Five Views on Christian Nationalism by Douglas Wilson, Joe Rigney, Paul D. Miller, R. Albert Mohler Jr, & R. R. Reno

The bogeyman in the modern political sphere is the man or woman who is caught in the open with his beliefs in plain sight, especially if those beliefs happen to be part of conservative Christianity. The words Christian nationalism are tossed about anytime someone appeals to biblical ethics, or addresses their faith in a public way, making demands of others based on it. It is also clear that the founders of America did not want a political realm where Christianity, or any other religion for that matter, was state-enforced. The wall of separation between church and state, overused and misunderstood, was nonetheless true Jeffersonian language, coming from the same man who had confessed “nature and nature’s God” in the Declaration of Independence.

Yet while progressive news agencies and liberal, or illiberal, politicians toss these terms around irresponsibly, there is a legitimate debate happening inside a certain circle of Christianity on whether to embrace the term once and for all and stand for it amid the negative onslaught. In Five Views on Christian Nationalism, five prominent Christian leaders lend their considerable talent and authority to investigating and debating the questions surrounding this debate: what is a nation? Can a nation survive without an ontological basis? Is America a creedal nation? Who are the enemies, and what is the problem that we face? What is the solution to that problem? Can Caesar be entrusted with the keys to the kingdom? Two Baptists, Al Mohler and Paul D. Miller, two Presbyterians, Joe Rigney and Douglas Wilson, and one Catholic, R. R. Reno, take on this issue in what may be the authoritative debate on the merits and demerits of Christian nationalism written this decade.

Instead of allowing the reader to hide behind vague terms, the authors clarify exactly what they mean by Christian nationalism and exactly what they do not mean. The catch? They don’t all agree. For starters, the authors disagree on what a nation even is. Is it a nation-state, as we have seen in the modern political world, especially since the rise of the so-called right to self-determination in the twentieth century? Or is it simply a diverse group, or group of groups of people, united under a common government? Paul Miller is the only one of the five to give an actual definition of Christian nationalism that would survive etymological scrutiny, though all define it throughout the process of writing their essays. “Christian nationalism” is, then, a collection of beliefs about nation and state: it is the belief that one’s nation and culture is definitionally “Christian” in some sense; that it should remain Christian; and that the government has a legitimate role keeping it that way.

But what is a nation? Joe Rigney defines nation as the following: “a people marked out by a combination of 1) shared ancestry, 2) shared history and experience, 3) a common language, literature, culture, customs, and religion, 4) a shared attachment to a particular land and place, and 5) a common law and ruler.” Further, as Rigney notes, the biblical terms used in this argument are the words goy (for nation) and am (for people). Rigney equates the two, as Mohler, Reno, and Wilson would agree, but Paul Miller offers a counterattack to such a view. Noting that Rigney infers their synonymity, rather than proving it, Miller argues that while the words goy and am are used together in the Bible, in Isaiah, for example, they are not collapsible into a singular word, serving rather as cumulative parallelism, that is, their use is to make a point, not to make an equation. That nations are present in a significant way in the biblical account is undisputable. It does not follow automatically, however, that the Bible provides us with a detailed definition of what constitutes a nation in the modern political sense. Scripture may affirm the reality and providential significance of peoples without giving Christians a single, comprehensive political definition of nationhood.

The problem with both Rigney and Miller’s argument is that they both assume more than the evidence gives. Rigney assumes that goy and am are synonyms, which lends credibility to his argument for Christian nationalism, while Miller assumes that they are not synonymous, thus boosting his interpretation against Christian nationalism. Either could be right, and the other wrong, but the evidence cited isn’t conclusive either way.

