Thinking About a Four-Year-Old Question, Part 2

A 2018 Pew Research Center report raises several questions about the 2016 election: Why did 28% of Hispanic voters vote for the man who promised to build a wall along our nation’s southern border? Why did almost 40% of women voters vote for a man who boasted he could molest a woman and get away with it, thereby exempting themselves from helping elect the first woman president? Why did some 57% of white voters from mainline churches (denominations usually associated with liberal social policies) vote for Trump? At the same time, why did the majority of white Roman Catholics voters vote for Trump? (Indeed, why did 20% of voters who self-identify as atheist or agnostic vote for the Republican?) And, finally, why did about 77% of evangelical voters support a man so flawed morally? Even though 16% American evangelicals voted for Clinton, millions of others sat out the election, not voting at all. I find each of these questions interesting, but clearly the evangelical vote has generated the greatest ire. I’m not a sociologist or statistician but I listen to people. Here’s are two of the three reasons I think evangelicals voted for Trump.  (In case you’re wondering 71% of Jews voted for Clinton, fewer than voted for Gore, Kerry, and Obama in 2008.)

Why did evangelicals vote for Donald Trump?

 

Frustration. A few months before the 2016 election, my friend Brian posted a sentiment I’m sure resonated with lots of voters: “Two-hundred million people in this country and these are the two they come up with!” Certainly fair-minded voters on the left can understand why some might have hesitated to vote for a woman who (along with her husband) seems no less committed to making money than Trump; hesitated to vote for a woman who has such obvious disdain for ordinary people, like wives who bake cookies or owners of small businesses who wonder if those businesses will fail if they are asked to help pay for one more government program; hesitated to vote for a woman who deflected scrutiny by simply saying, “I do not recall,” knowing they wouldn’t be allowed to use the same tactic should their financial dealings or failure to follow protocol be under investigation. Lest you think I’ve been unfair to Clinton, remember progressive journalist Van Jones acknowledges both Trump and Clinton were flawed candidates. He wrote, “You put Hillary Clinton up against Donald Trump, I’m scared by the choice no matter what you do.”

I’ve no doubt Jones, a former member of President Obama’s administration, faithfully voted for Clinton, but he seems to have wished the party he ardently supports had offered a different choice. Voters like Franklin Graham may have enthusiastically voted for Trump, later joining the evangelist’s son in claiming God put Trump in office. But other evangelical voters, as Christianity Today’s Mark Galli suggests, “held their noses” as they voted for Trump.

Fear. Donald Trump appealed to our worst instincts.

In fairness, both Republicans and Democrats have used fear; indeed, perhaps all political parties have included fear and panic in their arsenals. In 1800, Thomas Jefferson’s opponents hinted the Deist would confiscate the nation’s Bibles if he was elected. (He was elected and attended church services often while in office.) A friend who was teaching sixth grade in an Alabama public school in 1968 recalled how his black students told him they were afraid Nixon would “put poison in our food.”

But few have been as skilled as Trump in using fear. Molly Ball, in an Atlantic article appearing two months before the election, wrote, “Trump is a master of fear, invoking it in concrete and abstract ways, summoning and validating it. More than most politicians, he grasps and channels the fear coursing through the electorate. And if Trump still stands a chance to win in November, fear could be the key.” (https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/ archive/2016/09/donald-trump-and-the-politics-of-fear/498116/)

While I’m not ready to join those saying, “Let’s just open the borders; we have room for everyone,” I do not believe the majority of those circumventing the immigration rules were criminals before they crossed the border; they are simply looking for better lives. Yet Trump cast the majority of those coming from Mexico as being drug-addicts or “rapists;” adding, only as an afterthought, that there might be “some . . . good people” amongst those slipping illegally into the country. No wonder we hear of Latino workers being confronted by non-Latinos demanding to see their “papers.” Anyone who sounds even a little like Ricardo Montalban is to be watched very carefully (if he’s not an out-and-out thief, he might be a conman trying to sell you a trip to an island where your fantasies come true).

Those you fear are unlikely to become those you love. Any politician who depends on fear is not creating community or attempting to make America great again. Still, when you're afraid, your reason may flee and you may make bad choices. (More to come)

 

Tiger, tiger coughing . . .

