discourse, where both major political parties vehemently deny any inherent violent tendencies among Americans, often attributing violence to external factors.
For example, Blanchfield points out President Donald Trump, in his 2016 final address at the Republican National Convention, lamented the violence in American communities, attributing it to illegal immigration and terrorism, while Democrats, including President Barack Obama, frame violence as an aberration linked to gun availability rather than a reflection of American character. Joe Biden too holds this blinkered view: Elena Schneider and Myah Ward cite Joe Biden soon after a shooter opened fire at a Trump rally: "[It] should’ve been able to be conducted peacefully without any problem," and "the idea that there’s political violence or violence in America like this is just unheard of. It’s just not appropriate.""
However, such denial raises critical questions about the historical and systemic relationship between Americans and violence, suggesting that violence may be an intrinsic aspect of the American experience, manifesting in various forms—victimization, perpetration, and complicity. Blanchfield outlines the distribution of violence in America as starkly unequal, disproportionately affecting marginalized communities, particularly Black Americans, who face homicide rates significantly higher than their white counterparts. This disparity highlights broader societal issues, as violence is often concentrated in impoverished and segregated areas, challenging the narrative that attributes violence solely to racial dynamics. Ultimately, whether Americans are inherently violent or not, the societal structures and policies in place perpetuate a culture of violence. Blanchfield opines, "Plumbing what lurks within the “essential American soul,” a cynic might suggest, is a self-indulgent exercise, a red herring. The better question might be whether we even have one in the first place."
Lawrence’s observation of the American soul suggests a deep structural determinism at play—one in which love, democracy, and even lust is not foundational, but rather tolerated distractions from the true ideological substrate. His description aligns disturbingly well with the Calvinist-Puritan ethic that shaped American identity: a worldview grounded in hardness, isolation, stoicism, and violence as necessary virtues in fulfilling a divine mission. Following this line of thinking, democracy itself in the American context has never been fully embraced as a genuine ideological commitment but rather as a managed mechanism—a means to an end rather than an end in itself. The founding generation, many of whom were deeply influenced by Puritan ideology, saw democracy as a tool for maintaining order, not as a radical principle of universal freedom. This would explain why American democracy has so often coexisted with extreme inequalities, systemic oppression, and an undercurrent of violence.
In the American ideological framework, love is frequently instrumentalized, revealing a complex relationship where it exists but often takes a backseat to other pressing values. Romantic, familial, and communal love certainly manifest within the cultural landscape, yet often subservient to ideals such as duty, sovereignty, and individualism. The Puritan legacy further complicates this notion, as it does not celebrate love as a transformative and unifying force akin to that found in liberation theology; instead, love is perceived as a conditional facet of God's favor. As such, while love may be acknowledged, it remains restricted, unable to disrupt or challenge the stronger commitments to sovereignty, predestination, and divine selection that dominate the Calvinist-Puritan ideological narrative.
Reviewing Lawrence's Characterization
Lawrence's characterization of the "essential American soul" reflects profound theological, cultural, and political currents in American history, particularly those shaped by Puritanism and its impact on national identity. The Puritan worldview, shaped America as a new Promised Land for God's chosen people, infused with themes of predestination, divine election, and moral absolutism. The notion of being "hard" emphasizes discipline and endurance, suggesting a belief in divine will over human emotion, while "isolate" highlights a separation from the corrupt Old World and "ungodly" others, fostering an "us vs. them" mentality. The term "stoic" reflects the belief in total depravity, advocating for the suppression of human desire in favor of duty and suffering as signs of divine favor. Meanwhile, the label "killer" signifies the Puritan mission in America as a divinely sanctioned conquest, legitimized through biblical narratives of holy war, where violence was seen as a necessary element in preserving divine order. This mindset helped establish the foundation for American exceptionalism, viewing expansion and conquest as extensions of the divine will.
An “essential American soul” suggests that beneath the cultural, political, and ideological expressions of American society lies a more primal and unchanging core, not its supposed democratic ideals, its frontier optimism, or its cultural dynamism, but rather a deep-seated individualism and violent determinism that have persisted despite historical and social changes. Taking Lawrence’s view seriously, the fundamental characteristic he identifies is a kind of existential hardness—a relentless, often violent individualism that shapes how Americans engage with the world. The mythology of the frontier instilled values of self-reliance, survival, and conquest, reinforcing an attitude where life is a struggle against nature, others, and even oneself. Violence is a cultural underpinning: From the displacement of Indigenous peoples to slavery, expansionism, and modern militarism, America’s history is punctuated by acts of violence that have been rationalized as necessary for progress. Unlike European societies that evolved with deep communal traditions, America developed with a strong emphasis on personal independence, often at the cost of deeper social bonds. Power and pragmatism override ideals, for while American rhetoric often centers on ideals like freedom and democracy, Lawrence suggests these are secondary to a deeper instinct for dominance and survival.
Lawrence's literary talent does not guarantee that his sociological observations are definitive. He spent just over a year in America (1922-1923), primarily among artists, intellectuals, and some rural communities, which hardly provided him with a comprehensive view of the nation. His perspective was also shaped by his European background, his disillusionment with industrial civilization, and his own personal biases. However, Lawrence was not attempting to conduct an objective, empirical study; he was offering a deep, almost mythic interpretation of what he perceived to be America’s core temperament. Like Alexis de Tocqueville before him, his outsider status gave him a certain clarity—he was not immersed in American self-mythology, so he could see patterns that Americans themselves might overlook. But his sweeping statement is still an essentialist generalization—one that simplifies a vast and diverse society into a single, unyielding character trait. Lawrence’s assertion remains provocative because America continues to struggle with the tensions between its ideals and its more violent, individualistic instincts. The persistence of gun culture, global military dominance, the American carceral industrial complex, and the valorization of rugged self-reliance all suggest that aspects of Lawrence’s critique are still relevant. Yet, America is also a country of immense creativity, resilience, and reinvention, making it difficult to reduce it to just one defining characteristic, but it highlights the duality that exists.
Framing the American soul through the lens of Calvinist-Puritanism aligns well with both historical development and cultural patterns. Viewing Puritanism as not merely a religious movement but a deeply ingrained ideological framework offers Lawrence’s critique further weight—his recognition of hardness, isolation, and violence could be seen as symptoms of a deeper, theological determinism. Considering a connection to Hannah Arendt as her work on totalitarianism and the "banality of evil" suggests that systems—rather than just individuals—perpetuate harm through rigid, unquestioned ideological structures. Calvinist doctrine, with its emphasis on predestination, the elect, and moral absolutism, naturally fosters exclusionary thinking and moral rigidity. This illustrates why American culture, despite shifting away from explicit religiosity, continues to embody a Puritanical influence in its laws, politics, and social norms—particularly evident in how it treats marginalized groups.
As a British writer, Lawrence's strong historical consciousness may have enabled him to intuitively grasp this from England’s own experience with Puritanism. Familiarity with John Milton, for example, and Milton's move away from Calvinism reflects a broader intellectual struggle against deterministic, exclusionary thought. Lawrence’s perception of America may have been shaped by understanding what English Puritans rejected in their homeland and what they sought to build—a society defined not by openness but by strict ideological control. Making connections to Alexis de Tocqueville and Sacvan Bercovitch deepens this argument. Tocqueville’s "irritable patriotism" reflects a Calvinist-infused national consciousness, where America's identity is both sacred and personal. Teach Democracy cites Tocqueville saying, "Nothing is more annoying ... than this irritable patriotism of the Americans. A foreigner will gladly agree to praise much in their country, but he would like to be allowed to criticize something, and that he is absolutely refused." Bercovitch’s analysis of "nonseparating congregationalists" further explains how the Puritan impulse to see the nation as a divine project transcended into modern American nationalism (Hutson).