This leads to the next question. Is America a nation like any other? At the outset, it would seem that the Christian nationalists are committed to America’s exceptionality as a Christian nation, while Miller is arguing against it, but this again is a misconception. On the contrary, those arguing for Christian nationalism seem to base their argument on proving the definition of nation and therefore proving what America must be, dismissing out of hand the idea that America could be anything other than a mere nation. While Miller doesn’t defend American exceptionalism per se, he does defend American creedalism, that is, the idea that the United States gains its identity not in its ethnicity, geography, or culture, but in its propositional nature, something which is not true of most other nations, a fact which must be readily admitted with a simple glance at history. Miller’s argument rests on what he sees as both the basis and the solution for the American experiment, what he terms natural law republicanism. It is these ideas: that all men are created equal, endowed by their Creator, and so on and so forth, which give America its creedal nature and its unique opportunity for religious liberty, freedom, and unprecedented opportunity. Nor is this only Miller’s argument, for America has long been seen as different by a large portion of the world. British thinker and wit G. K. Chesterton wrote that “America is the only nation that is founded on a creed.”

This is where the Christian nationalist critique of creedalism has considerable force. It is one thing to say that America is founded upon propositions; it is another to assume that propositions can sustain themselves indefinitely once the worldview that gave them meaning has been discarded. “All men are created equal” is a proposition. But why are they equal? Why does every human being possess inherent dignity? Why are rights natural rather than merely granted by the state? Why should government be limited? Why should the majority be restrained from violating the rights of the minority? The Declaration provides answers, or at least clues toward answers, but those answers are not philosophically neutral. They rest upon a particular understanding of nature, morality, and God. This is the ontological basis for America, a basis which, argues R. Albert Mohler, is not religiously neutral, but is based on Christianity. Of course, Miller does not deny the Christian basis of the nation: the disagreement comes over whether America should confess its identity publicly or, as Mohler urges, enshrine Christianity, or an admission of its necessity, into the US Constitution. A counterargument to Mohler is that reading the founders as exclusively Christian ignores the effect of the Enlightenment, and of thinkers such as John Locke and Algernon Sidney on the Founding Fathers. Yet even Locke and Sidney were manifestly operating within a Christian worldview, as when Locke urges banning atheists from holding public office, pushing for a Christian understanding of man and his role in society.

Reno, Wilson, and Rigney, all in different ways, attack the idea of America as a creedal nation based on a simple argument. If America is based on a creed, and its creed gives it its identity, then those who attack its creed therefore forfeit their right to be called Americans. This is a logically sound and compelling argument, which, unfortunately, Miller doesn’t take the time to respond to, but it does have one weak spot. The argument would be true if it were just any ideal, or any proposition, yet as Miller notes, it’s a particular proposition, that of the dignity of every individual, that is the basis of the creedal nation theory. To put it succinctly, the right to attack the creed is the creed: freedoms of liberty, of expression, and of religion are a natural outflow of the imago Dei endowed on each man and woman.

Moving on, the main question in this book is what to do about the modern threat to American identity. Whether that identity is primarily Anglo-Protestant, merely Christian, or liberal, the authors disagree, but all agree that the identity must be defended. To a large extent, all five agree on what the threat is: the forces of secularism or of anti-Westernism, Islam, communism, the creed of the sexual revolution, each of which, in its own way, rejects some portion of the moral and philosophical inheritance of the West. The disagreement is less over whether America is facing a serious crisis than over how that crisis should be understood and what Christians ought to do about it.

For Rigney and Wilson, the Presbyterians, who by and large agree, the solution is Christian nationalism. Both are postmillennialists, holding that the task of the Christian is to further the gospel of Christ until every square inch of the world is under his physical dominion, whereupon the earth will be ready to receive its King. Although only a simplistic statement of postmillennial eschatology, this idea figures prominently in their defense of Christian nationalism. It’s based on a simple argument: that if Christ is truly in control of all, then that all must include the governments of the world, which are also subject to his rule. For Rigney and Wilson, the question is not whether Christians should attempt to make Christ Lord over the nations. Christ already is Lord over the nations. The question is whether Christians are obligated to recognize and advance that reality in the political order. Their answer is essentially yes.

