The Case for Christian Nationalism: A Review (Part II)

Stephen Wolfe. The Case for Christian Nationalism. Moscow: Canon Press, 2022. 488 pp, $22.49. Kindle version.

In part I of this review, I engaged in an extended overview of Wolfe’s argument. If you haven’t already, I’d recommend familiarizing yourself with the argument. Though I disagree with Wolfe, I respect the many hours of labor poured into this work, and believe any critique should be accompanied by a fair and accurate representation of the overall thesis. I hope that I have accomplished that.

In his introduction, Wolfe offers a transparent invitation to social scientists who may wish to critique his book: “This is a work of Christian political theory, not sociology. If the social scientists wish to critique my book, they must step out of social science, suspend their belief in social dogma, and enter rational inquiry.” (8–9) I am not a political theorist, and I am pursuing a graduate degree in sociology, but most importantly, I approach Wolfe’s book as a pastor with biblical and theological training, and one who is likewise concerned with “rational inquiry.” My critique will appraise the quality of his arguments (external and internal validity) from an explicitly rational, biblical-theological perspective.

I am grateful that Wolfe has written this book. It forced me to engage with a topic that, insofar as it has been sloppily appropriated by politicians and culture warriors, seems like an unrealistic pipe dream. It is helpful to read one articulation of the theoretical foundations for Christian nationalism and engage in more direct critique of the merits of Christian nationalism as theory.

With that said, I offer my critique.

Scripture and Validity

I begin with a critique Wolfe anticipates from the outset: he simply does not engage scripture. While difficult to count (there is no scripture index), Wolfe interacts with scripture a handful of times in his nearly 500 page book. The reader is not surprised, as he clearly points this out in his introduction:

“I assume the Reformed theological tradition, and so I make little effort to exegete biblical text. Some readers will complain that I rarely appeal to scripture to argue for my positions. I understand the frustration, but allow me to explain: I am neither a theologian nor a biblical scholar. I have no training in moving from scriptural interpretation to theological articulation” (16).

He takes this course of action as he argues from a “foundation of natural principles” (18).

And yet, it is still a problem. Now, I don’t expect a secular political theory to engage with scripture, nor a sociological exploration of Christian nationalism to engage with scripture. In both cases, methodological naturalism is expected. So why object to Wolfe’s failure to engage scripture? First, this is not just a work of political theory: it is a work of Christian political theory. Wolfe is transparent that his vision of nationalism is nationalism modified by Christianity (9). For him to succeed in his argument, he must not only adequately define nationalism, he must adequately define Christianity, and explain how Christianity qua Christianity modifies nationalism. Wolfe cannot remain in a purely anthropological realm; he must engage the supernatural. Epistemologically, at least from a Christian frame, this is only possible if we engage theology and scripture. And from a Reformed epistemology, it is only possible if we anchor our theological enterprise in scripture.

Now, to Wolfe’s credit, he is clear that his argument flows out of the Reformed tradition (which he demonstrates by interacting with various Reformed theologians to validate his argument). But his approach is flawed. It has already been noted that the Reformed tradition is broader than Wolfe allows. Further, in a work like this, the process of engaging scripture is not necessarily to bring some set of propositions to light which were previously obscured, but to demonstrate that you actually know what you’re talking about. There is a revealing endnote on p. 38, where Wolfe writes,

“The reader is free to cite scripture against my arguments. This is, of course, a valid method of refutation. In citing scripture against me, you’re seeking to support some proposition that opposes one of my propositions. Again, this is fine. But keep in mind that your theological propositions must fit into a coherent system of doctrine. In affirming any proposition, one affirms also what is logically antecedent and consequent to it: propositions come from and lead logically to other statements. Too often, Christians use scripture to support theological statements and ethical claims without considering their logical implications in a systematical way (e.g., whether it leads to absurdity or heresy, or contradicts other beliefs). I am not claiming that anyone who disagrees with me is theologically, ethically, or politically incoherent, but I do think that much disagreement could be avoided and the discourse improved if we thought more logically and systematically and with a view to coherence. Even in theology, one cannot affirm a contradiction.”