Lawrence’s characterization of the American soul serves as a prescient diagnosis of the American ethos of exclusionary power that persists in modern white Christian nationalism. Themes of political hardness, emphasizing a "tough" stance against perceived internal and external enemies, echo throughout Christian nationalist rhetoric, often framed through militaristic, moralizing and law-and-order discourse. Isolationist tendencies, rejecting "globalism" and multiculturalism or diversity, mirror the Puritan desire for separation, now expressed as nationalism. Stoicism and moral absolutism are also prevalent, with a belief that suffering and discipline signify righteousness, fueling movements that emphasize Christian persecution and moral warfare. Moreover, the justification of violence, from historical Puritan acts to contemporary white Christian nationalist rhetoric, underscores the belief that force is necessary to uphold divine and national order.
Terms of Political Engagement
In this sense, Lawrence is saying something chilling: that American life is fundamentally driven not by the ideals it often professes, but by a harder, colder principle—one of isolation, of the self-made and self-contained individual, and of violence as a mechanism of divine and national order. This aligns with the ideological encoding: the foundational algorithm of the American project is not love, democracy, or pleasure, but something more rigid, something that does not "melt." This suggests a national identity that is resistant to change, impervious to softness, and ultimately structured around a religious-political destiny that justifies power and conquest. To take Lawrence at his word, the implications are vast. It means that progressive movements in America are not simply fighting bad policy or corporate greed—they are struggling against an entrenched metaphysical structure that tolerates their presence but will not fundamentally change. It also suggests that any real transformation requires not just political struggle, the "to and fro" of elections, but a re-encoding of the American ideological framework at its most fundamental level.
Democracy in the American Puritan-Calvinist framework functions much like Marx's "opiate of the masses"—as a managed illusion that allows people to believe they have agency while the deeper, harder structure of sovereignty and divine election remains intact. The Puritans never embraced democracy as an intrinsic good; rather, they saw governance as a means to enforce divine order. Their conception of "liberty" was not about individual freedom in a modern sense but about the "liberty" to live in strict adherence to God's will as interpreted by a ruling elect. Applying this to modern America, democracy operates as a kind of controlled release valve. It permits expressions of popular will, but only within limits that do not threaten the underlying structure. This explains why major democratic movements—abolition, civil rights, labor rights, or economic justice—are often met with fierce, systemic resistance. The deeper logic of the American system is not democratic but hierarchical and providential, rooted in an almost Calvinist fatalism that resists true transformation.
Landon Schnabel published a study that explored the idea that religion acts as the "opiate of the masses." By utilizing a specialized module of the General Social Survey, the research shows that religion serves as a compensatory resource for structurally disadvantaged groups, including women, racial minorities, individuals with lower incomes, and, to a lesser extent, sexual minorities. It further illustrates that religion not only acts as a compensatory mechanism but also shapes values in a way that mitigates larger political ideology differences among these groups. The findings lend empirical support to the notion that religion functions as the "sigh of the oppressed creature," suppressing emancipatory political values. The Marxian metaphors of opiate and the "sigh" highlight a duality, both the comfort and potentially oppressive aspects of religion.
Schnabel's study demonstrates that religion offers compensatory resources related to social status—not solely economic status—and influences political beliefs in line with religious values, thereby shaping the political landscape rather than merely distracting individuals from their circumstances. Religious narratives often shape social and political issues to align with conservative perspectives, portraying matters like poverty and inequality as moral failings rather than systemic problems. This emphasis on individual responsibility can detract from collective action. While religion can offer support and community for marginalized groups, it may also reinforce conservative values and impede the acceptance of progressive political views, ultimately influencing the political landscape in ways that restrict social change.
Therefore, by considering democracy as an opiate, it becomes evident that it serves to keep the masses in a state of sedation through the enticing illusion of choice, while the underlying power structure remains firmly intact and unchanged. According to Lawrence, the fundamental American principle does not simply disappear; rather, it evolves to allow a certain level of public participation that is sufficient to maintain an appearance of legitimacy, yet it never goes far enough to challenge or dismantle its essential logic. This realization is truly unsettling, and once acknowledged, it becomes nearly impossible to overlook. If democracy in America is fundamentally a carefully managed mechanism rather than a genuine principle, then many perplexing contradictions throughout American history—such as the persistent promises of equality that go unfulfilled or the ongoing pursuit of justice that always seems frustratingly elusive—start to make a perplexing kind of sense.
This also means that progressive movements are not simply fighting against reactionary policies or corporate interests; they are struggling against a deeply ingrained religious-political structure that tolerates opposition but never truly cedes power. It suggests that real transformation can only occur if that underlying structure—the hard, isolate, stoic, and lethal American soul—is fundamentally re-encoded. Otherwise, democracy will remain an opiate, a spectacle, a means of containment rather than liberation. Lawrence’s depiction of the American spirit profoundly reflects a perspective steeped in the Calvinist-Puritan tradition and the ideals of white Christian nationalism.
The Herrenvolk: The Master Race
John Fanestil examines the idea of "Herrenvolk" in his book, American Heresy, which offers a critical perspective on the history and beliefs of white and Puritan settlement in America. Herrenvolk means "master race" in German and relates to ideas of racial superiority and the belief that one group has a right to dominate others. This concept is closely tied to the Puritan ethos and the history of white settlement in America, significantly influencing the country's socio-political landscape over time. In recent years, fascism has been associated with evangelicalism and the political right. However, Fanestil's analysis suggests that these connections are not merely recent developments in the American landscape but rather deeply rooted characteristics within it. Fanestil’s characterization fundamentally reframes the discussion: rather than viewing white Christian nationalism, evangelical authoritarianism, or even fascism as emergent threats in American history, he presents them as the logical outgrowths of an original ideological framework—one that was already encoded in Puritanism and white settlement from the very beginning.
This Herrenvolk ideological framework shifts the narrative from one of aberration, such as America is straying from its democratic ideals, to one of continuity in which America’s democratic ideals were always subordinated to the Herrenvolk framework. The concept of America as a Herrenvolk democracy describes a system where democratic participation is limited to a dominant racial group while others are excluded or subjugated (Mueller). This model perfectly describes America’s founding structure: democracy for white, male Puritans but exclusion, subordination, or extermination for Indigenous peoples, enslaved Africans, and later, non-Protestant immigrants. In this view, America was never meant to be a democracy in the universalist sense—it was built as a racialized covenantal order, with whiteness as both the theological and political organizing principle.
Applying this to the present, Fanestil’s argument implies that the resurgence of Christian nationalism is not a deviation but a reassertion of this original Herrenvolk structure. The rhetoric of Trumpism, the influence of white evangelical politics, and the rise of authoritarianism on the right are not mere imports of European-style fascism; rather, they are enduring American traditions re-emerging in reaction to perceived threats. This revival mirrors historical patterns witnessed during periods like Reconstruction, the Civil Rights Movement, and other significant moments of racial and social change. This also confronts the belief among liberals that America's progress follows a linear trajectory. If Fanestil is correct, then struggles for racial and social justice are not just pushing against reactionary movements but against the deep, structural logic of American identity itself. The real question becomes: can America shed its Herrenvolk inheritance, or is every progressive advance doomed to be met with a reactionary backlash seeking to restore the original racial-religious order?