This position has obvious internal coherence. If Christ is Lord of all, then there can be no genuinely autonomous sphere of life over which Christ has no claim. The Christian cannot say that Christ is Lord of his marriage but not his politics, Lord of his private morality but not his understanding of justice, Lord of his family but not his government. If the Christian faith makes comprehensive claims about reality, then political life cannot be carved out as a permanently Christian-free zone. This idea notwithstanding, a problem remains, for asserting that Christ is King of all doesn’t exactly tell us how his vassals, the Caesars whom he has left in charge, should rule best, or even if they should acknowledge him. Because Rigney and Wilson are Presbyterians and paedobaptists, however, they approach this question from a conception of the Christian community that differs in important respects from a credobaptist one. In Presbyterian covenant theology, the children of believers are included within the visible covenant community and receive baptism as members of that community. Christianity is therefore not conceived merely as a voluntary association of individuals who have each made an independent profession of faith. This makes it more natural for Presbyterians to speak of a Christian people or society rather than merely of individual Christians living within an otherwise religiously neutral political order. If the political community itself is understood as capable of being Christian, then there is far less conceptual difficulty in saying that Caesar, too, ought to recognize the authority of Christ. Reno, a Catholic, would likely agree in general with such a view.

Christian Nationalism is not, for any of these three men, about coercion. None is in favor of mandating Christianity for citizenship, for this will inevitably cheapen the redeeming message of Christianity, but they are in favor of changing society to reflect a Christian understanding, both of man, Anthropos, and of the goal of man, telos.

This distinction is important because it separates Christian nationalism as understood by Rigney and Wilson from the caricature of a theocratic state in which Christianity is imposed by force. Their argument is not that the state should manufacture Christians, but that Christians should seek to order the political community according to the truth claims of Christianity. In other words, the goal is not the conversion of Caesar by the sword, but the submission of Caesar to a reality that, in their view, is already objectively true: Christ is King. It is, in many ways, Christendom 2.0, as Wilson calls it. Not under a pope or a monarch, though it could certainly work in such a way as well, but with the church in the center, and the kingdom surrounding the church.

Here is where Miller’s arguments come back in force. If Caesar is to become the enforcer of Christianity in making its view of telos the standard for the state as well as the church, how confident can we be that Caesar will not misuse the keys? As a political scientist, demonstrating the historical and political realities of more abstract ideas is where Miller’s attack on Christian nationalism really starts to make some headway. By enshrining Christianity in the current Constitution, would that not give the Supreme Court the authority to decide who Christ was, or what Christianity was about? While all the advocates of this form of nationalism steer clear of the pitfall of allowing for an official state church, Caesar is still given an extraordinary amount of power, in Miller’s view, to define what constitutes blasphemy, which Mohler, Reno, Wilson, and Rigney all wish to criminalize, to determine the boundaries of acceptable religious discussion, and ultimately to decide which version of Christianity is sufficiently accurate to merit the approval and defense of the state. The problem is not that Caesar might become a Christian, the problem is that Caesar might wish to be the pope. By his very nature, argues Miller, Caesar, like Sauron, does not share power. History, too, gives little reason to assure us that even the most well-meaning Caesar could remain helpful to Christianity for long. Christian nationalism assumes and requires, he posits, a Caesar who is both sincerely Christian and willing to submit his own power to the power of a higher being. Such a man is not impossible to find, but he is extremely difficult to keep, especially across generations.

What is Miller’s alternative? The natural law republicanism of the founders. “Republicanism,” he writes, “is nature’s government.” Because the church should be preoccupied with the spiritual state of man, and the government with the outward state, or how he behaves himself, the moral order of general revelation proves sufficient for the ordering of human society. Appealing to Romans 1 and St. Paul’s defense of the law written on the hearts of the Gentiles, Miller’s point is that the founders knew exactly what they were doing in starting the nation: they didn’t make it secular in the modern sense, but they didn’t make it explicitly religious either, and this was not an error; not a bug, but a feature. It is natural law which can give us the basis for our laws, our constitutions, and which gives enough ontological grounding for all of this: it is an acknowledgement of the Creator, which does not specify what Creator, a defense of the imago Dei, without specifying what image and what God it is, but admitting that both are present. Miller gives another authoritative definition when he writes that natural law is “the moral order of creation, applicable across time and culture, for all peoples and all nations, available to the rightly trained human reason without special revelation.”

