Scriptural references are seemingly mandatory this election year, but how seriously should we take them?
Imagine how different things would be if the first caucus of the election season were held in the state of Manhattan and not in the state of Iowa. The candidates would surely dress a lot better than they do when breakfasting in Des Moines. Issues like rent stabilization and property taxes would be debated as if they had national-security implications. And few politicians would feel compelled to thump the Bible or share their narrative of faith when addressing shivering lunchtime crowds in Central Park.
But secular New York City is not America. It is not even remotely representative of America. In America, as we learned from the recent Iowa and South Carolina contests, a presidential aspirant must cite the Scriptures on the campaign trail. In America those who want to gain the White House must talk about God.
It is hard to tell what flabbergasts secularists (in Manhattan and elsewhere) more: the fact that presidential hopefuls consistently invoke biblical verses and prattle on about their faith, or the fact that voters are actually swayed by these oratorical manipulations. Abandoned by both their political representatives and their compatriots, many secularists are asking themselves in disbelief: Is our republic not founded on the principle of separation of church and state? Is not our citizenry wise enough to see faith-based pandering for what it is? Don't politicians have any shame?
Bullhorn tilted toward heaven, the 2008 presidential campaign has seemed hellbent on responding to these queries with a loud and distorted "NO!" Mike Huckabee, who starts his day off by reading a chapter from the Book of Proverbs, has anointed himself a "Christian leader." That self-assessment should not be confused with John McCain's insistence that ours is a "Christian nation." As for Rudy Giuliani, when the question of his "character" was raised (which was not an infrequent occurrence) he humbly cited John 8:7, as he urged critics not to cast the first stone.
On December 6, Mitt Romney delivered a landmark speech that could serve as the promotional video for this era of religious politicking. "Freedom requires religion just as religion requires freedom," he argued. Whatever its merits, this intriguing assertion grants no role, function, or legitimacy to secularism (which Romney proceeded to set in parallel with radical jihadism).
Mindful of pervasive anti-Mormon prejudices, Romney did not draw attention to his particular faith during that address, but the virtues of faith in general. In this spirit, he roll-called Catholicism, Evangelicalism, Pentecostalism, Lutheranism, Judaism, and Islam — and it was all good! That encomium to ecumenism might have been more convincing had he not invoked texts only from the New Testament (e.g., Matthew 16:26; Matthew 25:35). Why no papal encyclicals? Why no esoteric Midrash? Come to think of it, why no teachings from the Book of Mormon?
In the aftermath of Romney's Philippic, not one of the Democratic front-runners came to the defense of Secular America. Perhaps they were each too busy filming their now long-forgotten Christmas ads. More likely, each was sticking to a well-devised game plan, one that was forged in the crucible of John Kerry's devastating loss in 2004. The Democrats have finally "gotten" religion. They would sooner crash the gates of Hell than let their opposition define them as the party of godlessness. If that entails aggravating their secular base, then that is a risk worth taking.
So when John Edwards identified poverty as "the great moral issue of our time" he was sure to ground this view in the Scriptures. "If you took every reference to taking care of the least of these out of the Bible," he opined, "there would be a pretty skinny Bible." He continued: "And I think I as a Christian, and we as a nation, have a moral responsibility to do something about this."
Sen. Barack Obama — that most canny hermeneut — also seeks cues from the Good Book. My fellow students of scriptural interpretation would appreciate this aside from The Audacity of Hope: "When I read the Bible, I do so with the belief that it is not a static text, but the Living Word and that I must be continually open to new revelations — whether they come from a lesbian friend or a doctor opposed to abortion."
Determined to never be tarred as hostile to religion again, Hillary Clinton has spent years reminiscing and writing about youthful Bible-study sessions and the church she attended as a child. The former First Lady is skilled at framing issues in faith-based terms. One thinks of her retort to a piece of immigration legislation: "It is certainly not in keeping with my understanding of the Scripture because this bill would literally criminalize the Good Samaritan and probably Jesus himself." Upon pondering this remark, one pundit predicted that 2008 would be "the Year of the Bible."
Yes, the Bible is back in our nation's political discourse, but the significance (or lack thereof) of its return is often misunderstood. I am of the opinion that the renewed salience of Scripture symbolizes two major developments in recent American history.
The first has been widely noted. Over the past few decades, the United States has witnessed the dramatic political and cultural resurgence of Evangelical Christianity. If candidates are dropping Scripture bombs (on the) left and (on the) right it is because they greatly esteem the electoral power of conservative Christians for whom the Scriptures are inerrant and infallible. After all, one should not take a constituency that comprises one-quarter of the nation's voters lightly.