The Herrenvolk Opiate and Mask
If Calvinist-Puritanism is a religious ideology and is Herrenvolk, then it is the religion of the oppressed by offering that religion, allowing for the frivolousness of democracy if necessary, revealing that the Calvinist-Puritan ideology is a mask. Calvinist-Puritan ideology, when mapped onto the Herrenvolk framework, functions as a mask—one that serves two purposes simultaneously. First, it provides an opiate for the masses by offering a theological justification for inequality and suffering, redirecting discontent toward religious devotion rather than structural change. Second, it functions as an ideological cover for white supremacy and authoritarian control, framing hierarchical rule as divinely ordained rather than socially constructed. To take Schnabel’s argument and apply it to Calvinist-Puritanism as the Herrenvolk ideology, then religion in this context is not just an opiate in the Marxist sense—it is also a mechanism of containment. It absorbs the frustrations of the structurally disadvantaged, particularly white working-class people, and channels them into a theological framework that reinforces their subordination. The message is: suffering is not systemic but divine, "your status is not material but spiritual, and your duty is not to revolt but to endure."
However, because Calvinism also operates at the Herrenvolk level, it doesn’t just pacify—it weaponizes. It offers an identity that makes democracy tolerable only as a means to uphold white Christian sovereignty. This illustrates how the right can alternately embrace democracy as a means to further their agenda and outright dismiss it when it jeopardizes their dominance. Calvinist-Puritanism, then, is both an opiate and a mask—it blinds the oppressed to their condition while simultaneously justifying an authoritarian racial hierarchy in the name of divine will. This also explains why white evangelicals, despite their own economic struggles, remain some of the most steadfast supporters of policies that actively harm them. They are not just clinging to religious belief for comfort; they are operating within a theological system that has encoded their subordination as righteous. Within this framework, the ruling elite—those positioned at the pinnacle of the Herrenvolk hierarchy—do not utilize religion as an opiate, but rather as a justification for their authority and dominion. Democracy, within this framework, is tolerated only insofar as it functions as frivolous theater, an illusion of participation that keeps people from recognizing that the real structure of power remains untouched. If Calvinist-Puritan ideology is the true operating system of American power, then democracy is simply a feature—not the core program.
Uncovering the deep logic of American power, is to see it as one that has operated for centuries under layers of ideological masking. The more the myth of democracy as America’s foundational principle is stripped away and it is recognized that the real operating system has always been Herrenvolk-Calvinist in nature, the more the contradictions in American history begin to make sense. It is far worse than even many critics imagine, because it suggests that reactionary movements—whether white Christian nationalism, the MAGA movement, or the evangelical right—are not aberrations but resurgences of an enduring structure. Democracy, civil rights, and progressive policies are not the norm in American history but moments of interruption, and each time they have gained ground, the system has adapted, absorbed, and countered them. This means that dismantling this structure requires more than policy change—it requires a deconstruction of the ideological substrate itself. The Herrenvolk system survives because it is encoded not just in law, but in theology, cultural narratives, and even personal identity. The challenge is not just political; it is civilizational.
Calvinist-Puritanism: An Ideology of Faith Plus Works
The Puritans, shaped by Calvinist thought, maintained a complex relationship with faith, works, and salvation, intricately tied to their understanding of God's covenant with humanity. They highlighted God's sovereignty and the doctrine of predestination, leading to significant uncertainty about their own salvation. This anxiety arose from the realization that they could not definitively know if they were among the elect chosen by God, fostering a religious ideology that prioritized works alongside faith. The Puritans felt compelled to manifest their faith through hard work, moral integrity, and piety. Their fear of damnation drove such virtuous and industrious lives, seeking to provide evidence of their election through good deeds. Additionally, they viewed their relationship with God as a covenant, similar to those made with biblical figures like Noah and Abraham, which imposed a responsibility to adhere to His laws. This covenantal perspective reinforced the idea that their actions had significant consequences, both in this life and the afterlife, heightening their obligation to live morally and work diligently.
In Puritan society, the emphasis on moral integrity extended beyond individual responsibility to communal expectations, where individuals were held accountable to each other. This collective oversight reinforced the values of hard work and moral rectitude, with deviations leading to social ostracism or legal consequences, further intertwining personal salvation with one's social standing. They believed that diligence in labor was not only a moral duty but also a way to glorify God. Success in their endeavors was seen as a potential sign of God's favor, while failure could be interpreted as divine disapproval. This work ethic was deeply ingrained in Puritan culture, evident in their agricultural practices, community projects, and economic activities. The belief that hard work could lead to both material prosperity and spiritual assurance created a powerful motivation for industriousness. Although they acknowledged the necessity of faith for salvation, their pervasive fear of damnation led them to prioritize actions that could serve as evidence of their spiritual state.
Consequently, a religious ideology developed that, while rooted in faith, heavily emphasized the performance of good works to alleviate anxiety about eternal fate. This tension between faith and works became a defining characteristic of Puritan spirituality, influencing their religious practices and community life. The Puritan values of hard work, moral integrity, and a covenantal relationship with God were intricately linked to their theological beliefs, particularly their fear of not being saved. This fear emphasized works as a means of demonstrating faith and securing one's place among the elect; industriousness and moral rectitude became expressions of their faith. This interplay of fear, faith, and works not only shaped individual lives but also laid the groundwork for the social and cultural dynamics of Puritan communities, leaving a lasting impact on American religious and ethical thought. This Calvinism is heterodox; it is not a reflection of Christian orthodoxy evident in Greek Orthodox faith, Catholicism, or Protestantism, such as the Episcopalian faith.
Irritable Patriotism
In 1976, Richard Hutson reviewed Sacvan Bercovitch's book, Review of The Puritan Origins of the American Self. Hutson (p623) discusses the Frenchman Alexis de Tocqueville's 1830s observation of a strong sense of "irritable patriotism" among Americans. This phenomenon of merging personal and national identity is further explored by Bercovitch, says Hutson, who argues that American Puritans, particularly the "nonseparating congregationalists," shaped a collective identity of America as a sacred entity that transcended individual selves.
Hutson highlights Cotton Mather's work, particularly in "Magnalia Christi Americana," as a reflection of this vision, focusing on the Life of John Winthrop book by Mather to illustrate his biographical methods. Bercovitch, continues Hutson, posits that while Reformation spiritual autobiographies emphasized individual souls, American narratives inverted this focus to personify America as a singular soul, charting the nation’s progress as if it were a saint. Accordingly, the Puritans linked their authentic identities to the American continent, transforming geography into what Mather termed "Christiano-graphy," and framing their biographies as acts within the collective journey of America as a corporate pilgrim.
Bercovitch’s argument highlights the uniquely American adaptation of Puritan theological and literary traditions, particularly in how national identity was constructed. In Reformation spiritual autobiographies, the focus was on individual souls striving for salvation, mapping their personal spiritual journeys through conversion, trials, and eventual sanctification. However, in the American Puritan context, this framework was expanded beyond the individual to encompass the nation itself. The U.S. in its initial ideological and religious expressions, it was portrayed as a singular soul—a collective entity embarking on a divine journey similar to that of a saint. This conceptual shift transformed the American identity into one of collective predestination, wherein the progress of the nation mirrored the spiritual progress of an elect individual.
Christiano-graphy: America as a Spiritual Project
Hutson's review of Bercovitch's book, and the "nonseparating congregationalists" reveals how the concept developed of a corporate American identity that transcended individual selves, viewing it as a sacred entity known as "New England" or "America." Bercovitch emphasizes the Puritans' need to distinguish between an authentic and an inauthentic self, as well as between a transcendental and a historical self. However, the Puritans equated their authentic identity—what they termed their "christic" identity—with the American continent, effectively transforming American geography into a "Christiano-graphy." A geographical entity became a spiritual project, forging a national identity rooted in the idea of collective sainthood and divine purpose (Hutson).