This footnote exposes a failure to understand the theological enterprise. While I am all for logical consistency, any ethical, political or other theorizing must not only be internally valid (coherent and consistent), but externally valid (objectively true). The Reformed tradition correctly views external validity as necessarily grounded in scripture. Wolfe, however, builds a system that maintains a level of internal consistency, but ducks the question of external validity by hitching his theory to a series of Reformed quotes. In doing so, he bypasses any need to demonstrate external validity. As a result, he can confidently declare that “my theological premises throughout this work are consistent with, if not mostly taken directly from, the common affirmations and denials of the Reformed tradition” (17), without ever having to show his work.

This is particularly important because Wolfe makes normative claims concerning the purpose of the church, the role of pastors, essential aspects of Christianity to be enforced, the divinely-ordained role of government, the nature of sin, the reign of Christ, etc. In other words, Wolfe engages in explicitly theological work to build his theoretical political framework. Without establishing external validity (i.e., that it actually flows out of the revealed will of God expressed in scripture), Wolfe functions opaquely, asking the reader to trust that in assuming the Reformed tradition, he is not, in fact, merely smuggling in his own biases (which he, in fact, does).

Natural Law and the Imagination

We next turn to Wolfe’s use of natural law. There is plenty of debate around the viability of natural law in Protestant theology. Related to my previous point is the challenge any proponent of natural law faces; namely to demonstrate that what he or she views as part of the fixed design of the universe is, in fact, so. In its best forms, natural law (or an appeal to natural principles) combines an integrative view of reality formed through scripture, experience, and reason to make the case for such natural realities. But it is intellectually irresponsible to ignore the inherent dangers in such a task. Particularly when trying to reconstruct a vision of the prelapsarian (pre-fall) world.

We have exactly 61 verses comprised of 1,253 words describing the world before our first parents saw the goodness of the forbidden fruit, took and ate. If we only include the parts where humanity exists — and thereby human society, sociability, diversity of gifts, normative roles, etc. — that number is reduced to 36 verses, consisting of 764 words. I point this out to highlight that Stephen Wolfe has constructed a positive political theory on the back of 36 verses, which reveal very little about human society, sociability, diversity of gifts, normative gender roles, human government, and so forth. It is impossible to extrapolate an entire system from these 764 words alone. Which is why Wolfe has employed reason and imagination to expand this foundation into a suitable substructure for his theorizing.

He begins by discussing family as the basic building block for society, which seems fairly reasonable considering the text in Genesis 1–2. He then points to the “gregariousness” of mankind, highlighting the need for social interaction and cooperation. Again, this is a fair conclusion. But as he progresses toward diversity in vocation, he begins to slip into the creative and imaginative. It is important to point out that it is here that Wolfe begins his imaginative reconstruction of the unfallen world based on what he believes would be the case.

His next step is more tenuous. After arguing that human finitude, both in terms of place and epistemic limitations, would necessarily create cultural diversity, he argues that

“diversity is not merely a consequence of geography interacting with epistemic limitedness. Man’s limitedness is also expressed in the natural need for a sort of directed gregariousness. That is, he is close at heart with a particular, bounded people, who ground and confirm his way of life in the world and who provide for him his most cherished goods. Unfallen man is benevolent to all but can only be beneficent (i.e., act for the good of) to some, and this limitation is based not merely in geographic closeness but in shared understanding, expectations, and culture…Cultural diversity is, therefore, a necessary consequence of human nature, and so it is good for us” (65).

This is an unproven assumption. Why is closeness to a “particular, bounded people, who ground and confirm his way of life in the world” a divinely-given good? Why is it better than, say, pursuing an acknowledged finitude that regularly seeks the experience of difference to expand and grow? If working the ground to mature the earth is an exercise not in protection and conservation, but expansion and exploration, why would human society not be the same? Wolfe does not demonstrate why his world is better than another. He merely assumes it.