Wilson comes back swinging, asking how exactly the state, or Caesar, can understand the natural law, but not understand the clearly spelled-out commandments of the Old and New Testaments? If he cannot be relied upon to interpret Christianity well, how much less natural law? Miller responds by not responding: he says simply that the questions about how to ground natural law are exactly the questions that should be asked once we have agreed on the natural law framework. This is perhaps Miller’s weakest answer, but he goes on to say that natural law is not meant as a systematic course on theology. It isn’t an endless investigative process whereby more knowledge can be acquired and a better understanding gained. Rather, it must be the basis for all future conversations themselves. Miller does not seem to be arguing for the superiority of natural law over special revelation; rather, he seems to be taking a more prudential approach: natural law republicanism is superior to Christian nationalism not in that it sounds better, but in that it works.

Reno, the lone Catholic contributor to the book, makes some excellent points concerning nationhood. Ironically, though he argues against a creedal nation, several of his arguments could be used to defend precisely such a doctrine. A nation is, in his opinion, bound together by civic friendship, and he quotes Aristotle in asserting that the friendship is stronger the more friends agree on the highest good. Because of this, argues Reno, a nation bound together by a common religious faith is stronger than one lacking such a faith. He quotes G. W. F. Hegel, who wrote in his Philosophy of History that “Religion is the sphere in which a nation gives itself the definition of that which it regards as the True.” Reno proves helpful in showing the necessity of, as Mohler also points out, an ontological and religious grounding. What he does not say, and what he cannot prove based on the premises, is how such a religious faith should be presented, whether as the official stance of the state, or a bottom-up approach, by the virtue of the people.

Reno then commits the error common in post-liberal philosophy. Like Patrick Deneen, Reno is unsatisfied with liberalism. Like Deneen, Reno attempts to show that the classical liberal experiment of Locke, Sidney, and the founders led to the secularization and progressive radical individualism of the modern day. Of course, this is an interesting philosophical point, but it’s horrendously unhistorical: the fathers of progressivism, be it in education or in politics, denied the very principles of liberalism which Deneen and Reno point to as the basis of their philosophy. John Dewey and Woodrow Wilson, who began the progressive movement, rejected the natural rights liberalism of Locke and Sidney, so to equate the two is to engage in a false historical comparison. Now, admittedly, Reno doesn’t make this exact argument in the book, but his skepticism of the liberal experiment and his position that liberalism itself led to the modern crisis is easy to see and easier still to trace. Mohler, too, seems to be affected by Deneen’s theories, believing that liberalism is not sufficient, even with a Christian basis, as Locke gave it, for the preservation of society. Next, Reno proposes the solution by saying that “It is entirely proper for the magistrate to concern himself with the common good of the people and not only their individual rights.” Except that this gives the magistrate, or Caesar, the power to define what he ought not to define, namely, what is the common good, and who are the people?

While the arguments being aimed at both sides are strong and verge on impolite, none lack in their professionalism. Each side, each contributor, seems to know exactly what he is talking about and exactly what the other is talking about. Unlike many discussions on this topic, the authors don’t talk past each other, but to each other, giving a stronger flavor to an otherwise courteous debate. Mohler and Rigney clearly have their theological and historical strengths, in being able to explain historical Protestantism in the Reformed tradition and explaining the concepts of government of figures ranging from Augustine to Calvin to Kuyper. Miller excels in his political philosophy, connecting it to a particular vision of human anthropology and Noahic duty. Using the arguments of David VanDrunen, among others, Miller is by far the strongest in understanding the practical side of the argument. Wilson and Reno stand in the middle of the pack, which is uncommon for both. Provocative statements aside, Wilson’s arguments are complex and can occasionally become difficult to trace, but his conclusion is, as usual, well-thought out, if not necessarily politically correct. Reno, too, though the obvious weaknesses of post-liberalism are in full view of the reader, is good at understanding and explaining the importance of nationhood to the social imaginary of a people. The armor of all is well-positioned, but so are the arrows of their opponents, which makes for a memorable fight between allies in a common cause.

