Conservatism pairs God and country, observes the legendary Harvey C. Mansfield, Jr., while cosmopolitan liberalism chooses “universal empathy rather than patriotism and human rights or humanity rather than God.” The cosmopolitan liberal pairing is perhaps more consistent than its conservative counterpart. Universal empathy pretty easily serves humanity or human rights, but God does not necessarily serve country. Consider, for example, Thomas Jefferson on slavery in his Notes on the State of Virginia (1781):
Indeed I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just: that his justice cannot sleep for ever: that considering numbers, nature and natural means only, a revolution of the wheel of fortune, an exchange of situation, is among possible events: that it may become probable by supernatural interference! The Almighty has no attribute which can take side with us in such a contest.
The God of the Old Testament chose Israel. The God of the New Testament didn’t choose any particular nation, but rather judged them all. The absolute most that can be said for Americans is that we are an “almost chosen” people, in Abraham Lincoln’s words, a formulation that embodies in its ambiguity the relationship between a God whose superintendence and love are universal and whose justice is inexorable, and a necessarily sinful people.
Yet the self-described “progressive” might actually reject Mansfield’s contrast between conservative religiosity and liberal humanism. Au contraire, the progressive (who of course speaks French) might say, universal empathy is precisely what God calls us to; the “liberal” stance is the genuinely religious stance. Thus saith Valerie Elverton Dixon, a colleague of Jim Wallis writing on the Sojourners blog:
When the nation is the object of one’s highest concern; when national documents are considered holy scripture; when the nation’s founders and historical figures are lifted to the status of demi-gods; when citizens of the nation consider themselves to be God’s chosen nation, that they are especially favored by Divine Providence; when citizens conflate greatness and goodness; when patriotism becomes religion, we see civil religion at work. . . . .
In my opinion civil religion is dangerous because it is a subtle form of idolatry. The nation is ultimate. . . . We live within a universal rather than a national moral horizon, and we ought to shape public policy to conform to universal claims of justice.
Without any sort of qualification or limitation, so the argument goes, patriotism is idolatry. If you regard your fatherland as your father, you are an idolater.
Fair enough, but the “God and country” patriotism treated with such contempt by the cosmopolitan liberal isn’t obviously and necessarily idolatrous. Consider, for example, the formulation “one nation under God,” which has its roots in the most faithful versions of Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. A nation under God acknowledges that it stands under God’s judgment, that its sovereignty is conditional and earthly, not absolute. If our choice is between a nation under God, a nation apart from God, or a nation that is God, piety demands that we adopt the first alternative.
Dixon seems to suggest that we don’t have the first choice. We must either regard our country as a merely secular tool to accomplish our cosmopolitan goals or be, in effect, idolatrous. I think she should take a closer look at the first choice. Nations, after all, can play a role in God’s providential order and can be appreciated, not to say loved, for the limited sorts of good they can do.
There are at least as many dangers in disdaining the nation, especially if one conceives oneself as still having a worldly calling. To regard oneself as accountable only to God (or, for that matter, as a secular cosmopolitan might, to “reason”), and not through realistic mechanisms to one’s neighbors, might well be a simple evasion of responsibility and ultimately the assertion of a license to say and do as one pleases.
Properly understood, “God and country” places the nation under God, where it belongs. Against the religious Left, this is not idolatrous. Against the secular Left, this provides a suitably modest and realistic means for ameliorating the human condition. Stated another way, “country” provides an anchor against the vanity or dreaminess of “mere cosmopolitanism,” and “God” provides an antidote to the excesses of national chauvinism. Where else would you want to be but in this middle?
Joseph M. Knippenberg is Professor of Politics at Oglethorpe University. He is an Adjunct Fellow of the Ashbrook Center for Public Affairs and a Contributing Editor to The City. His “The Prayers of Presidents” appears in the current issue of the Claremont Review of Books.
RESOURCES:
Thomas Jefferson’s Notes on the State of Virginia, Query XVIII: Manners.