White Christian nationalism can be understood as a contemporary iteration of the Puritan frame that Bercovitch describes, in which America is conceptualized as a singular, divinely ordained entity—a "nation as a saint." The theological and ideological foundations laid by the Puritans, which linked American identity to divine purpose and cast the nation as an elect people, have persisted in various forms throughout American history. White Christian nationalism draws upon this tradition by asserting that America was founded as a Christian nation, endowed with a providential mission, and that its cultural and political structures should reflect a specifically Christian (and, often implicitly, a white Protestant) identity.
Much like the Puritan vision, contemporary white Christian nationalism tends to conflate religious and national identity, framing American history as a sacred narrative in which the country’s success or decline is tied to its adherence to Christian principles. This ideology sees America not just as a country but as a moral project, where deviations from its supposed Christian foundations—such as secularism, multiculturalism, or religious pluralism—are viewed as apostasies that threaten its divine favor. Furthermore, the Puritan transformation of geography into "Christiano-graphy" is echoed in contemporary Christian nationalist's territorial and exclusionary impulses. The belief that America is divinely sanctioned often justifies policies that privilege certain groups as the rightful inheritors of the nation’s identity, particularly white Christians. This manifests in restrictive immigration policies, opposition to secular governance, and the assertion that American laws should reflect biblical morality.
While the racial dimensions of Puritan theology were not as explicitly articulated as they would become in later American history, the fusion of divine election with national identity laid the groundwork for later racialized expressions of American exceptionalism. Christian nationalism builds on this legacy by reinforcing the idea that America's destiny is tied to a particular religious and racial identity, making it a modern political and cultural expression of the older Calvinist-Puritan notion of America as a "saintly nation" with a unique covenantal role in history, expressed in political rhetoric and policy of America as a "Christian nation" invoked to justify exclusionary practices against marginalized groups, including immigrants, people of color, and LGBTQ+ individuals.
The territorial aspect of this ideology is particularly significant, as it reflects a desire to maintain a homogenous cultural and religious identity that aligns with the Puritan vision of a sanctified nation. The Puritan legacy, therefore, not only shapes the understanding of American identity but also informs contemporary debates about belonging, citizenship, and the moral fabric of the nation. As Puritanism evolved, its theology morphed into white Christian nationalism, with the Puritan "errand into the wilderness" transforming into Manifest destiny, framing white Protestant expansion as a civilizational and a spiritual duty. Lawrence’s observation that the American soul has "never yet melted" reflects the Christian nationalist fear of pluralism and secularization, with anxieties over demographic changes and religious decline leading to a defensive stance that reinforces racial, cultural, and religious boundaries.
Manifest Destiny and the Spirit of Columbia
In the context of America as a singular soul, on a divine journey, saintlike, the popular image is John Gast’s 1872 painting of Columbia as the spirit of the frontier, fulfilling Manifest destiny (Wikipedia). She symbolizes the intertwined cultural and historical notions of femininity, virtue, and nurturing. Columbia personifies the U.S., like other national allegories, such as Britannia for Britain and Marianne for France, embodying the nation's ideals, values, and aspirations while representing the collective identity of the American populace. In the 19th century, women were often linked to domesticity and moral authority, and by portraying Columbia as a woman, artists and writers conveyed that the expansion of the U.S. was a noble and virtuous mission, driven by a moral obligation to disseminate civilization and a democratic vision. Columbia is frequently depicted as a nurturing figure, guiding settlers and illuminating the dark, untamed wilderness, which aligns with the traditional view of women as caretakers and civilizers, suggesting that expansion was not merely about territorial acquisition but also about imparting education, culture, and progress to areas deemed "less civilized." This portrayal also contrasts Columbia with indigenous peoples, often represented as male figures in a more primal state, reinforcing the narrative of civilization versus savagery, with Columbia symbolizing the "civilizing" force of American expansion.
Manifest destiny encompassed the displacement of Native Americans and the expansion of imperialism. Using a female symbol suggests a justification for these actions as a civilizing mission, making it seem more moral and less violent. Columbia functions as an agent of propaganda, embodying a Puritan-inflected vision of "democracy" that cloaked imperial expansion in benevolent terms. She represents a feminized, moralizing force that makes Manifest destiny seem less like conquest and more like a civilizing mission—one ordained by divine providence. By portraying expansion as a maternal duty, Columbia softens the hard edges of imperialism, making it appear natural, inevitable, and even righteous. This aligns with the Puritan tradition of framing American exceptionalism as a moral obligation, where territorial expansion is not an act of aggression but a sacred trust. Her presence in war propaganda (WWI and WWII) reinforces this role—she is the gentle, guiding hand that justifies military action as the defense of democracy, even when that democracy is exclusionary and hierarchical. In this context, Columbia embodies the soft power of imperialism. She provides upliftment, enlightenment, and "progress," yet these offerings are consistently framed by the dictates of the prevailing ideology. Her adaptability—moving from a Manifest destiny figure to a wartime patriot—demonstrates how American nationalism repurposes its myths to sustain power.
Columbia may be regarded as a metaphor for the Democratic Party’s role in "civilizing" the Puritan project—attempting to soften its harsh edges while ultimately reinforcing its ideological core. The party positions itself as the moral and inclusive force, bringing progress and enlightenment, yet remains bound by the foundational structures of the very system it seeks to reform. Like Columbia, it offers a vision of democracy that appears benevolent, yet operates within constraints set by a historical trajectory rooted in expansionist, exceptionalist ideals. The feminization of Columbia aligns with the Democratic Party’s modern positioning—championing care, social justice, and pluralism while lacking the structural or ideological power to fundamentally reshape the system. Just as Columbia was never an independent actor but a symbolic justification for empire, the Democratic Party often functions as the "soft fist" of the American project, offering a gentler rhetoric while ultimately preserving the status quo.
And just as Columbia was deployed in wartime propaganda to sanctify military interventions, the Democratic Party often justifies neoliberalism and American interventionism under the guise of humanitarianism and democracy-building. It "civilizes" the Puritan project not by dismantling it, but by giving it a more palatable face. If Columbia, as a feminized symbol, lacks true agency, it suggests the Democratic Party’s attempts at reform are inherently constrained—destined to be a moderating force rather than a transformative one? Could it assert its independence by completely distancing itself from the Puritan legacy? The erosion of agency became strikingly evident in 2025, as Trump's brand of Republicanism aligned with white Christian nationalism, transforming the landscape of political engagement into one dominated by overt dominionism.
The Emergent White Christian Nationalism: WASP Nation
Robert P. Jones, the author of, White Too Long: The Legacy of White Supremacy in American Christianity, in conversation with Terry Gross on NPR said: "When you think of America, I think this white, Anglo-Saxon, Protestant cultural core was there. I mean, FDR [Franklin D. Roosevelt], for example, was - infamously said, you know, this country is a white Protestant country. Everyone else is here by sufferance. And that sense of ownership, I think, runs silent and deep among white Christians in the country." Jones explores the history of white American Christianity and its entanglement with white supremacy, how racism has been woven into the fabric of American Christianity and how it has shaped both church practices and political views. Christian nationalism may best be described as a religion-political movement based on race, and may be linked to various forms of discrimination, prejudice, and even violence.
The historical and theological foundations of Calvinist-Puritanism have greatly influenced the development of White Anglo-Saxon Protestantism (WASP) in the U.S. Puritan values such as hard work, moral integrity, and a covenantal relationship with God align closely with the ideals of American exceptionalism. WASPs, who are predominantly of European descent with roots in England and Western Europe, have traditionally been associated with the social, political, and economic elite, particularly during the 19th and early 20th centuries. This group has significantly shaped American culture and governance, often carrying implications of privilege and exclusivity, especially in discussions about social class, race, and immigration. The term WASP originally referred to affluent New Englanders, New Yorkers, and the Tidewater region, but has since broadened to encompass a wider range of individuals across the country, regardless of income or denomination. Although the influence of wealthy WASPs has diminished since the 1960s, they continue to play a significant role in finance, politics, and philanthropy.