It would be unfair of those opposed to Christian nationalism to reject Wilson, Rigney, and Mohler’s arguments out of hand. The seriousness and well-rounded theological tradition which they use to back it up makes the argument unavoidable, and the reader will at times feel like the whole world is spinning with the implications of the argument. Likewise, for those of a Christian nationalist persuasion, to ignore the arguments of Paul Miller is to risk political suicide. In the end, the argument may still be unanswered in Christian circles, discussions will likely continue, but no one will be able to say that they don’t know what to think. This book helps make up your mind, one way or another, and it does it FAST!

Review Written by Caleb A. Gerber

August 25th, 2026

What Conservatives Believe: Rediscovering the Conservative Conscience

Estranged from party leadership, abandoned by the populace, yet refusing to surrender, this is the final call—one which we have all heard before—from the honorable and sincere former Vice President Mike Pence. Shortly before his run for President in 1964, Arizona Senator Barry Goldwater published a book titled Conscience of a Conservative. Pence’s attempt is to create anew the fervor for the truth that conservatives have embodied before and can embody again. By once more returning to these principles, believes Vice President Pence, we can return to more firm a foundation.

The book is designed much as I believe Goldwater’s work is designed, and as one would expect a political manifesto to be designed: chapter by chapter, Pence illuminates the most critical elements of policy in our day, from immigration to tariffs to the right to life. Each chapter covers a different topic, yet each is also unified in that it presents a coherent and structured worldview, one that is, surprisingly, mostly untinged by political bias. Although complete objectivity is, of course, impossible—and Pence certainly remonstrates on the accomplishments of the Trump-Pence administration of the first term—the fact that he is willing both to praise and to criticize the new Trump administration, delivering praise where it is due and criticism where it is warranted, is a refreshing break from the far more politicized, highly personal politics to which we have now become accustomed. 

I began with some praise, and before moving on to the chief thesis of the book, I will offer a few short criticisms. Although much—indeed, most—of what is contained herein is true and needs to be repeated, it is exactly that: repeated. This is by no means a new message. Perhaps Pence would argue that the essence of conservatism is not that it is new, but that it is good despite, or even because of, its age. Yet that may obscure something different, namely that nearly everything Pence says has been said by him before. While reading his book, it at times reads more like an essay, or the transcription of a speech, than a new, logically structured argument. From cover to cover, I must acknowledge that this was not a read I wanted to continue, but one I felt I needed to continue because, despite its style, it was true—and because it was true, it deserves reading. I assure you that this will not become the new Pulitzer Prize–winning political treatise, regarded as groundbreaking research into the nature of politics. Likely, it will be forgotten in the recesses of a bookstore. Yet the fact remains that truth is often like that; concealed behind the guise of the ancient, or of that which is no longer popular, we seem to have embraced chronological snobbery even in our reading habits. Perhaps this book will cure us of it. 