Reconstruction of an imagined prelapsarian world and the extension of that world into a mature existence requires imagination. But to then cast this imagined reconstruction in normative terms as an ideal for our present world requires more than creativity; it requires that our imagined world is valid, internally and externally. But who arbitrates such visions? Why is my imagined world less valid than Wolfe’s? In arguing along these lines without, again, showing his work, Wolfe rhetorically leverages this assumed biblical vision to ground all manner of sundry propositions. For example, appealing to natural principles in the prelapsarian state, Wolfe advocates for:

• The goodness of hierarchy: “Hierarchy is, therefore, not some postlapsarian necessity. But neither is it morally neutral. It is good in itself, even of higher worth that egalitarian arrangements.” (68)
• Male-only political involvement: “Since civil society is a composition of households and men are the head of households, the public signaling of political interest (whether through voting or other mechanisms) would be conducted by men, for they represent their households and everyone in it. Vocational associations (or collegia) would likely be male-dominated as well, because households as productive operations would participate in them, and men would represent their households in them” (73).
• Self-defense via violent means: “All life is a gift of God, and so self-defense protects a divine gift. The duty to conduct violence to preserve the good was not divinely authorized after the fall. It is a duty for man in all possible states, except the state of glory…Since martial virtues involve physical strength, men would typically have this duty, and some degree of martial skill would be required of all men, as a necessary feature of their masculinity. This is the case not because all would hunt or necessarily take part in military drills, but because each would need to protect his household. Martial virtue is, therefore, a necessary feature of masculine excellence, and effeminacy is no less a vice in a state of integrity than in a postlapsarian world” (75–77).
• Prejudice: “complacent love explains one’s deep, instinctual preference for his own children, his kin, and his countrymen. Such preferences are not the result of a bare divine command or purely from human choice, but arise from God’s design of man” (161).
• The family’s dependence on the State: “Was God’s plan really to subject the little family and local churches to such powerful hostile forces and give them this narrow window of time (perhaps a dozen or so years) to prepare children for faith before tossing them to the world for testing? It is absurd to think that this arrangement is part of God’s prescriptive will” (234).

Natural law, however, is not a blank check written to fund one’s imaginative recreation of some prelapsarian state in order to justify one’s political theorizing in contemporary society. Without demonstrating the external validity of these propositions, Wolfe has built an entire system on assumptions. Which is particularly ironic considering his love of syllogisms. He writes, “my arguments are often not simple. I try to prove my most important conclusions such that if you accept the premises, you would have to accept the conclusion by the force of logic” (20). What I observe here is that Wolfe has built a syllogistic argument on a faulty initial premise, consisting of a novel, but unjustified reconstruction. To put it differently, he’s built his house on shifting sand. So much for force of logic.

Social Facts, Social Change, and Cultural Christianity

Cultural Christianity plays an important role in Wolfe’s nationalist proposal. According to him, while the primary mode of religion is located in the church, in a Christian nation, there exist two supplemental modes of religion: civil power (the magistrates), and social power — or cultural Christianity. The latter is the normalization of Christian practices and norms with the explicit design of preparing people to receive the Christian faith, to help people live well, and to make the earthly city an analogous representation of the heavenly city.

To make his case, he appeals to “social power” via Durkheim’s structural functionalism. In particular, he employs Durkheim’s concept of “social facts.” Social facts are nuanced, but at their root, they are ”a way of acting, fixed or not, capable of exerting over the individual an external constraint…” (Durkheim, Rules of Sociological Method, 59). While structural functionalism as posited by Durkheim is not a contemporary dominant theoretical framework, the basic concept advocated here is an essential tenet of sociological inquiry. That is, social norms exercise a coercive, shaping force on individuals. This is not a controversial point; all of us are socialized to various standardized norms in our particular cultural contexts, such that we recognize that this or that is just “the way things are.”

Wolfe rightly recognizes that a Christian nation will require social power to maintain its integrity. Just as Americans are shaped by the “social facts” of individual liberty and free speech, citizens of a Christian nation must be shaped by the “social facts” of Christianity. While there is truth to his argument, Wolfe demonstrates a naivety about the way the social world actually works, particularly with regard to social change. To Wolfe, social facts are forces to be harnessed, fixed, and employed to maintain a cultural status quo. The problem with this account is that it leaves out an essential component: people.