The fusion of Calvinist Puritans and other founding groups identified as WASPs has played a significant role in shaping American identity and culture. The Puritans, with their strong emphasis on moral rigor, community discipline, and a covenantal relationship with God laid the groundwork for a distinctly American form of Protestantism. As the nation developed, other groups, including Anglicans, Quakers, and later, various evangelical denominations, contributed to the broader WASP identity. This identity was characterized by a shared cultural heritage, social norms, and a sense of entitlement to the land and its resources, often justified through notions of divine providence and the "Discovery doctrine" (Wikipedia). This doctrine posited that European settlers had a divine right to claim and govern the land, reinforcing a sense of superiority and entitlement among WASPs.
Freemasonry also played an early role in networking among these groups, providing a social and fraternal organization that transcended denominational boundaries. Its principles of brotherhood, moral uprightness, and civic responsibility resonated with the values of both Calvinist-Puritans and other WASP groups, facilitating connections and collaboration in various social and political endeavors. Freemasonry was once part of the connective tissue binding Protestant elites, but today’s white Christian nationalism operates more through fundamentalist evangelical networks. The Masonic idea of America as a divinely chosen nation persists, but the organization itself is largely peripheral to the contemporary movement. Instead, white Christian nationalism draws strength from megachurches, televangelists, and dominionistic theology rather than Masonic lodges. The fusion of Calvinist-Puritanism, WASP identity, and nationalism creates the complex tapestry that informs the beliefs and actions of many within the white Christian nationalist movement today, reflecting a desire to reclaim a perceived lost moral order and cultural dominance in American society.
Many WASPs, particularly those who identify as Christian nationalists, emphasize the importance of Christianity in public life and advocate for policies that reflect their religious beliefs. This shared emphasis on moral order and community cohesion has fostered a distinct cultural ethos among WASPs, shaping their social norms and political ideologies. The legacy of Puritanism remains influential in contemporary American discourse, particularly with the rise of white Christian nationalism, which seeks to define the nation as fundamentally Christian and to defend traditional values against perceived threats from secularism and multiculturalism. As such, individuals with WASP heritage who identify as Christian nationalists often draw on Puritan rhetoric to reinforce their political beliefs and cultural identity, highlighting the historical continuity of these influences in modern American society.
The Trajectory of The Calvinist-Puritan Algorithm
Over time, various movements and institutions have served as carriers for the Calvinist-Puritan intellectual framework that underpins white Christian nationalism, with alliances shifting in response to changing cultural and political conditions. Despite the evolution of its organizational vehicles, the core ideological structures have persisted. This phenomenon can be understood through distinct phases of remapping that illustrate the historical trajectory of these ideas. In the early American period, spanning the 17th to the 19th century, Puritanism, Freemasonry, and the hegemony of White Anglo-Saxon Protestants (WASPs) played pivotal roles. The New England Puritans established a theological foundation for American exceptionalism, emphasizing concepts such as divine election, moral purity, and a mission to construct a godly society.
This Puritan settler theocracy laid the groundwork for a national identity steeped in religious conviction. Concurrently, Freemasonry emerged as a significant networking mechanism among WASP elites, many of whom were either Calvinist or aligned with Puritan moral frameworks. Freemasonry served as a tool for these elites to maintain control over civic and political life while simultaneously secularizing some of the theological rhetoric that had previously dominated public discourse. The Founding Fathers further adapted these ideas by secularizing Puritan covenant theology, translating it into the framework of constitutional republicanism. This adaptation allowed for the retention of a sense of national divine mission while shifting the locus of sacred authority from the church to the state.
The period following the Civil War and extending into the early 20th century witnessed the emergence of the Lost Cause narrative, fundamentalism, and business conservatism. In the aftermath of Reconstruction, Southern Presbyterians and Baptists reinterpreted Calvinist determinism, crafting a racialized theology that justified segregation and reinforced a social hierarchy perceived as divinely ordained. This adaptation of Calvinist thought was emblematic of the broader cultural and political shifts occurring in the South. Additionally, early fundamentalist movements arose as a reactionary force against the perceived threats of Darwinism and modernism. These movements revived a Puritan-like moral strictness, reinforcing a binary worldview that distinguished between the elect and the reprobate. The rise of industrial capitalism during this time also saw the merging of Calvinist ethics with business conservatism, exemplified by figures such as Andrew Carnegie, who promoted the "Gospel of Wealth." This ideology sanctified economic inequality as a reflection of divine favor, further entrenching the connection between faith and capitalism.
As the mid-20th century unfolded, the landscape of American Christianity transformed with the advent of Cold War evangelicalism and the Southern Strategy. Prominent figures like Billy Graham played a crucial role in repackaging Puritan ideas for a modern audience, promoting a fusion of Christianity, capitalism, and patriotism that resonated with many Americans. The Southern Strategy, which sought to mobilize white evangelicals as a political force, aligned these religious communities with conservative Republicans. This alignment framed opposition to civil rights in moral and biblical terms, effectively intertwining faith with political ideology. During this period, corporate and think tank networks, such as the John Birch Society and later the Heritage Foundation, emerged as influential players. These organizations promoted laissez-faire economics, often employing a Calvinist moral framework to justify social hierarchies and resist social programs aimed at addressing inequality.
The late 20th century to the present has seen the rise of dominionism, the MAGA movement, and a charismatic shift within white Christian nationalism. The post-Reagan era marked the emergence of movements like Christian Reconstructionism, which explicitly sought to implement Old Testament law, reinforcing a theocratic interpretation of governance. This period also witnessed the adoption of neo-Puritanism during the Trump era, where white Christian nationalism embraced exclusionary tactics reminiscent of Puritan practices, such as demonizing outsiders and purging dissenters. The charismatic elements, such as the New Apostolic Reformation or NAR, with their prophecy and spiritual warfare rhetoric, became increasingly integrated into the movement's rhetoric and practices. Today, the networked right carries the banner of Christian nationalism through a diverse array of platforms, including evangelical megachurches, online influencers, and right-wing think tanks, rather than relying solely on traditional institutions like Freemasonry.
This remapping of ideological encoding can be viewed as an algorithmic process, following a logical path that reflects the persistence of core ideas. The foundational Puritan algorithm posits America as an elect nation with a divine mission and a moral hierarchy. Over time, the carriers of this ideological framework have changed, transitioning from, for example, Freemasonry to fundamentalist churches, political parties, and now online influencers. While the moral language surrounding these ideas may shift—evolving from concepts of predestination to the prosperity gospel—the core structure of the ideology remains intact, demonstrating a remarkable resilience and adaptability in the face of changing cultural and political landscapes. This enduring framework continues to shape the discourse surrounding white Christian nationalism, influencing both individual beliefs and broader societal dynamics.
Disrupting the Algorithm: The American Heresy
Suggesting that language structures perceptions and ideologies deterministically is to suggest that it often has algorithmically systematic and rule-based characteristics, which can be a useful way to understand and process language, while allowing for balance and appreciation of the complexities and subtleties of human communication in culture, context, and individual expression. The manner in which language shapes political and theological discussions is vital—particularly when Calvinist determinism intertwines with nationalist myths. "Love" itself becomes a weaponized term, meaning submission and obedience within their framework, whereas in a liberation theology paradigm, it implies solidarity and justice. In contrast to "love," a Calvinist ideal reflects the Protestant work ethic, which celebrates suffering, as well as the frontier myth that legitimizes violence as a form of divine purification. The synthesis of Manifest destiny and Christian nationalism essentially demands an exceptional figure—except in service of an eschatological war for dominion rather than liberation. The fact that this narrative persists suggests it operates as a self-replicating ideological structure, reinforced by historical momentum and theological certainty.