Pence’s thesis is to recall conservatives to life. He urges us to reconsider the prevalent view that conservatives are winning in America. We are not, states Pence. Although the populist right is closer to conservatism than the progressive left, Pence argues that we are not even close to being the same, and our differences should not be forgotten, even if it may be politically convenient to do so. Chapter by chapter, Pence dismantles the problems with each of the two ditches on either side of the road called sanity into which we may be tempted to stray. On the right lies populism, which for decades was seen as antithetical to conservatism, but which has today gained a foothold. On the left lies the clear and present danger that we have long acknowledged, and which still beats at our door. One interesting thought I had during the reading process is that both of these enemies bear a remarkable resemblance. Although in the modern arena they have diverged—partly because the group on the left has become far more radicalized—if traced back in history, both progressivism and populism emerged from the same source: the Democratic Party of the 1890s, followed by the presidencies of Theodore Roosevelt and Woodrow Wilson, as well as the repeated presidential candidacy of William Jennings Bryan. An important distinction that Pence makes is that populists are not necessarily fighting for the wrong things, or even for different things than conservatives; they simply have a different way of fighting for them. While conservatives must be content to wait, to abide within the system and change it from within, populists, in their search for immediate and substantial victories, undermine the systems they strive to protect, achieving short-term success at the expense of long-term prosperity. It is not that the populist right lacks principles; the problem is that at times it fails to act consistently with those principles. 

This book contains a message that needs to be heard and considered. If, after reading it, you remain unconvinced, that is an acceptable outcome, but you will emerge substantially wiser and better equipped to engage in thoughtful conversation. This is not a light topic; in all seriousness, the future of our country is the subject of this work—something that should neither be gambled away nor protected so overzealously that, in defending it, we destroy that for which it stands. I believe that Vice President Pence has made his point, and made it well. After reading it, perhaps you will think otherwise; but, as I was, you will be compelled to admit that this book was written in all sincerity, with deep care and concern, and with clear-eyed vision. 

Review Written by C. A. Gerber

May 1st, 2026

National Treasure: How the Declaration of Independence Made America by Michael Auslin

Why is it that today’s shepherds know little about sheep?

In this book, pastor and author James Collins takes our contemporary interpretations of Psalm 23 and sweeps them into the dustbin, then carefully crafts a new, and I would argue more radical, approach to how we should truly approach such a significant biblical passage.

Setting it in its context within the book of the Psalms, Collins reminds us that it is placed between two Messianic psalms. Certainly, David did not know who he was writing of when he spoke of the Shepherd, for it was indeed the Lord—but it was a specific Lord: the Lord Jesus, who had not yet been revealed in full when David wrote the now-famous words.

Moving beyond mere platitudes, Collins’ genius lies in his ability to combine deep theological lessons with Southern wit and personal experiences, without getting the reader lost either in the theological definitions of so many other works on theological matters or in making light of the things of God. In reality, when you read this book, a theological treatise is exactly what you are reading, yet you may well deny it, for it feels more like you are reading the reminiscences of a Southern preacher—which, in a way, you are.

Not only does Collins include everyday experiences and stories that impart rich practical meaning, but he also includes many symbolic details of which Christians today are woefully ignorant. It is easy to conclude, from reading this, that the author did massive research into the symbology behind the Lord as a shepherd, and he writes in this book of the many parallels between the needs of sheep and the tasks of the shepherd, in contrast to the needs of humans as sheep who need a master, and the tasks performed by the Shepherd and Master. Remarkably, the symbolism is neither stretched nor overdone, and the images portrayed do not go further than an explicitly biblical and orthodox interpretation.

That said, at times the book can feel overly simplified. This is by no means a fatal flaw, nor even an unexpected one given Collins’ pastoral aim, but it does raise the question of whether clarity has occasionally been purchased at the expense of depth. While the avoidance of dense theological terminology makes the work accessible, there are moments when the reader may wish for a more rigorous engagement with the underlying doctrinal issues that the text inevitably invites. Thus, my recommendation is simple: if you wish to move beyond the platitudes of normality, then this is the ideal book. If you wish to move into the profundity of theology, then this is not it. The purpose of this book is not to educate the educated, but, as I perceive it, to call the uneducated to a fuller and more accurate understanding of the truth claims of Christianity.

Collins does not offer a theological tower, but he reminds us of the base upon which such a tower must inevitably be built. It is a call for each of us to remember that only when we recognize that we are sheep can we recognize who our Shepherd is.

Review Written by C. A. Gerber

March 12th, 2026