Since Durkheim, social theorists have recognized that a complete account of the social world requires an account of the ways human interaction affect and shape social structures. In other words, the larger macro forces that Durkheim correctly observed are reciprocally modified by the very people they shape. This was recognized early on by Weber, and developed in greater detail by later theorists (for example, see Blume’s treatment of symbolic interactionism, or Hallett et al. and inhabited institutionalism). Wolfe views social “power” as something relatively static. But because humans are fundamentally social and are meaning-making creatures, they will always interact with, respond to, modify, and alter the social world in which they live.

Here’s why this matters. Wolfe believes that cultural Christianity is a powerful supplemental force for maintaining the cultural status quo in a Christian nation. But we can acknowledge that, at least in the United States, we do not currently have a culture that could be called explicitly or comprehensively Christian. Change would be required. But how does the culture of a nation actually change? You cannot simply legislate it. To achieve cultural change, individual change is required. We would need to see a critical mass of individuals actively interacting with our present social structures, making their own distinctively Christian meaning in relation to it, embodying the new meaning, and reproducing that new cultural meaning throughout society. Perhaps one way this could be achieved is through widespread and radical revival. Perhaps millions of American citizens would come to faith and slowly, but surely, change our broader social norms.

Let’s imagine, for a moment, that this vision of cultural transformation actually happens. It would seem that Wolfe’s vision has been realized. But here’s the hitch: the same momentum that changed culture, can and will change it again. For a Christian culture to be maintained, a critical mass of individuals would have to stay faithful to the norms of Christianity, and individuals would have to continue being won over to the faith, replacing those who die, lose influence, etc. Individuals will never stop making meaning as they interact with the social world, and culture will never cease changing and shifting.

Wolfe acknowledges that cultural Christianity cannot save (213). Rather, it serves an important preparatory and confirmatory role. He further acknowledges that cultural Christianity will undoubtedly create hypocrisy (228). The question then is whether “the normalization of Christianity in society prepares people for the reception of the Gospel such that (ordinarily) more come to the true faith than in the absence of cultural Christianity (228–229). It’s a fair question — one best left to the historians of Christianity. But what I am observing, and what Wolfe fails to observe, is that such questioning is moot, and purely hypothetical apart from the prior and sustaining transformative work that through salvation.

This is a critical point, particularly as Wolfe acknowledges that there will exist, in a Christian nation, a number of those who are not formally Christians, who are hypocritical, and so on. Yet it is precisely these individuals who will create problems for Wolfe’s social project. For if the society itself is not radically changed by the power of the gospel, then the structural forces that prepare and sustain a Christian nation will change, and cultural Christianity as a project will fail. The pursuit of Christian cultural dominance is a quaint theoretical exercise, but Wolfe’s theoretical proposal demonstrates a simplistic understanding of the way societies work, which will ultimately fail to achieve the ends he hopes for.

Natural Preference or Segregation?

Provocatively, Wolfe notes that “people of different ethnic groups can exercise respect for difference, conduct some routine business with each other, join in inter-ethnic alliances for mutual good, and exercise common humanity (e.g., the good Samaritan), but they cannot have a life together that goes beyond mutual alliance” (148). The quote ignited a rather predictable controversy when its implications were interrogated. But before getting to the troublesome implications, let’s unpack what Wolfe actually argues.

Chapter 3 focuses on defining a “nation,”, which Wolfe merges conceptually with “ethnicity.” He distinguishes the two, suggesting that ethnicity emphasizes particular features of one people group, whereas nation emphasizes the nation as a whole. Importantly, however, he notes that “no nation (properly speaking) is composed of two or more ethnicities” (135f). He accomplishes this not by surveying sociological, anthropological, or political literature, but through a “phenomenological method” to “uncover and reveal the nation as we exist and dwell in it” (118). He goes on to argue that each person has a people group (or ethnicity), and that each people group has a right to be for itself (ibid). Now, lest the reader suggest that the American experiment would suggest otherwise, Wolfe explicitly denies that American principles have any binding force on his argument. He denies the “so-called creedal nation concept,” whereby propositions unite the nation. Instead, he advocates for a “pre-reflective, pre-propositional love for one’s own, generated from intergenerational affections, daily life, and productive activity that link a society of the dead, living, and unborn” (120). He further anchors this prioritization of “the familiar” in the natural, created order (see 118).

