“They call themselves Christian Nationalists if they’re Evangelicals. Integralists or Postliberals if they’re Catholic.” So says one commentator. But the truth is quite otherwise.
While the idea of Christian Nationalism in many ways resembles the Catholic vision of politics, the two are essentially opposed. In short, while Catholic integralism proposes a subordination of the State to the Church, Christian Nationalism entails a subordination of the Church to the State. And so, I will argue, Christian nationalism is a regression into paganism, wherein the royal power is the mediator between God and man. In contrast to nationalism, the Catholic Church offers a robust patriotism that supports the flourishing of human community, including at the national level, but also upholds the legitimacy of sub- and supra-national politics.
In short, there is no “Catholic Nationalism.”
Clarifying Terms
Let’s begin by disambiguating postliberalism and integralism. In my own presentation, I would say that one may reject one label or the other for strategic reasons, but concretely speaking they very often coincide.
Postliberalism is obviously a negative term, insofar as it places one in opposition to political liberalism, while also making it clear that we cannot simply revert to a pre-liberal era. We must push forward, working with reality as it exists, transforming society according to the ideals of the Gospel in light of the achievements of the past but also aspiring to heights not yet achieved in the history of the Church.
Integralism, on the other hand, is not only a rejection of the liberal notion of the separation of Church and State, but is also a positive vision of what God has ordained, that the State ought to be united to the Church in harmonious concord (cf. Arcanum Divinae, 36). And while the State has its own proper competence and autonomy, wherever the obligations of the Church and State coincide, the State ought to govern according to the laws of the Church. This is typically expressed by the analogy that the State is ordered toward the Church as the body toward the soul (Immortale Dei, 14).
One might come to the conclusion that Christian Nationalism is just an Evangelical Protestant version of the same ideas. From the perspective of political liberalism these movements are basically indistinguishable, since they all threaten the bedrock principle of liberalism: the primacy of individual autonomy, especially in matters of religion.
Stephen Wolfe, for instance, writes in The Case for Christian Nationalism, “If civil government ought to direct its people to true religion, then it ought to direct them to the Christian religion, for that is the true religion” (p. 185). This is almost a verbatim repetition of the Catholic position as articulated by Pope Leo XIII: “Since the profession of one religion is necessary in the State, that religion must be professed which alone is true” (Libertas, 21).
Wolfe’s work is, in many ways, laudable and offers a helpful critique of liberalism in this Protestant majority nation. Though my objections are many and great, it should not obscure the value of what he has accomplished. In The Case for Christian Nationalism he offers an excellent defense of cultural Christianity, not unlike what has been offered by Ahmari, Pappin, and Pecknold. He is also quite correct to talk about the courage that must be cultivated to effectively bring the Church into the public square. Christian Nationalists and integralists may be united in our opposition to certain common opponents, but we cannot overlook the fundamental differences that divide us.
The Prince and The Pope
Once we look at the positive proposals of each approach, we see they are not just slightly different. They are totally opposed. Yes, both reject the liberal ordering of Church and State, but they have mutually exclusive understandings of their proper ordering. And this difference, not surprisingly, stems from incompatible views of the Church as such.
In short, while Catholic integralism understands the State as hierarchically subordinated to the Church, Christian Nationalism proposes the opposite, namely, a Church that is subject to the authority of the State, though the Christian Nationalists might not articulate it quite so starkly. But let’s consider the arguments that Stephen Wolfe puts forward.
His strident anti-Catholicism prevents him from being able to accept a highly institutionalized vision of the Church, or even of a truly global Christian community. He says, for example, “The instituted church, to be clear, is not a supranational society or institution, as we see in the Roman church.” Rather, he claims, it subsists essentially in “local assemblies” that may grow to “national churches,” but to conceive of it as a “global organization” is not permitted (p. 303).
What he calls the “visible” or “instituted” Church, where one finds the governing body of the clergy in their pastoral function, has no coercive power. “No ecclesiastical institution wields civil-like power over itself or over its members” (p. 304). In contrast to the medieval theo-political notion of “two swords,” one temporal and one spiritual, Wolfe cites the seventeenth-century Scottish Presbyterian Samuel Rutherford, distinguishing temporal and spiritual power as “one power … coactive by the Sword, the other free, voluntary by the Word” (p. 303).
The one sword appears in clear contrast to the traditional Catholic understanding of two swords. The two swords doctrine comes from the teaching of Pope St. Gelasius I. In a letter to Emperor Anastasius I in 494, the Pope distinguished the “spiritual authority” from the “royal power.” Gelasius recognized, thereby, a distinction of competence between the Church and State. “Inasmuch as it pertains to the order of public discipline, even the bishops themselves obey your laws,” Gelasius writes to the Emperor. But “nevertheless you devoutly bow your neck to the leaders of divine matters, and from them you await the causes of your salvation, and you recognize that … you must be submitted to the order of religion rather than rule over it.”
