After George W Bush's re-election, few people doubt that the United
States is a Christian nation. But who are American Christians, where do
they come from, and what do they want? Discontinuity makes American
Christianity a baffling quantity to outsiders; only a small minority of
American Protestants can point to a direct link to spiritual ancestors a
century ago.
Little remains of the membership of the traditional Protestant
denominations who formed what Samuel P Huntington calls
"Anglo-Protestant culture" a century ago, and virtually nothing remains
of their religious doctrines. Most of the descendants of the Puritans
who colonized New England had become Unitarians by the turn of the 19th
century, and the remnants of Puritan "Congregationalism" now find
themselves in the vanguard of permissiveness.
More than any other people in the industrial world, Americans change
denominations freely. During the past generation, the 10 largest
born-again denominations have doubled their membership, while the six
largest mainstream Protestant denominations have lost 30%:
This
suggests an enormous rate of defection from the mainstream
denominations, whose history dates back to the 16th century (in the case
of Episcopalians, Lutherans and Presbyterians) or the 18th century (in
the case of Methodists), in favor of evangelical churches that existed
in seed-crystal form at best at the beginning of the 20th century.
The Catholic historian Paul Johnson argues that "America had been
founded primarily for religious purposes, and the Great Awakening [of
the 1740s] had been the original dynamic of the continental movement for
independence". But he struggles to explain in his History of the
American People why not a single traditional Christian can be found
among the leading names of the American Revolution. Neither George
Washington, nor John Adams, nor Thomas Jefferson, nor Benjamin Franklin,
nor Alexander Hamilton professed traditional Christian belief, although
most of them expressed an idiosyncratic personal faith of some sort. The
same applies to Abraham Lincoln, who attended no church, although his
later speeches are hewn out of the same rock as the Scriptures.
Johnson's less-than-convincing explanation is that "by an historical
accident", the US constitution "was actually drawn up at the high tide
of 18th-century secularism, which was as yet unpolluted by the fanatical
atheism and the bloody excesses of its culminating storm, the French
Revolution". Despite the French Revolution, Harvard College became
Unitarian in 1805, and all but one major church in Boston had embraced
Unitarianism, a quasi-Christian doctrine that denies the Christian
Trinity. John Calvin had one of its founders, the Spanish physician and
theologian Michael Servetus, burned at the stake in Geneva in 1553.
The New England elite ceased for all practical purposes to be Christian.
Ralph Waldo Emerson, a Unitarian minister, abandoned the pulpit in 1831
for a career as a "Transcendentalist" philosopher, admixing Eastern
religious and German philosophy with scripture. But a grassroots
revival, the so-called "Second Great Awakening", made Methodism the
largest American sect by 1844. Just as the First Great Awakening a
century earlier gave impetus to the American Revolution, evangelicals
led the movement to abolish slavery.
Different people than the original Puritans of the Massachusetts Bay
Colony were swept up in the First Great Awakening, and yet another group
of Americans, largely Westerners, joined the Second Great Awakening
during the 19th century. Yet another group of Americans joined what the
late William G McLoughlin (in his 1978 book Revivals, Awakenings and
Reforms) called a "Third Great Awakening" of 1890. If the rapid
growth of born-again denominations constitutes yet another "Great
Awakening", as some historians suppose, the United States is repeating a
pattern of behavior that is all the more remarkable for its
discontinuity.
Few of the Americans who joined the Second Great Awakening knew much
about the first; even fewer of today's evangelical Christians have heard
of Jonathan Edwards, the fiery sermonist of the 1740s. Without
organizational continuity, doctrinal cohesion, popular memory, or any
evident connection to the past, Americans are repeating the behavior of
preceding generations - not of their forebears, for many of the
Americans engaged in today's evangelical movement descend from
immigrants who arrived well after the preceding Great Awakenings.
This sort of thing confounds the Europeans, whose clerics are conversant
with centuries of doctrine. They should be, for the state has paid them
to be clerics, and the continuity of their confessions is of one flesh
with the uninterrupted character of their subsidies. Americans leave a
church when it suits them, build a new one when the whim strikes them,
and reach into their own pockets to pay for it.
Christianity, if I may be so bold, does not fare well as a doctrine for
the elites. Original sin cannot be reconciled with free will, as Martin
Luther famously instructed Desiderius Erasmus, which led the Protestant
reformers to invent the doctrine of predestination, and their Unitarian
opponents to abandon original sin. The Catholic Church refused to admit
the contradiction, which explains why philosophy became a virtual
Protestant monopoly for the next four centuries. The Unitarian path,
which stretches from Servetus to Emerson, leads to doubt and
agnosticism, for one throws out original sin, the personal God Who died
on the cross for man's sins becomes nothing more than another rabbi with
a knack for parables.
Intellectual elites keep turning away from faith and toward philosophy -
something that Franz Rosenzweig defined as a small child sticking his
fingers in his ears while shouting "I can't hear you!" in the face of
the fear of death. But one cannot expect the people to become
philosophers (or, for that matter, Jews).
My correspondents point out frequently that one can trace no obvious
connection between the religion of America's founders and today's
American evangelicals. For that matter, observes one critic, there is no
direct connection between the 14th-century English reformer and Bible
translator John Wycliffe and the 16th-century Lutheran Bible translator
John Tyndale - none, I would add, except for the Bible.
Two combustible elements unite every century or so to re-create American
Christianity from its ashes. The first is America's peculiar sociology:
it has no culture of its own, that is, no set of purely terrestrial
associations with places, traditions, ghosts, and whatnot, passed from
generation to generation as a popular heritage. Americans leave their
cultures behind on the pier when they make the decision to immigrate.
The second is the quantity that unites Wycliffe with Tyndale, Tyndale
with the pilgrim leader John Winthrop, and Winthrop with the leaders of
the Great Awakenings - and that is the Bible itself. The startling
assertion that the Creator of Heaven and Earth loves mankind and suffers
with it, and hears the cry of innocent blood and the complaint of the
poor and downtrodden, is a seed that falls upon prepared ground in the
United States.
Within the European frame of reference, there is no such thing as
American Christendom - no centuries-old schools of theology, no tithes,
no livings, no Church taxes, no establishment - there is only
Christianity, which revives itself with terrible force in unknowing
re-enactment of the past. It does not resemble what Europeans refer to
by the word "religion". American Christianity is much closer to what the
German pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer, writing in 1944 from his cell in
Adolf Hitler's prison, called "religionless Christianity". Soren
Kierkegaard, I think, would have been pleased.
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