In early April, a tiger in the Bronx zoo was diagnosed with COVID-19. To pass the time, I am offering you some exercises in imagination.

--Assuming you have been charged with infecting the tiger, explain how you were close enough to cough into the tiger’s face, how you survived, and why you weren’t wearing your mask.

--Assuming you are a zookeeper, describe your feelings when your supervisor told you to put a swab up the tiger’s nose.

--Assuming you are the tiger, describe how you wear your mask without your glasses fogging up.

At last report, Nadia (the tiger) was recovering along with several other big cats who were also infected by a zookeeper who showed no symptoms. The cats are consulting with the firm of Python, Hyena, and Jackal about a possible lawsuit.

Thinking About a Four-Year-Old Question, Part 1

The eponymous Betty White Show aired on afternoon TV in 1954 (her radio career began in 1930 when she was eight).  At 98, she continues to work, starring in an ensemble comedy Hot in Cleveland as recently as 2015 and giving voice to a character in Toy Story 4 just last year.

Well before White’s TV debut, she had become an advocate for animals. Though neither a vegetarian nor an animal-rights radical, White promotes responsible pet-ownership and commitment to animal welfare. She rejected the offer of a role in the Oscar-winning As Good as It Gets (1997) because Jack Nicolson’s character mistreated a dog.

Suppose one morning you wake to the news Betty White had been arrested as a principal player a dog-fighting syndicate.   You learn she used her connections to animal shelters across the nation to procure puppies and elderly dogs to use as “sparring” partners to sharpen the bloodlust of the fighting dogs. The woman who turned down an opportunity to play Helen Hunt’s mother had made thousands sending homeless dogs to violent deaths. (If you really have never heard of Betty White or you’re just too embarrassed to admit ever watching TV, just insert the name of the most ardent animal lover you know.)

You’re shocked. Knowing what you know about Betty White, you want to know how this could happen. You have questions. You deserve answers.

Now, imagine we are not dealing with Betty White—sadistic abuser of pets.  Instead, we are wrestling with the dismay, disappointment, and anger inspired by the millions of evangelicals who supported and continue to support Donald Trump.

Since the 2016 election evangelicals have been taking hits for supporting Trump; appropriately, I suppose. Even those less inclined to be critical have been puzzled: How could evangelicals support a man like Trump?

Evangelicals have sometimes fallen into prudishness. They have, at various times, forbidden their children to go to movies, attend live theatre (except for Christmas pageants), read comic books, and the most extreme among them have refused to own a television. Radio—if carefully monitored—was permissible since very early on the medium’s potential for spreading the gospel was recognized. My aunt refused to allow a Monopoly game in her home since she feared the dice might be misused to gamble. In recent years, some of these proscriptions have been abandoned since they were recognized as being perilously close to legalism (not to mention being downright foolish). Still, evangelicals are known for supporting personal and public morality.

 They believe in the sanctity of marriage, that sex should not become a hobby. They reject materialism. They encourage hard work, making a living through honesty and fair play (part of the rationale behind their opposing gambling). Though the practical expressions of this conviction have sometimes left observers nonplussed, they believe women should be honored and respected. They do not deny struggling to rise above their culture’s racism, even though historically they have affirmed the value of all people. They believe society is threatened by the “seven deadly sins” (lust, greed, wrath, pride, etc.) and is blessed by every individual who displays what Paul calls “the fruit of the Spirit” (love, joy, peace, kindness, etc.).

Yet, these people helped elect an unapologetic hedonist to the highest office in the land, a man totally unfamiliar with humility, tolerance, and self-control; a man who made millions from ordinary men and women who believed their lives would change at his roulette tables; a man who relentlessly vilifies his enemies (i.e., anyone who disagrees with him) and shamelessly exploits the spoils system to reward his supporters; a man who degrades women, boasting both that his fame exempts him from consequences in his actions toward them, adding that women crave his attention anyway no matter their protests; a man so consumed with his poll numbers he would “reopen” the nation rather than acknowledge a deadly health crisis; a man who is utterly reckless with his words (spoken or tweeted), not caring about their truth, their potential for generating division, or the pain they cause as long as they charm his base.