Far less has been said, however, about an equally important, and closely related, development. Here I refer to the stagnation of American secularism as a political project. Since the late 70s, conservative Christians have identified "secular humanism" (along with communism) as one of their primary adversaries. In retrospect, it can be said that they have dealt secularism some punishing blows. I could speak of the last few appointments to the United States Supreme Court. I could speak of the very existence of "faith-based initiatives." I could go on for the entire month of February about the recently passed House Resolution 847, "Recognizing the Importance of Christmas and the Christian Faith."
But here I wish to observe that few things infuriate nonbelievers and church/state separatists more than "God talk" emanating from the mouths of elected officials. They feel, with some justification, that faith-and-values palaver has been rammed down their throats in the 2008 campaign. These pious musings contain a painful message, for when a politician cites the Gospels on the campaign trail he or she is saying many things and one of them is: "I am really not exceedingly worried about infuriating nonbelievers and church/state separatists."
The return of the Bible in political discourse, then, not only symbolizes the ascent of the Evangelicals, but the lack of interest or even respect that candidates have for the secular ballot. Why respect a group (e.g., secularists in general and nonbelievers in particular) who are not only unpopular, but who lack new ideas, political leadership, powerful advocacy groups, and organizational infrastructure. More to the point, why respect a group that has no proven sources for bankrolling a candidate's national campaign?
But secular America shouldn't despair. Not just yet. For my research indicates that the use of the Scriptures is still merely symbolic. In our nation's politics, the Bible is employed in ways that are light not heavy, theatrical not substantive, rhetorical as opposed to policy-oriented. The Bible is a bauble, an accessory, eye candy for the faithful. One cites it on the stump in order to establish one's spiritual credentials. A successful thumping operation has an objective, and that objective is to say to conservative Christian religious constituencies, "I am one of you." Or, in the case of a Democrat: "I am not Michael Dukakis!"
The scriptures are cited routinely and consistently by politicians. But in proportion to the sum total of a politician's rhetoric — rhetoric about foreign policy, taxes, terrorism, inflation, immigration, ethanol subsidies, what have you — they are referenced very infrequently. More than the Constitution, I'll grant you — but rarely all the same. An examination of the State of the Union addresses and inaugurals of a spry thumper such as George W. Bush reveals that each speech contains only a few biblical allusions (and in the case of Bush, these are usually covertly smuggled into the body of the oration).
Bush is conforming to accepted usage. Excessive reference to Scripture in political rhetoric is an incivility rarely associated with either Republicans or Democrats. It usually occurs outside of the two-party mainstream, on the political and cultural fringes. As with the chap holding the John 3:16 sign and wearing the rainbow wig at a football stadium, it is a form of faith-based expression that is not taken seriously.
The average length of a scriptural citation in political rhetoric is exactly one verse. Aside from demonstrating that this game is played by rules favoring traditional Protestants (Catholics and Jews, who don't live by the Bible alone, are far less likely — and comfortable — reducing God's edicts to one pithy sentence from Scripture), it also shows that references to the Bible by politicians are lacking in any sort of profundity or theological depth. This is, of course, because the candidates are not aspiring to wow seminarians and religious-studies professors. Rather, they are trying to establish an emotional bond with mass constituencies.
In a recent Republican debate, Mike Huckabee — an extraordinarily aggressive thumper — illustrated many of the aforementioned points about the superficial manner in which the Good Book is employed. The moderator asked him to explain how his faith commitments would affect his policies on education and health care. His response did not excel in clarity, but it did contain a verse from the Bible, one of only a few he invoked that evening:
"The second basic principle is that, inasmuch as you've done it to the least of these, my brethren, you've done it unto me. As it relates to both health, education, or any policy, what it really means is that you go back to what the founding fathers said, all of us are created equal and endowed by our creator with those rights, life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness."
Here Huckabee is riffing on Matthew 25:40 (whose message he apparently sees as seamlessly integrated with that of the Declaration of Independence). He is not about to delve into the Greek of our earliest New Testament witnesses. He will not ponder the manner in which the Church fathers interpreted Jesus' remark. Nor will he explore the reception history of this verse across nearly two millennia of biblical interpretation. Rather his invocation should be seen as a wink — a nod from a Christly man speaking to a Christly (and politically active) audience of American voters.