But if ethnicity is so central to the construction of nation, what is it? Wolfe defines ethnicity as follows:

“Ethnicity, as something experienced, is familiarity with others based in common language, manners, customs, stories, taboos, rituals, calendars, social expectations, duties, loves, and religion. These permit the ease of action and communication, the efficient completion of common projects, clarity of mutual understanding, and the ability to achieve the highest ideals and works of civil life. Put differently, the members of a people-group have the same world — sharing the same or very similar topography of experience — which makes possible the full range of human cooperation, activities, and achievements, and a collective sense of homeland” (136).

So is culture the only thing binding an ethnicity together? No.

“Blood relations matter for your ethnicity, because your kin have belonged to this people on this land — to this nation in this place — and so they bind you to that people and place, creating a common volksgeist…It simply is the case that a ‘community in blood’ is crucial to ethnicity. But this should not lead us to conclude that blood ties are the sole determinate of ethnicity, as if all we need are DNA tests” (139–140).

Wolfe’s definition of ethnicity raises all kinds of interesting questions. What happens to a nation like Switzerland, that shares much cultural overlap, but due to its size, is functionally multilingual? Do they qualify as a nation? What about a community comprised of English-speaking American citizens, who share Americanized manners, customs, stories, taboos, rituals, calendars, social expectations, duties, loves, and religion, but who are all first and second generation immigrants from Nigeria, Brazil, Thailand, and Germany? Is that a violation of Wolfe’s principle of ethnicity? Or what about a nation like the United States where individuals can trace their lineage to Western European cultures, but are still diverse in their manners, customs, stories, etc. — think of the Deep South vs. the “coastal elite.” Does the United States cease to be a nation in Wolfe’s view?

These are not gotcha questions. Wolfe’s answers are crucial for his thesis to survive. And in failing to address them, Wolfe posits an imaginary world in which ethnicity is monolithic and simple and can be geographically partitioned. But this isn’t how the world works. I realize that Wolfe is no fan of globalism, but thumbing your nose at what you do not like is not scholarship. The world has been indelibly marked by globalism, and the United States has been indelibly marked by global migration. Without addressing the real world, Wolfe’s treatment of ethnicity is no more than fantasy and “wish dreams” (with apologies to Bonhoeffer).

But there are deeper problems. Wolfe’s arguments inherently lead to conclusions reflective of Plessy v Ferguson (“separate but equal”). Now, we should point out that Wolfe explicitly denies he is a segregationist, or that inter-racial marriage is problematic. But it is difficult to see how anyone could reconcile the belief that exclusion of out-groups is a “universal good for man” and “natural right” and not conclude that geospatial segregation is a necessary good. Yes, he affirms that he is “not saying that ethnic majorities today should work to rescind citizenship from ethnic minorities,” but then goes on to say ”though perhaps in some cases amicable ethnic separation along political lines is mutually desired” (149). Wolfe believes that instinct and reason teach us “that we ought to prefer some over others,” and that “we ought to prefer our own nation and countrymen [remember, he has already established that nation and ethnicity possess significant overlap] over others. This instinct is not from the fall or due to sin; it is natural and, therefore, good. We are naturally drawn to what, in principle, is necessary for our complete good” (150f).

So I again return to the questions posited above. How exactly does this work itself out in the United States? If exclusion of out-groups is a moral good, and preference of “our own” is a natural right, then how are we not back at “separate but equal?” How does someone reconcile the principles and tenets proffered here without physically segregating ethnicities to promote our ethnically individual “complete good” (151)? Wolfe never attempts an answer. And for all his concern about logical argument and syllogisms, this glaring omission is a major flaw.