Why would anyone vote for this man? (More to come)

Dream, Reality, and Delusion

We are trying to sell our house, a surprisingly complicated project. For example, no matter how professional your wedding pictures or how cute your grandchildren’s artwork, neither should be displayed on the mantle or the refrigerator. Instead, you must depersonalize the house—hide your favorite books, pack away anything related to your hobby, remove any mottos or quotes hinting at your religious or political persuasion—leave no traces of you for potential buyers to focus on. Your MAGA hat in the closet or your BLM sign in the yard might prevent buyers from imagining themselves living in your house. And, please, use no paint more exciting than beige. After this come the legal documents. When you sell a house, you have to sign more than thirty documents to keep the bureaucrats filing, the banks happy, and the attorneys employed.

I’ve been reading one document left behind when we bought the house, the title search. It traces our property’s owners for almost 220 years.

Our home sits on land ceded by Britain to the new United States following the Revolutionary War. Passed in 1796 and quoted in our title search, the congressional act authorizing the partition and distribution of this land is titled, “An act regulating the grants of land appropriated for Military services, and for the Society of the United Brethren [Moravians], for propagating the Gospel among the Heathen.” The “heathen” in this case were not people settling in what would become Cleveland; the term applies to the Indians living in the area.

That the government would donate land to organizations hoping to evangelize Indians may surprise some. It misleads others. I’ll elaborate later.

In Beyond the Messy Truth (2018), Van Jones helps Americans understand the dynamics at work in the origin of our nation. He speaks first of the founding dream, that is the vision of a land where all men and women, regardless of their race or economic status, experience true equality. Against this, Jones posits the founding reality in which he acknowledges how far short of the dream the new country came. The founders introduced to that late-eighteenth-century world a nation of surprising freedom and familiar limits, where only landowners could vote, women could not vote or hold office, and, in a shameful departure from the principle that “all men are created equal,” one human being could own another. Change would come but not without struggle, including a bloody civil war.  Though closer, the dream and the reality are not yet identical.

I find Van Jones’s distinction very helpful. I can explain the anomalies in the Founders’ biographies with this honest assessment of our nation’s early history. It allows me to see the Constitution, with its tacit endorsement of slavery, as the product of visionary pragmatism. (If you’re not ready for Jones’s book, Peter Hunt’s film 1776 musically reveals the role of compromise in America’s birthing.)

I would like to add one further premise to the discussion. At least some of America’s architects left us with the founding delusion.

Earlier, I said statements like that found in our home’s title search mislead some people. Chiefly, they fuel the notion of America being born as “a Christian nation.” Statements by Washington, Jefferson, Adams, and others are cited as prooftexts in claiming the United States, unlike any other nation, was created to be “Christian.” Ironically, some even point to the document known as The Jefferson Bible, a collection of Jesus’s ethical sayings privately published by our third president, as evidence of his being a Christian. In fact, it represented his effort to present Jesus as a moral teacher, stripped of impossible miracles and troubling claims to deity. While Jefferson was no atheist, he depended primarily on his reason to lead him to truth about the world and how to live. Those without such finely-honed minds, however, might need the teachings of religion to bring order to their lives. Hence, Jefferson’s belief in the importance of religion for a society.

Several other Founders viewed religion as useful to bring peace and civility to the rambunctious nation. The Moravians—who were orthodox Christians—had demonstrated their usefulness in helping tame violent impulses amongst “the heathen.” These Pietist Christians had already created a “prayer town” called Gnadenhutten, made up of converted Delaware Indians in what would become northeastern Ohio. Unfortunately, in 1783, only a few months after Yorktown angry patriot militiamen crossed the Ohio River to look for British-aligned Indians who had been attacking farms in Pennsylvania before slipping back across the river. Unable to find the Indians they sought, the patriots attack Gnadenhutten. They fatally-scalped all who lived there. True to their newfound Moravian convictions these Indians were pacifists and, according to eyewitnesses, died singing Christian hymns.

Ohio was too distant from the new government forming in the east to effectively punish the perpetrators, besides those forming the new government were focused on matters other than the massacre. No one was prosecuted for the deaths of the 96 men, women, and children. The Gnadenhutten massacre, though unknown to many Americans, was remembered by the tribes of the Midwest and became an impediment to Indian/White relations; in 1811, Tecumseh said to a future U.S. president, "You recall the time when the Jesus Indians of the Delawares [sic] lived near the Americans, and had confidence in their promises of friendship, and thought they were secure, yet the Americans murdered all the men, women, and children, even as they prayed to Jesus?”