Wolfe, in refusing to acknowledge the supreme authority of the Roman Pontiff, would rob the Church of both her universality and her governing authority. Without the Pope the Church is reduced to a collection of local assemblies. For Wolfe, the only truly universal Church is the “invisible” communion of believers, and this is governed by Christ directly invisibly, without the mediation of a Supreme Pontiff. And yet the notion of a visible head of the Church and Vicar of Christ is not so much absent from Wolfe’s schema as it is simply embodied in the temporal power whom he dubs the “Christian prince.”
“Having the highest office on earth, the good prince resembles God to the people. Indeed, he is the closest image of God on earth. … The prince is a sort of national god” (p. 287). Wolfe hopes for Christian Nationalism to be a “pan-Protestant” order (p. 382), and since the Protestant denominations and hierarchies are so diffuse, he must appeal to temporal authority as the principle of unity.
For Wolfe, the Christian prince does not merely govern the members of the Church in matters of temporal concern (as Gelasius acknowledged to be legitimate), but he exercises a dogmatic authority within the Church itself:
[The Christian prince] has the power to call synods in order to resolve doctrinal conflicts and to moderate the proceedings. Following the proceedings, he can confirm or deny their theological judgments; and in confirming them, they become the settled doctrine of the land. But he considers the pastors’ doctrinal articulations as a father might look to his medically trained son for medical advice. He still retains his superiority (p. 313).
The only major distinction then between the Prince and the Pope is that the Pope exercises universal jurisdiction. For Wolfe, this is impossible. “A Protestant nation does not recognize some universal, supranational, and earthly authority that decides what it observes and when it observes it” (p. 319). And this is the failure of Christian nationalism–it is ultimately more nationalist than it is Christian.
The Return of Paganism
Very subtly, then, the spiritual common good (which is the concern of the Church) becomes subordinated to the national common good. “National uniformity in sacred ceremonies will certainly contribute to national solidarity” (p. 315). Thus, under Christian Nationalism, “one looks more to the prince for his good than even church ministers” (p. 289).
There is nothing new in Wolfe’s proposal; St. Thomas Aquinas helps us to understand that it is a purely natural impulse.
Aquinas recognized that in the pre-Christian world, religious ritual was ordered toward the common good of the people as a temporal society (cf. Summa Theologiae I-II, 99.4). To use Wolfe’s terms, religion was good for “national solidarity.” And so, naturally, the care of religion was committed to the temporal power, that is to say, the Prince. This was true even among the Jewish people and their God-given structures of governance. But this was only because, prior to the coming of Christ, man’s eternal destiny had not yet been revealed. We did not yet know our eternal telos or how to achieve it.
Wolfe remains clear that the Gospel does not fundamentally transform natural religion, such as was practiced prior to Christ. “Prior to revealed religion, civil government ought to have directed people in natural religion,” and this, apparently, remains the case, since, “natural religion is not rescinded and its truths are assumed in the Christian religion” (p. 206, n.13). He will repeatedly claim, for example, that “the Gospel does not supersede, abrogate, eliminate, or fundamentally alter generic nationalism; it assumes and completes it” (p. 11).
But here, Aquinas would say that Wolfe has failed to appreciate the truly revolutionary power of the Gospel. Man’s eternal destiny and how we are to approach it have been revealed in Christ, and this “message of reconciliation” was entrusted to the Apostles, not to Caesar (2 Cor. 5:19-20). It was to Peter and the Apostles, not Pilate or Herod, that He said: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you” (John 20:21), and “He who hears you hears me” (Luke 10:16). These men and their successors are spiritual rulers, not temporal rulers, and it is they who are to “sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel” (Matt 19:28). Therefore, we must agree with St. Thomas, that in the light of the Gospel, the care of religion does not remain committed to the temporal powers.
Thus, in order that spiritual things might be distinguished from earthly things, the ministry of this kingdom has been entrusted not to earthly kings but to priests, and most of all to the chief priest, the successor of St. Peter, the Vicar of Christ, the Roman Pontiff. To him all the kings of the Christian People are to be subject as to our Lord Jesus Christ Himself. For those to whom pertains the care of intermediate ends should be subject to him to whom pertains the care of the ultimate end, and be directed by his rule (De Regno, ch. 15, §110).
To revert to the pre-Christian order of the subordination of the spiritual authority to the temporal power is a constant temptation. Christian Nationalism succumbs to it, but so did the Church of England when King Henry VIII declared himself Head of the Church. We see the same problem in the Caesaropapism of the Eastern Orthodox.
This is the order of an ungraced nature, and so it is entirely predictable that, as one separates from the communion of the Holy Catholic Church, a latent paganism would return. And I offer this as a sincere call to conversion for all Protestants who realize that the State, separated from the salutary effects of the Gospel, atrophies into disorder: understand that there is no Christendom without Rome.