Now, if the former governor of Arkansas really wants to predicate his policy initiatives on the Bible — and I believe that he alone among presidential candidates might actually want to do such a thing — then the failures of the current administration would provide him with useful study materials. George W. Bush, who once called the Bible "the only handbook you need," has had limited success turning his take on Scripture into laws or tangible social changes. He too has absorbed his share of brutal body blows when sparring with secular America.
Constitutional amendments banning abortion or gay marriage have not come forth on his watch. His faith-based initiatives have been plagued by internal difficulties and congressional pushback. Intelligent-design curricula have not seized the day. While his veto of a bill providing federal funds for human-embryonic-stem-cell research was undoubtedly religiously motivated, he never dared to outlaw the practice of deriving inner cell mass from the blastocyst (which he surely would have liked to do). Any politician, even a president, who wishes to transpose a biblical or religious worldview into a legislative reality is, as we shall see, bound to encounter substantial obstacles.
In light of the preceding remarks, permit me to point out that secularists aren't the only ones who are displeased with the role the Scriptures play in our national life. Evangelicals, as the old saying goes, weren't born again yesterday. They are acutely aware of the superficial and hypocritical use to which their sacred text has been subjected. Nor have President Bush's many setbacks evaded their attention.
It is with this in mind that many conservative Christian leaders and organizations are focused on precipitating a momentous shift. My sense is that their advocacy is now centered on moving the Bible from a mere symbol to a substantive shaper of the nation's domestic and foreign-policy concerns. A recent remark by Ronald J. Sider and Dianne Knippers is relevant here (as is the title of the book in which it appears, Toward an Evangelical Public Policy: Political Strategies for the Health of the Nation). The authors write: "Only if we allow a biblical worldview and a biblically balanced agenda to guide our concrete political work can we significantly improve the political order." On issues such as abortion, the environment, the war in Iraq, poverty, homosexuality, the death penalty, among others, Evangelicals (on both the left and the right) are looking to the Scriptures for ideas.
This is where secularists owe the Bible a tremendous debt of gratitude. Simply put, the Good Book is perhaps the worst fount for coherent policy prescriptions ever devised. The Old and New Testaments don't have much to say about issues of relevance to contemporary America, and what they do say is often cryptic or contradictory.
But even if the Bible did possess a clear, unequivocal, God-given message on any given issue, that would not change matters much. For history has shown, again and again, that Christian polities cannot agree on what that message is. The epic 19th-century debates over slavery provide a case in point. As is well known, both pro and anti-slavery factions adduced their proof texts. (The argument could even be made that the former were dealt the stronger scriptural hand). After decades of exhausting, scripturally centered disputes, neither side could convince the other. As Mark Noll phrases it, "It was left to those consummate theologians, the reverend doctors Ulysses S. Grant and William Tecumseh Sherman, to decide what in fact the Bible actually meant."
So, while faith-and-values politicking understandably drives secularists to distraction, it needs to be taken with a grain of salt. First, there is presently little correlation between the degree to which a politician lauds the Bible and his or her ability (or desire) to base policy prescriptions on its winged words. In part, that is because the Bible is to clear and coherent political deliberation as sleet, fog, hail, and flash floods are to highway safety. Second, we should never underestimate the structural integrity of our presently besieged Wall of Separation (nor the resolve of those committed to its defense).
Finally, it should not be forgotten that behind that wall stands another wall which comprises an equally imposing hurdle to those who want to gospelize our political, cultural, and social life. That would be an admirably diverse and cantankerous Christian America that has never been able to achieve consensus about what its foundational document enjoins it to do. If one views this eternal state of dissensus as a form of dysfunction (which I do not) then let it be said that the Bible is Christianity's "enabler." Historically, the disagreements within Christendom have shown themselves to be at best insoluble, and at worst a stimulus to violence. In large part, that is why the original wall was erected to begin with.
The Bible's position in today's American politics can be seen as an inadvertent compromise, a functional arrangement, an armistice born of no particular negotiations. Secular America is subjected to the indignity of faith-based pandering, but rarely sees faith-based initiatives crystallize into any sort of tangible policy changes. Evangelical America gets its symbol in the public square, but little more than that. That is where we stand. Precariously. Everyone from Manhattan to Iowa is dissatisfied with the status quo.
Jacques Berlinerblau is an associate professor and director of the Program for Jewish Civilization at the Edmund A. Walsh School of Foreign Service at Georgetown University. His book Thumpin' It: The Use and Abuse of the Bible in Today's Presidential Politics was just published by Westminster John Knox Press. He blogs about the election for The Washington Post at http://newsweek.washingtonpost.com/onfaith
http://chronicle.com Section: The Chronicle Review Volume 54, Issue 23, Page B6