Still, the nation’s leaders remembered the success of the Moravian missionaries in turning Indians into peaceful farmers. So, they encouraged this band of Pietists to push further into the wilderness. In capsule form, that congressional act pointed to the founding delusion.

The founding delusion suggests religion—even if it rests, as Jefferson believed, on irrational premises—is useful for creating an orderly society. This viewpoint involves two assertions: Religion is good for the other guy (not necessarily me) and religion primarily involves outward behavior.

Thus, politicians who possessed no particular religious commitment might encourage the building of churches or, more often, invoke God’s name in their speeches. Of course, America has been blessed with leaders, both on the left and the right, who were deeply committed Christians, but some politicians have simply found religion to be useful. Sadly, many voters have been lured by such rhetoric, seduced by politicians whose God-talk sounds good but who are only laying a trap to snare their votes. Perhaps this partially explains how a man with no known history of piety could win the votes of so many evangelicals. But I digress.

The founding illusion allows the inner person to remain unchanged. To use Jesus’s analogy, the outside of the pot is cleaned but the inside is left a moldering mess. Pastors have long known it is easier to get a convert to give up smoking, drinking, and dancing than to give up racism, anger, and greed.

Modern evangelicals are sometimes criticized for their emphasis on conversion rather than social ethics. While the so-called “great reversal” (that time around 1900 when evangelicals supposedly abandoned the social dimensions of the gospel) was never as widespread as some historians suggest, our single-minded emphasis on conversion may lead some to believe we are only concerned about our heavenly home, giving no thought to our earthly home where poverty is generational, people of color are denied dignity, and acquiring things is the evidence of God’s blessing on our every business practice. But, make no mistake: the more we hear the voices of Wesley, Wilberforce, Newton, and Palmer, the more we will realize any gospel that isn’t a social gospel is no gospel at all.

But, like those evangelical pioneers, we will not lose sight of the crucial issue of being born again. The evangelical realizes the eternal tragedy implicit in the bumper sticker proclaiming, “Born Ok the First Time.” Yes, those who aren’t born again might be persuaded to see the wisdom of the Christian social vision; but will they possess the inner strength to keep going when it is tough, to love their opponents rather than hate them, to confess as readily as they accuse, to hope in the face of despair? All of this calls for a new heart.

Tearing down statues of slaveowners and racists may be proper step toward the founding dream becoming a reality. But if those tearing down the statues have not felt God’s transforming touch, the Bible says their hearts are as stony as the offensive statues.

Van Jones’s distinction between the founding dream and the founding reality, provides a mature way to judge our history. It allows us to watch Hamilton without denying the founders’ flaws. It allows us to appreciate how far we’ve come, and to have hope while acknowledging how far we have to go. It allows us to say, “Get real,” to the radical leftists who say the founders were all scoundrels and to the far rightists who long for the good-old-days.

Keeping the founding delusion in mind may prevent us from falling for the pundits who would have us join them in their quest to make America a Christian nation again. Indeed, apart from being bad history, the very claim that ours was once a Christian nation may undermine our credibility as Christians. After all, who recalling our history of slavery and mistreatment of the Indians would wish to embrace the religion of those who sanctioned such behavior? On the other hand, recognizing the founding delusion allows us to examine each founder’s depth of commitment, fundamental orthodoxy, and capacity for rationalization or even self-deception. Read the passionate defenses of slavery made by some southern pastors and you’re left to wonder just who they were trying to convince. This, though some were unquestionable convinced they were faithfully expounding Biblical truths.

In the end, however, remembering the founding delusion should caution us against truncating the Christian message’s call to transformed living springing from transformed hearts. That transformation, called “being born again” not too many years ago, is the work of God. That work, as the nineteenth-century American revivalists taught, may take place in a moment; or that work, as the eighteenth-century American divines taught, may be the product of an extended process including realization, conviction, surrender, and acceptance. In either case, God is its Author.

American-born poet, T. S. Eliot found Christian faith after making England his home. Warning against the folly of touting Christianity “because it might be beneficial,” he wrote: “To justify Christianity because it provides a foundation of morality, instead of showing the necessity of Christian morality from the truth of Christianity, is a very dangerous diversion.” At the heart of Christianity’s truth stands a Christ who was far more than a good moral teacher, as Jefferson believed. Acknowledging Christ as a good moral teacher most of us are willing to do; acknowledging him as a Savior who seeks to deal with our sins makes us so uncomfortable we will risk taking Eliot’s “dangerous diversion.”