Abraham Lincoln’s Address to the New Jersey Senate.
Valerie Elverton Dixon’s On Glenn Beck and the Restoring Honor Rally.
Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address and Robert P. George’s analysis of the best version.
Comments:
The choice is not between being a nation under God or not being such a nation, but between recognizing it or not. All nations are "under God." There is no such thing as a nation outside of God's sovereignty, and conservatives don't help matters by suggesting that there might be such a nation. Professor Knippenberg doesn't suggest it directly, but he hints at this error when he writes, "Nations, after all, can play a role in God’s providential order and can be appreciated, not to say loved, for the limited sorts of good they can do." Here, Knippenberg is clearly suggesting that "nations under God" are the good sorts of nations, the limited ones that can be used providentially by God. But consider Isaiah 10:5, where Assyria (hardly a "good" nation) is "the rod" of God's anger used to chastise Israel. Assyria is as much "under God" as is Israel, used providentially by God in the economy of salvation.
The problem with the conservative invocation of "under God" language is its implicit Pelagianism—as if countries need to do something to achieve "under God" status, or as if certain countries have in fact done something to earn that status.
It's a theological mistake to claim that the discourse of "God and country" places the nation under God. God makes the nations his footstool, not us. God's got the whole world—the whole cosmos, all the nations—in his hands; we don't. Our role is not to put the nation under God, but to confess that our nation is so, just like all the other nations. If that's cosmopolitan, it's because God's sovereignty is cosmopolitan. There are many distinctive things to love about the United States of America. But its being "under God" is not one of them.
a question about your intention in the last sentence: is america's being under God is not distinctive or is america's being under God not something to love?
A nation that truly recognizes itself as under God would submit to God. And the "one nation, under God' phrase is a recognition of that duty. As Lincoln wrote, "it is fit and becoming in all people, at all times, to acknowledge and revere the Supreme Government of God; to bow in humble submission to his chastisements, to confess and deplore their sins and transgressions in the full conviction that the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom; and to pray, with all fervency and contrition, for the pardon of their past offences..."
Contrast that with the spirit of many American Christians today. Just one example: on the forums on another Christian site, the ones refusing to speak out against the Koran burning were the most ardent patriots who also came across as the most ardent Christians, and the one's most blind to passages like Romans 12, 1 Peter, etc.
[I wish some computer expert would tell us whether these frustrating boxes with letters are case sensitive and whether you are to leave a space between numbers and letters, I cannot figure out what I am doing wrong]
It's not distinctive.
@Michael Snow,
My problem was with the way in which Knippenberg's grammar—"Properly understood, 'God and country' places the nation under God, where it belongs."—betrays something much more problematic than the distinction you point to.
[I think the frustrating boxes have some sort of time limitation attached to the codes we're supposed to type in. Why, I have no idea.]
But liberalism that disdains honest and humble service to our country often leads to treason. By accepting the protection of our nation, we should render unto it an appropriate measure of loyalty. Where we disagree with its policies, we should respectfully argue against them. We certainly do not owe it to God to reveal classified information to our enemies, i.e., those who seek our destruction.
If we find a conflict between God and Caesar, we should follow conscience, of course, but if our choice detrimentally impacts our fellow citizens, we need to consider whether we have a right to impose our judgment upon them. Is our conscience "properly formed"? As an economist might say, we should not impose negative externalities on our fellow citizens in order to feel good about ourselves. (It's easy to give alms if we don't have to pay for them.)
Let's take a real example. I have a soft spot for illegal aliens. My mother is from Mexico. Am I free to violate the law to ease the path for border jumpers? Who will pay for their medical care, if they need it and can't procure it themselves? Do my taxes so fully finance the local ER?
Staying in the middle requires constant self-scrutiny. Perhaps we cannot be heroic citizens without compromising on our loyalty to God. Maybe we cannot follow God's will without disloyalty to country. We must try. And it seems to me that when we see anyone who is overly certain that a decision of theirs threads this needle, our suspicions should be aroused—they probably are not trying hard enough.