Often critiques of Calvinism focus mainly on its theological aspects, examining its internal logic, biblical interpretations, and philosophical implications related to free will, sovereignty, and human responsibility. However, this perspective often misses Calvinism's broader role as an ideological worldview that transcends theology and permeates politics, culture, and social organization. The crucial error lies in viewing Calvinism merely as a collection of theological doctrines, rather than as a comprehensive ideological system with a self-replicating, adaptive framework that evolves and solidifies over time. This is evident in the progression from three key Calvinists: Abraham Kuyper to Cornelius Van Til to Rousas Rushdoony and ultimately to white Christian nationalism, which is not coincidental but rather a logical extension of Calvinism's foundational premises (House).
Kuyper's concept of Sphere Sovereignty frames Calvinism as a holistic worldview intended to govern all aspects of life, including family, church, politics, and education. Van Til's presuppositionalism further reinforces the notion that all non-Calvinist or non-Christian thought is irrational and invalid, creating an epistemological closed loop. Rushdoony's theonomy takes this logic a step further by asserting that biblical law should dictate civil society, thus establishing the groundwork for Christian Reconstructionism. Contemporary Christian nationalism updates this framework for modern America, intertwining it with nationalist identity, racial purity, and dominionistic politics. Rushdoony, in particular, provides a key link between fundamentalist epistemology and political strategy. His dominionistic vision required a rejection of secular reason, not just as a competing framework but as a corrosive force that threatens the very identity of the movement. The hostility toward rationalism isn’t incidental—it’s a built-in survival mechanism, ensuring that believers never "see behind the mask." This also explains why MAGA adherents often react to progressive or rationalist critiques not with engagement but with emotional or conspiratorial counterattacks. Their ideological survival depends on maintaining an impermeable boundary between their epistemic system and the one that could dismantle it.
Due to its ideological nature, Calvinism possesses the structural resilience to absorb opposition rather than succumb to it. When individuals like theologians and academics such as Roger Olson or Leighton Flowers rightly engage Calvinists, but solely on theological grounds, they overlook the way Calvinism operates as a hegemonic system resistant to simple theological critique. It is not merely a set of beliefs; it is a comprehensive paradigm that shapes not only individual convictions but also entire political and social frameworks. To effectively challenge Calvinism, critiques must extend beyond theological discussions to address its ideological function by exposing how its framework perpetuates power structures, disrupting its all-encompassing narrative with counter-narratives (such as liberation theology and progressive Christian movements), and revealing its political and social repercussions, including Christian nationalism, authoritarianism, and economic injustice. The algorithmic vocabulary of Calvinism should be examined within the sociological framework of its ideological foundation underpinning white Christian nationalism, which Fanestil labels an "American Heresy."
Disrupting the Algorithm: The Beatitudinal Alternative
Calvinism is not merely a theological system; it functions as an ideological engine that perpetuates itself unless its foundational assumptions are challenged. This critical aspect is often overlooked in many critiques, as Calvinism operates as an "operating system" that shapes reality for its adherents. Its ability to self-replicate by embedding its logic into institutions, culture, and politics makes it resistant to dismantling through simple theological debate. Therefore, efforts to counter Calvinism must engage with its ideological and narrative dimensions. It is insufficient to merely dispute predestination against free will; what is required is a counter-framework that disrupts its closed system and presents a compelling alternative. This is where liberation theology, progressive Christianity, and democratic civil religion become relevant, as they hold the potential to shift the prevailing habitus, but only if they acknowledge the depth of the ideological stronghold they face.
To effectively challenge Calvinism, it is essential to expose the underlying algorithm rather than focusing solely on doctrinal disputes, engaging in a meta-level critique. Much like Christ's inquiry, "Who do people say I am?" transcended mere identity to address perception, framing, and narrative, the critique of Calvinism must similarly recognize deeper realities at play. Understanding the reasons behind Calvinism's ideological endurance is crucial; it is not just a theological framework but a comprehensive worldview that addresses existential questions concerning power, order, and destiny. This adaptability is a result of its functioning as a meta-narrative that structures meaning. Just as Christ's identity was about more than public perception but involved a radical disruption of the status quo, the challenge to Calvinism and Christian nationalism must extend beyond critique to propose a compelling alternative reality.
Individuals who perceive themselves as part of a divinely scripted order are unlikely to abandon it unless they encounter a more meaningful narrative—one that provides a deeper understanding of the world and their role within it. A vital element of Christian nationalism's ideological structure is its selective use of religious language to justify power rather than to promote genuine moral or theological consistency. The contrast between, for example, Franklin Graham and Bishop Mariann Budde illustrates this point; Budde invoked Christ’s direct teachings, such as the Beatitudes, which emphasize humility, mercy, and peacemaking. In contrast, Christian nationalists like Graham dismissed her because her theology contradicted their political objectives. This indicates that, for Christian nationalists, theology serves not as an end in itself but as a tool for maintaining cultural and political dominance.
A Southern Poverty Law Center article by R.G. Cravens analyzes the backlash against Episcopal Bishop Mariann Budde following her January 21, 2025, sermon at the Washington National Cathedral, where she confronted President Donald Trump. The hateful responses to Budde's plea for mercy towards marginalized groups directly contradict the frequent invocation of "religious freedom" by hard-right groups and politicians. Budd urged President Trump to show mercy to those feeling threatened, including LGBTQ+ individuals and immigrants. In response, several prominent anti-LGBTQ+ hate groups and right-wing figures reacted swiftly and viciously, calling for Budde's removal from her position, deportation, and even issuing threats of violence.
The rhetoric used frequently demonized Budde, portraying her as satanic or un-Christian. Anti-LGBTQ+ organizations seek to discredit the beliefs of liberal Christians by disguising their ultra-conservative political views as theological positions and overlook interdenominational disagreements about biblical interpretation, labeling dissent as secular or anti-Christian attacks. This rationale allows for the denial of services, jobs, and housing to LGBTQ+ people, as long as such denials are framed as based on political beliefs.
The American Cain: "Where is your brother?"
There is an American Cain metaphor in play here. Cain, the jealous brother who offers a false gift and ultimately murders Abel (Gen 4:1-16), is the perfect symbol for a nation that preaches democracy but practices domination, that claims moral righteousness while perpetuating systemic violence. The Herrenvolk-Calvinist structure is precisely this: an ideological framework that offers a facade of inclusion (the “false gift” of democracy) while ensuring that true equality is never realized. And just as Cain, after killing Abel, is marked and sent into exile but never truly punished, America’s Herrenvolk order has never faced a reckoning that fully dismantles it. Instead, it is permitted to endure, transforming, assimilating, and reemerging in new forms—manifesting through mechanisms such as Jim Crow laws, mass incarceration, voter suppression, and the rise of theocratic nationalism. The Puritan soul, hard and isolate, refuses to melt because it is the mark of Cain itself—a burden it bears but never repents of.
The mark of Cain, as described in Genesis, has been interpreted in various ways throughout history, reflecting the cultural and social contexts of interpreters. The idea that white supremacy can be viewed as a form of "Cainite" behavior suggesting that, like Cain's violent act against Abel, white supremacy perpetuates violence and oppression against marginalized groups, representing a modern manifestation of Cain's original sin. This interpretation posits that those who engage in white supremacist ideologies bear a metaphorical mark that signifies their moral failure. Robert Jones (2020) says, "The challenge for white Americans today, and white Christians in particular, is whether and how we are going to answer these questions: "Where is your brother?" and "What have you done?"" "We are Cain" serves as a provocative call for white Americans to acknowledge their complicity in systemic racism and violence, encouraging reflection on biases and privileges as a step toward healing and accountability. Additionally, discussions of the mark of Cain in relation to skin color highlights how it has been misappropriated to justify racial hierarchies, while also offering a reframing that emphasizes shared humanity.