Additionally, Wolfe never engages with the reality of Western racialization. He has repeatedly written on Twitter that he distinguishes his concept of ethnicity from race in chapter 3 of his book. Unfortunately, this is not true; he never does. Read the chapter, then also do a word search (if using Kindle) for “race,” “racial,” “racism,” “racist.” You’ll find no direct engagement. The closest he gets to such promised differentiation is in his critique of the Western mind:

“The Western mind needs to be critiqued in order to free it from exploitation and self-disparagement. The key is having the moral and psychological fortitude to endure the psychological discomfort that arises from affirming the truth and denying the false and absurd. Indeed, you must critique and deliberately decline to act on certain mental habits designed to extinguish this discomfort, such as accusations (whether against oneself or others) like ‘racist’ or ‘fascist’ or ‘xenophobe’; appeals to universality; and ascribing altruism” (170).

In other words, Wolfe thinks claims of racism are a product of “psycho-social conditioning” (172) — not reflective of reality. While perhaps a convenient way to fend off critiques like mine, and while it makes for good Twittering, his reasoning is no more than a red herring which deflects from the fully realized implications of his argumentation.

What Wolfe at best misunderstands, but perhaps just intentionally avoids, is that one cannot properly discuss ethnicity — and certainly the goodness of particularity — without considering the racialized context of the past several centuries. Words and concepts like this are not neutral; they are historically conditioned. There is a reason that people read Wolfe and immediately conclude that he is promoting segregationist conclusions: people argued for race-based segregation for years utilizing the same kind of logic Wolfe employs. It is incredibly naive and intellectually irresponsible for Wolfe to lob a novel definition of ethnicity into the public discourse and require it to be read with an ahistorical neutrality.

A Naive View of Power

Wolfe spends a good deal of time discussing the locus of civil power in Christian nationalism, what he calls the “Christian prince.” What he means by a “Christian prince” is not strictly a royalist conception of authority, but rather a kind of ‘great man.’ This princely figure is variously descried as a father, world-shaker (278f) and a “god” (287), who mediates “divine rule for this nation as one with divinely granted power to direct them in their national completeness” (ibid). This Christian prince

“encourages and channels the boldness and spirit of youth, while elevating the old and venerating the dead. He silences the social mammies and countenances the spartan bootstrapper. He loves and enacts justice. He worships God and calls his people to do the same. As an embodiment of the people, he is the best of the people — a man reflecting both their image and God’s image, signifying that they are God’s and that they live in and for him. With martial virtue, resolve, and thumos he fights foreign aggressors, sacrificing himself for his people’s good, and he establishes peace with other nations” (288).

Wolfe goes on to lament the dearth of great men in our nation, blaming the “gynocracy” for the subjugation of masculine ideals to “institutionally conferred credibility” and “managerial-bureaucratic reprisal for disagreement.” This prince should be “ committed to natural hierarchy (wherein individuality is harmonized with hierarchy), exclusivity (which respects difference but keeps it away), and particularism (the conservation of the people’s unique cultural features); and he should return us to a masculine society, which alone can remedy the gynocratic contradictions that plague our society” (291f). And while the prince cannot compel belief, he should use civil power to “ensure that the culture of his people reflects true religion” (295).

Leaving aside Wolfe’s apparent grudge against women, and the observation that Wolfe once more advertises his ignorance about the way culture works (unless he truly favors naked totalitarian control), my primary critique addresses his starry-eyed fascination with power — a fascination not properly grounded in either history or theology. One need not look far in history to find example after example of the kind of leadership Wolfe provides. And in those examples, there is no shortage of tyranny, nor manipulative control of the church for the sake of power.

But the more pressing issue is Wolfe’s failure to interact with Jesus’s teaching on the subject of power. He neither acknowledges that Jesus engaged the subject of power with provocative clarity (Matt. 20:20–28; 26:47–53; Mark 9:33–37; John 13:1–20), nor seeks any theological synthesis between political power and Christ’s recasting of power in his kingdom. To be sure, Wolfe has already stated that he has no theological training, but this is no excuse; he has engaged in plenty of theological work. His failure to engage with Jesus’s teaching seems to be because he believes that “Christ’s spiritual reign does not extend directly into matters suitable to civil power.” Because “spiritual power is insufficient to order outward life” (306). While this is a convenient separation of jurisdictions (307), it is completely unwarranted, undefended, and unbiblical. It is one thing to not expect submission to Jesus from a secular government; but to suggest that a Christian government exists in a complementary but separate relationship with the Lordship of Jesus Christ is to play fast and loose with logic and theology. In other words, it is a remarkably convenient method for smuggling in your own biases under the banner of Christ.