America’s founding delusion shows us just how dangerous.

Birthday of An Imperfect but Pretty Darn Amazing Country

From where I sit, I can hear the sound of fireworks. It’s Independence Day, and I’ve been thinking about our nation’s heritage, what we offer the world.

Grandson is about to enter a new grade; the new curriculum will include more history than he’s studied before. Significantly, he will be studying American history. I wonder how different what he will study will be than what I studied. My earliest exposure to American history was designed to impart one message: “America is the greatest land of all.” That phrase, admittedly borrowed from a Chevy commercial popular during my school days, pretty much summed up the nation’s self-view. Or, at least, the self-view of anyone who counted in the ‘50s and early ‘60s. But times were changing. Professors and other intellectuals began telling us how bad we were. American self-contempt only increased as the decades rolled on. There were attempts to revive the old patriotism (Reagan comes to mind), but nothing could break the grip of the revisionist historians. There were even attempts to turn the slogan “Make America Great Again” on its head, using it as evidence the nation was no longer great, if it ever was.

Doubtless, Grandson will learn about a different America than I did.   

Will Grandson be given a balanced view of the nation’s history? I hope so.  No nation is perfect. And we Americans haven’t even done a particularly good job of hiding the fact. In 1852, Harriet Beecher Stowe published Uncle Tom’s Cabin, or Life Among the Lowly to expose the brutality of American slavery. About twenty years later, Helen Hunt Jackson wrote A Century of Dishonor (nonfiction) and Ramona (a novel) to expose the mistreatment of Native Americans. Both the novels became bestsellers. The nineteenth century ended with the rise of the “muckrakers.” In 1890, Jacob Riis published How the Other Half Lives to expose the poverty of big city slums. Sixteen years later Joseph Spargo’s The Bitter Cry of Children revealed the exploitation of children working in sweatshops. In 1892, Ida B. Wells, a black journalist, wrote The Free Speech in which she investigated legal structures allowing the lynching epidemic.  Less famous than these writers, Katharine Bushnell revealed the forced prostitution in Wisconsin’s lumber camps and Michigan’s mining area.

Again, you don’t have to dig deeply to find evidence of American misdeeds. But my great concern is that, just as my generation seldom heard the dark side of American history, Grandson will not hear the evidence of what makes American great.

Will he understand that the very admission of our national guilt is evidence of our greatness? In an essay on the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks Philip Yancey tells of a panel convened to discuss why so many people in the world hate the US.  Most panelists were critical of the nation, but Yancey writes that the only Pakistani on the panel actually defended the nation. He said, “Only Americans would even convene a panel like this. Look at what the French and British empires did. When their subjects criticized them, they imprisoned or shot them. Wherever I go Americans are . . . critically examining their own country. It amazes me.” (Finding God in Unexpected Places, Waterbrook Press) Despite our penchant for jingoism, Americans are usually ready to try to be better. That we often succeed is demonstrated by the thousands around the world who want to be here.

Will Grandson be told that America the so-called Christian nation has never been anything but hypocritical? The shocking support of Donald Trump by American evangelicals has encouraged some to pen obituaries for our Christian heritage, or at least to insist Christians have forfeited their right to be heard. (Grandson might not hear that in elementary school, but college would be a different matter.) Should he be inclined to ask his church historian grandfather about it, I would tell him America never was a “Christian” nation, was never intended to be. But I would tell him that Christianity has had greater influence on the nation than any worldview—other than materialism, of course. The Christian ethic is foundational for our notions of equality, brotherhood, and fair play.

In the end, in the interests of honesty, I would hope he keeps two truths in mind.

Despite the influence of Christianity, America has not been as good as it should have been.

Because of the influence of Christianity, America has been better than it might have been.

I can smell cordite in the air. Some of the fireworks are quite close. I don’t hear sirens. The police appear willing to let people have their fun, knowing the popular community fireworks displays have been canceled and we all need some kind of break from the monotony of the lockdown. I hope Grandson has fun tonight. I hope someone will remind him what we are celebrating.