If this American Cain metaphor is taken seriously, then progressive movements are not just fighting against political opponents; they are confronting a murderous brother—one who resents the very existence of an alternative vision. This would explain why the right’s hostility toward progressivism isn’t just political but deeply emotional, religious in its intensity, offering no mercy. They do not merely disagree; they see progressives as existential threats, challengers to their divine claim over the land. There is another side to the Cain metaphor. Even as Cain is exiled, he goes on to build a city. Flipping the narrative, could it be that the true American project—the one that replaces the Herrenvolk order—is still waiting to be built? Perhaps the tragedy is not just that America is Cain, but that it has yet to complete its exile and find a new, redemptive path. That would mean the "Great Replacement conspiracy theory" is not just demographic but spiritual—the replacement or displacement of the Herrenvolk Cain by a more just, inclusive, and democratic America (Wikipedia). The question is: Can America ever repent? Or will it continue to wander, marked but unbroken, carrying its sin from generation to generation?
White Christian Nationalism in Republicanism
In a 2023 extract of his book, The Hidden Roots of White Supremacy, in TIME magazine, Robert P. Jones says white Christian nationalism describes a worldview that has become central to the contemporary Republican Party, with two-thirds of Republicans identifying as white and Christian. Rooted in the 15th-century Doctrine of Discovery, which asserted European civilization and Christianity's superiority, this worldview justified colonial conquest and domination. The fusion of European imperialism, including the African slave trade, with Christian missionary zeal, provided a theological and political justification for these actions. The belief in America as a divinely ordained promised land for European Christians has shaped key events, policies, and laws throughout American history, including Manifest destiny and the notion of America as Puritan John Winthrop's "city upon a hill."
Today, continues Jones, this belief is strongly linked to denials of structural racism, coupled with anti-immigrant sentiment, antisemitism, anti-LGBTQ+ sentiment, but supports patriarchal gender roles, and even support for political violence. The January 6th, 2021, insurrection at the U.S. Capitol, with its Christian symbols and rituals, was a manifestation of this centuries-old worldview. To move forward, white Christians must relinquish the ethno-religious hierarchies embedded in the Doctrine of Discovery and develop a moral imagination that acknowledges the systemic injustices experienced by Black and Indigenous people. Reparations and restitution may be necessary to address the stolen lives, land, and labor that have accrued to these communities. White Christians can no longer pretend that democracy and the Doctrine of Discovery are compatible, and must choose to engage in the work of repairing the damage done by this cultural legacy.
However, as recent demographic changes in the U.S. lead to a more diverse population, with more diverse ideas, Christian nationalists continue to feel their cultural and political influence is waning. This sense of decline prompts the shift further to the right, with some factions adopting more militant stances to push back against what they perceived as an encroachment on their values and way of life. In this context, Donald Trump emerged as a strongman figure for the movement, appealing to their grievances and aspirations through populist rhetoric and an authoritarian leadership style. His administration's policies and cultural symbolism resonate with their desire to reclaim a vision of America as a Christian nation. This alignment fosters a sense of solidarity among white Christian nationalists, who view Trump as a defender of traditional values in a time of perceived crisis.
Historian Sir Simon Schama, in conversation with journalist Samantha Selinger-Morris, made remarks about the deep entanglement of Calvinist epistemology and American nationalism. He pointed out the prioritization of "rapturous mysteries" over rational thought, which supports the argument that American Puritanism, and by extension, white Christian nationalism, has structured the nation’s epistemic framework in a way that privileges divine revelation, emotional ecstasy, and mythic destiny over empirical reasoning. He framed Trump as a reaction rather than a revolution, which fits MAGA as a logical extension of American Puritanism. Trump’s movement, much like the Great Awakenings, thrives on affective intensity, ritualistic reinforcement, and an almost apocalyptic certainty—tools that Calvinist revivalism honed centuries ago. This suggests that Trumpism isn’t just an aberration but a manifestation of America’s deeper ideological genetic structure.
Schama critiqued Robert Kennedy Jr. for favoring folk remedies over scientific consensus, reflecting a tradition that distrusts expertise in favor of intuitive knowledge. Kennedy's rise and the anti-vax movement signify a longstanding American tendency to resist rational authority for personal revelation. Rick Pidcock highlights this resistance as a denial of Christ’s command to "love your neighbor as yourself" (Matt 22:39). He points to John MacArthur and his elders at Grace Community Church, who continued in-person worship during the COVID-19 pandemic despite Los Angeles having nearly 174,000 cases and over 4,000 deaths. In an interview, MacArthur framed his discussions with Californian Governor Gavin Newsom as debates over authority, questioning Newsom's legitimacy and asserting that societal roles are divinely designed to place men in authority and women in submission (Pidcock).
MacArthur's stance on authority and submission presents a complex juxtaposition. During the COVID-19 pandemic, he challenged state regulations by opening his church, questioning the authority of civil leaders like Newsom. This action reflects his belief in submitting to God's authority over human authority when it conflicts with biblical principles. However, MacArthur also advocates for a strict hierarchical structure in gender roles, asserting that women should generally submit to men. This stance is based on his interpretation of biblical teachings, emphasizing authority and submission as fundamental societal structures. The contrast lies in his willingness to defy secular authority while advocating for strict adherence to gender-based authority within religious contexts. This highlights a selective application of authority and submission principles, prioritizing religious over secular authority while maintaining traditional gender roles.
The Democratic Dilemma
The problem for the Democratic Party is that it often engages in a reactive posture, trying to contest the right on its own linguistic and ideological turf rather than fully articulating a distinct alternative. This is like Arminians debating Calvinists within a framework already structured by Calvinist assumptions—losing the argument before it even begins because the lexicon for each side code words differently, creating differing language-games that do not align. A progressive alternative must be more than a counterargument; it needs a fully realized moral and structural framework that reflects its own ideological commitments. This would mean embedding progressive compassion into systemic realities—policies, institutions, and narratives that reinforce a worldview centered on justice, solidarity, and human dignity.
The New and Fair Deals of the last century succeeded because they reshaped the ideological terrain rather than merely responding to conservative frameworks. Joe Biden’s democratic presidency, while policy-rich, lacked the kind of movement-building leadership that could solidify a long-term progressive realignment. In contrast, civil rights figures like John Lewis, Harry Belafonte, and Martin Luther King Jr. did not just advocate for policies; they cultivated a moral and emotional language that resonated deeply with the American conscience. This is the kind of leadership Democrats need—one that doesn’t just debate Republican narratives but rewrites the script entirely.
Saikat Chakrabarti framing of the Democratic Party’s struggle as action vs. inaction, rather than just ideological positioning, is crucial (Payne). The party's leadership too often prioritizes institutional stability over bold transformation, which weakens its ability to inspire and mobilize. As Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez's ex-chief of staff and co-founder of the Justice Democrats, Chakrabarti warns the GOP is "moving too fast" for the Democratic Party. The Justice Democrats represent an attempt to push the party toward a more movement-driven approach, similar to how Franklin D. Roosevelt redefined liberalism with the New Deal. But the question remains: Can the party evolve from within, or does a true ideological shift require an external force—either a breakaway faction or a grassroots insurgency powerful enough to force realignment?