In addition to compartmentalizing the authority of Jesus in a Christian civil government, Wolfe argues that the church is dependent on the State. He compares the relationship between the church and State with the relationship between a husband and wife.

“A husband does not ordinarily fulfill the duties of his wife, but he procures what is necessary for her to perform those duties, establishes the conditions for her to perform them well, approves her good performance, and corrects her when she performs her duty poorly. In doing these things, he has not performed the duties of a wife” (312)

In the same way, the Christian prince

“should procure what is necessary for the pure worship of God but not lead worship or institute new articles of faith or sacred ceremonies. If the ministry degrades, he should reform it. He should correct the lazy and erring pastor but not perform the duties of pastor. He should protect the church from heretics and disturbers of ecclesiastical peace, ensuring tranquil spiritual administration. But in dealing with such people, he must let the ministry of the Word go before him, for the sword of the Spirit alone can reform the errant heart.” (Ibid)

He also affirms that the Christian prince can arbitrate doctrinal disputes (which is surprising since the prince has no superior theological training in Wolfe’s vision), and yet, note: “he considers the pastors’ doctrinal articulations as a father might look to his medically trained son for medical advice. He still retains his superiority” (313).

Sure, this relationship never worked well in the past, but maybe we’ll get it right this time around.

But perhaps most glaringly, Wolfe has utterly failed to reckon with a major problem: sin. Almost unbelievably, Wolfe’s rosy proposal deals with the potential of a corrupt prince exactly once. After spending an entire paragraph demonstrating that pastors have no power over the prince, even in excommunication, Wolfe says this: “Still, the prince as a Christian man submits to ministers on matters concerning his own soul. He is not exempt from pastoral authority with regard to the keys of the kingdom” (314f).

To be clear, Wolfe does explain that the prince must be subject to Christ. Except, what happens when he refuses to submit to Christ? Or only halfheartedly submits to Christ? Wolfe seems, inexplicably, to have given little thought to the all too pervasive relationship between power and corruption. As a result, we are left wondering, what does one do when the prince abuses power? How does one address his rebellion? What measures should be set up by way of separation of powers or accountability? Unfortunately for the citizens of this Christian nation, Wolfe offers exactly two solutions: pastors may meekly offer suggestions for spiritual growth (but never political or civil guidance [313]), and lesser magistrates may incite violent revolution to depose said corrupt prince (see chapter 7). Otherwise, citizens are stuck. I find it difficult to believe that the reader will find this political theory — so devoid of realistic checks and balances — as an improvement.

It is these types of errors that make it difficult to read this book as serious scholarship. It is difficult to tell if Wolfe holds an over-realized eschatology, or has simply been living in the woods for too long. Any political theory must adequately address the true nature of things. Wolfe has written a fantasy that has no applicable use in this present world — save to energize a particular base toward a theocratic cosplay that will fail spectacularly. It will not fail because King Jesus is insufficient, but because sin is far more pervasive than Wolfe believes — which is doubly surprising, considering his avowed commitment to Reformed theology.

Conclusion

In short, Wolfe’s failure to engage Scripture, his unhelpful use of natural law, his ignorance of how social change works, and his naive view of power render The Case for Christian Nationalism ultimately flawed. If The Case for Christian Nationalism does become a standard resource for the Christian nationalism project, it is apparent to me that the whole endeavor will collapse under its own weight.

I have other concerns beyond these four, such as Wolfe’s framing of women in patriarchal and misogynistic constructs, stripping away their social and political agency in his hypothetical nation. They should be addressed, along with the many other generalizations and grievances pervasive throughout this book.