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A review by brice_mo
How to End Christian Nationalism by Amanda Tyler
3.5
Thanks to NetGalley & Broadleaf Press for the ARC!
Amanda Tyler’s How to End Christian Nationalism cannot live up to the impossible expectations of its title, but it does feel like a meaningful addition to an ongoing conversation.
By this point, there are countless books on Christian Nationalism, but few of them are as academically robust as this one. It builds on Anthea Butler’s White Evangelical Racism, and it is very thoughtful about the sources it draws from. I appreciate Tyler’s numerous interviews, and they complicate the discussion purposefully, ultimately making the book’s constituent chapters stronger than the project as a whole.
Unfortunately, I suspect Tyler’s background will deter the readers most in need of her message. A Georgetown grad? A “woman preacher”? An “unequally yoked” marriage? These arbitrary judgments will be dealbreakers for too many readers, and I think they highlight a problem inherent in the book:
The premise of Christian nationalism is that any sort of pluralism is wrong, so diversity in thought is a threat.
What Tyler frames as sociological exploration will be received as spiritual explosion, which almost makes me wish she were more aggressive in her theological critiques. Many of her well-intentioned best practices just feel toothless.
It’s not enough for the author to write that the constitution hasn’t aged well when Christians model their reading of it on notions of biblical inerrancy. Similarly, I would argue that one can’t speak truth to power when power is viewed as truth—when there’s a tacitly Calvinist understanding that social capital is karmic confirmation of God’s favor. When Donald Trump announces that Christians will only need to vote “one more time,” it’s interpreted as the ushering in of God’s kingdom rather than the combustible end of the American experiment. These are problems of theological origin.
Likewise, the sociological explanation of Christian bigotry feels inadequate; it isn’t simply that people act out of fear. Many Christians justify their cruelty through an apocalyptic view of salvation—better for us to burn you now so you don’t burn later. Therefore, their gleeful willingness to minoritize people into oblivion follows the sickly logic of erasure—put your identity in Christ or have your identity removed. It’s not a matter of misplaced hope; it’s a theological non-negotiable.
As a result, Tyler’s solution—collective action—seems a little optimistic for a faith tradition that has been so culturally mediated through individualism. When the author shares a necessary reflection on how this model originates in racial liberation, it feels out of place, not due to authorial weakness, but because individualistic, white supremacy eclipses alternative theological readings.
Ultimately, the challenge with the book is that Amanda Tyler implicitly calls for a radical reformulation of theology without realizing it—what is a simple ask to her will be an unacceptable compromise to many people.
If this sounds like I hate the book, I don’t; I just think it’s telling—and sad—that the interviewees sound more like heretics than saints in the context of American religious discourse. This is not a fringe issue. Like all books on the subject, much of How to End Christian Nationalism’s success is the nuance it lends to the anger and grief people should feel about religious violence.
It can’t adequately imagine a way out, but maybe it can help people begin to work their way through.
Amanda Tyler’s How to End Christian Nationalism cannot live up to the impossible expectations of its title, but it does feel like a meaningful addition to an ongoing conversation.
By this point, there are countless books on Christian Nationalism, but few of them are as academically robust as this one. It builds on Anthea Butler’s White Evangelical Racism, and it is very thoughtful about the sources it draws from. I appreciate Tyler’s numerous interviews, and they complicate the discussion purposefully, ultimately making the book’s constituent chapters stronger than the project as a whole.
Unfortunately, I suspect Tyler’s background will deter the readers most in need of her message. A Georgetown grad? A “woman preacher”? An “unequally yoked” marriage? These arbitrary judgments will be dealbreakers for too many readers, and I think they highlight a problem inherent in the book:
The premise of Christian nationalism is that any sort of pluralism is wrong, so diversity in thought is a threat.
What Tyler frames as sociological exploration will be received as spiritual explosion, which almost makes me wish she were more aggressive in her theological critiques. Many of her well-intentioned best practices just feel toothless.
It’s not enough for the author to write that the constitution hasn’t aged well when Christians model their reading of it on notions of biblical inerrancy. Similarly, I would argue that one can’t speak truth to power when power is viewed as truth—when there’s a tacitly Calvinist understanding that social capital is karmic confirmation of God’s favor. When Donald Trump announces that Christians will only need to vote “one more time,” it’s interpreted as the ushering in of God’s kingdom rather than the combustible end of the American experiment. These are problems of theological origin.
Likewise, the sociological explanation of Christian bigotry feels inadequate; it isn’t simply that people act out of fear. Many Christians justify their cruelty through an apocalyptic view of salvation—better for us to burn you now so you don’t burn later. Therefore, their gleeful willingness to minoritize people into oblivion follows the sickly logic of erasure—put your identity in Christ or have your identity removed. It’s not a matter of misplaced hope; it’s a theological non-negotiable.
As a result, Tyler’s solution—collective action—seems a little optimistic for a faith tradition that has been so culturally mediated through individualism. When the author shares a necessary reflection on how this model originates in racial liberation, it feels out of place, not due to authorial weakness, but because individualistic, white supremacy eclipses alternative theological readings.
Ultimately, the challenge with the book is that Amanda Tyler implicitly calls for a radical reformulation of theology without realizing it—what is a simple ask to her will be an unacceptable compromise to many people.
If this sounds like I hate the book, I don’t; I just think it’s telling—and sad—that the interviewees sound more like heretics than saints in the context of American religious discourse. This is not a fringe issue. Like all books on the subject, much of How to End Christian Nationalism’s success is the nuance it lends to the anger and grief people should feel about religious violence.
It can’t adequately imagine a way out, but maybe it can help people begin to work their way through.