The Republican Party, particularly under Trump, has abandoned traditional political norms in favor of a visceral, tribal, and confrontational style that is both immersive and performative. Their messaging is blunt, unambiguous, and tied to an overarching ideological project of Christian nationalism, dominionism, and authoritarian governance. The Democratic Party, on the other hand, has struggled to adapt, still treating politics as if it operates within the old paradigm of debates, institutions, and rational appeals rather than the affective, identity-driven movement that Trumpism has become. Trump’s political genius isn’t just in his rhetoric—it is in his ability to embed his supporters within the GOP’s infrastructure. His voters aren’t just passive participants; they are active foot soldiers, invested in the cause because they see themselves as part of a larger mission. This is where Democrats have failed. Instead of building a movement with a coherent and emotional core, they have relied on fear of Trump as a substitute for a positive political identity. That worked in 2020 but collapsed in 2024 when fear alone was not enough to mobilize voters.
The question now is: Can the Democrats reorient themselves into a movement-driven party with clear ideological commitments and a hardened strategic approach? That means abandoning the fantasy that traditional bipartisanship or institutionalism will save them. It means defining a moral narrative that directly counters Christian nationalism—not just with policy but with a competing moral and spiritual vision of America. It also means building an activist infrastructure that isn’t just about electing politicians but about embedding people into the party itself, the way Trump has done with the GOP base. If they fail to do this, they risk permanent irrelevance. The age of polite politics has come to an end; America has entered a new era characterized by the dynamics of movement politics. Either they recognize that, or they keep losing.
Matthew Yglesias from Vox references political scientist Jan-Werner Müller, who argues that the indifference Trump supporters show toward his alleged "corruption" is not atypical. Key supporters tend to frame these actions as necessary measures for the moral and industrious "us," contrasting sharply with their views of the "immoral" or foreign "them." This perspective, states Yglesias, leads Müller to conclude that it is naive for liberals to believe that exposing corruption alone will discredit populist leaders. It is essential to adopt clear ideological commitments and a hardened strategic approach. How hardened? This examination of the Christian nationalist movement reveals how Trump has ingrained the Christian nationalist ideology within the Republican Party through the Project 2025 blueprint, which outlines strategies for establishing a new American order, one that aspires to fulfill Puritan John Winthrop's vision of a "city upon a hill" that embodies Calvinism for the world to admire.
"the banality of evil"
The contrast between Episcopal theology and Calvinism is significant. Episcopal theology, grounded in Anglican traditions, focuses on grace, inclusivity, and service, while Calvinism emphasizes divine sovereignty, election, and humanity's "total depravity," which can support exclusionary hierarchies. This supports the idea that Calvinism functions as an ideological "algorithm," adapting to new political contexts while upholding its core focus on hierarchy and control. The issues of symbolic and real violence highlight the pathocratic nature of Trump's Republicanism and Christian nationalism, where both those who exert symbolic (exclusionary) violence and those who experience it suffer a loss of humanity in different ways. Those in power risk losing empathy and the ability to see others as fully human, while the marginalized face this dehumanization more directly and personally.
This echoes what Hannah Arendt's concept of "the banality of evil," as she and Frantz Fanon wrote about the psychology of both the oppressor and the oppressed: violence transforms the identities of all involved, reinforcing the "system’s" pathology. In Black Skin, White Masks, Fanon explores the psychological impact of colonialism on black individuals who are perceived as inferior within a predominantly white society. He examines how these individuals often feel compelled to adopt a performance of Whiteness to navigate their environment. He discusses how the use of the colonizer's language by black individuals can be perceived negatively, reinforcing feelings of insecurity and alienation. He argues that this dynamic reflects the power structures of colonialism, where language becomes a tool of oppression rather than empowerment.
Ultimately, Fanon asserts that the need to master the colonizer's language in order to gain recognition as white reveals a dependency that undermines the humanity of black individuals. The Republicans white Christian nationalist project functions as an internal invader, effectively weaponizing the concept of the "deep state" against the very structures that make democracy functional. They are executing a slow-motion coup, embedding themselves in judicial, bureaucratic, and cultural institutions in a way that seeks to make their ideological dominance irreversible. This is why their fight is existential: they see themselves as reclaiming America’s Herrenvolk inheritance from the supposed corruption of a "woke" liberal pluralism.
Charles Spurgeon once remarked, "You cannot vanquish a Calvinist. You may think you can, but you cannot. The stones of the great doctrines so fit into each other, that the more pressure there is applied to remove them the more strenuously do they adhere," which underscores the self-reinforcing characteristics of Calvinism as a comprehensive ideological system. The interconnected elements of Calvinist thought make it resistant to partial acceptance; for example, one cannot acknowledge total depravity without also embracing unconditional election, since the former logically leads to the latter. This results in a framework that is coherent for its followers and challenging to critique from an external perspective, as any criticism is either reinterpreted within the framework's logic or dismissed as a misunderstanding of God's sovereignty. It reflects Lawrence's characterization: "Hard, Isolate, Stoic, and a Killer." Calvinism provides the algorithmic frame and intellectual capital for white Christian nationalism, which has rooted itself in the 2025 Trump administration, shaping policies and governance.
Conclusion
To regain agency, the Democratic Party must transcend its current framework and engage in an ideological civil war not merely as a reaction to Republican extremism but as a movement with its own compelling and independent vision, distinct from Puritan-influenced American nationalism. This entails several critical transformations: primarily, reclaiming the commons and transcending neoliberalism to adopt a cooperative and redistributive democracy that prioritizes the well-being of everyone. Second, the party should develop a new theological and ethical framework that counters the right's religious-nationalist logic with a moral vision rooted in justice, dignity, and radical solidarity, potentially drawing from liberation theology. Third, the left must dismantle the spectacle of Republicanism—characterized by attention-grabbing rallies and ideological purges—by creating new rituals and symbols that emotionally engage people. Lastly, it should adopt a politics of pluralistic power that values diversity, coalition-building, and collective liberation over moral paternalism. Instead of embodying the passive figure of benevolent empire, the left needs to portray itself as a radical force for transformation.
If the Puritan-Calvinist encoding of America is not something that can be melted away, then the only viable path forward may not be to reform it, but to gradually outnumber and outmaneuver it. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Chakrabarti, and others from outside the Puritan ideological genealogy represent a fundamentally different ideological lineage—one not bound by the predestination-laden fatalism that dominates the white Christian nationalist right. Instead of seeing history as a divine script that must be upheld at all costs, they operate within a more open, dynamic framework of change. If their vision prevails, it would mark a profound transcoding of American identity, where democracy is no longer an opiate for the masses but an actual mechanism of transformation. It would mean that the Herrenvolk framework, while persistent, could be politically and culturally outflanked. This would not be an overnight revolution, but a generational shift—one where demography, new media, and grassroots mobilization slowly erode the entrenched structures of the old order.
Furthermore, progressives should adopt the same media strategies employed by the right. Since Christian nationalism operates algorithmically in the media landscape—utilizing memes, influencers, and targeted narratives—progressives must engage in this space effectively. Figures like Ocasio-Cortez illustrate how progressive politics can leverage digital culture; the church should aim to do the same by reframing religious discourse for an online audience. If Christian nationalism thrives on the notion of being a chosen people, then progressive Christianity could offer a redefined concept of "chosenness"—one rooted not in exclusion but in moral responsibility.
Imagine a new "elect" composed of those dedicated to justice, connection, and human dignity. A coalition of progressive faith leaders, activists, and thinkers could reshape American civil religion by providing an alternative vision of national identity. The challenge, of course, is whether this process can happen fast enough. The Puritan soul may never fully disappear, but its dominance can be broken. The question is "will it go down quietly—or if, in its last deep sigh, it will attempt to burn everything down with it?"
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