At the end of The Case for Christian Nationalism, Wolfe offers this ultimatum: “Experience over the last decades has made evident that there are two options: Christian nationalism or pagan nationalism” (p. 381).
Not at all. Experience over millennia has made evident that there are two options: pagan nationalism or Roman Catholicism. There is no “Catholic Nationalism.” In fact, Catholicism is the only real alternative to nationalism. For God “has set down the Chair of His Vicar on earth, in this city of Rome which, from being the capital of the wonderful Roman Empire, was made by Him the capital of the whole world, because He made it the seat of a sovereignty which, since it extends beyond the confines of nations and states, embraces within itself all the peoples of the whole world” (Pope Pius XI, Ubi Arcano Dei Consilio, 67).
As St. Thomas put it, “Because the priesthood of the gentiles and the whole worship of their gods existed merely for the acquisition of temporal goods the priests of the gentiles were very properly subject to the kings. … But in the New Law there is a higher priesthood by which men are guided to heavenly goods. Consequently, in the law of Christ, kings must be subject to priests” (De Regno, ch. 15, §111).
The impulse to subordinate the Church to the State is nothing other than a revival of paganism, and nationalism is an essential aspect of this phenomenon. Christian Nationalism, Anglicanism, Gallicanism, Caesaropapism, and even the more overtly pagan forms of post-Christian fascism bear this same mark.
Fascism is a term so overused that it has basically been emptied of all meaning, but there is a real historical phenomenon of fascism. It was articulated by Benito Mussolini in “The Doctrine of Fascism,” written in 1932. Fascism is, in short, the subordination of all things to the State. Mussolini writes: “The keystone of the Fascist doctrine is its conception of the State, of its essence, its functions, and its aims. For Fascism the State is absolute, individuals and groups relative. Individuals and groups are admissible in so far as they come within the State.”
No wonder, then, that these regimes, whether claiming the name of Christian or not, find the need to turn to nationalism to provide a locus of solidarity. Fascism and ethnocentrism are the logical outworking of the project that was begun at the Protestant Reformation. In the place of Catholic Christendom we received the Peace of Westphalia’s policy of cuius regio, eius religio–in other words, the subordination of all things to the State. And Wolfe himself repeatedly admits that unity in Christ is not sufficient to establish peace (p. 199).
The Case for Catholic Patriotism
The rise of nationalism is only possible in a post-Reformation world. The dissolution of the unity of Christendom meant a re-paganization of Europe. The project of Christian Nationalism is, sadly, only a step toward the return of ethnocentric polytheism. By contrast, Christ’s true Church, as Catholic, is the principle of unity of all peoples, as Christ is the Second Adam, and thus head of a new Humanity.
In the place of nationalism, the Church offers patriotism as its authentic alternative. What is the difference? Pope St. John Paul II stated it this way: “Whereas nationalism involves recognizing and pursuing the good of one’s own nation alone, without regard for the rights of others, patriotism, on the other hand, is a love for one’s native land that accords rights to all other nations equal to those claimed for one’s own” (Memory and Identity, 67).
Pius XI put it similarly, saying that patriotism, “love for country,” becomes gravely disordered when it descends into “nationalism,” forgetting that “all men are our brothers and members of the same great human family” (Ubi Arcano, 25).
Wolfe, for his part, defines nationalism as merely “the nation acting for its national good” (p. 165). But it seems to me that his operative definition is other than this minimalist one that he nominally offers. Implicit in Wofle’s nationalism, indeed in any definition of nationalism, is the idea that a nation ought to strive for statehood or at least that “each nation ought to seek and have sufficient political and social autonomy to order and secure themselves” (p. 164). Correlated to this is the notion that multiple nations living under a single temporal ruler (as in the United Kingdom) is less than desirable and that “amicable ethnic separation” is likely preferable (p. 149).
What is a nation? It is admittedly a difficult term to define, but Wolfe doesn’t offer a formal definition or even an historical account. Instead he appeals to the term as something of which we all have a common experience. He does say that, for him “ethnicity” and “nation” are virtually synonymous, and therefore that, “no nation (properly speaking) is composed of two or more ethnicities” (p. 135). The upshot being that each group should “prefer their own people over others” (p. 149). In a footnote, Wolfe denies the label of white nationalist and says that being white is not relevant to his project (p. 172, n.3), and an apologia of the book against the accusation of kinism can be found here. I leave to the reader judgment of whether or not these defenses are convincing.
Regardless, here is where I think nationalism, in general, misses the mark and why the language of patriotism is to be preferred. I am patriotic for my home state of Oregon. But this is not in conflict with my love for California, where I have lived for over a decade. Nor is it in conflict with my love for the United States as a whole. Because patriotism refers to love of one’s homeland, it can refer to various scales of larger and smaller designations of “home.” As Chesterton said, we should even have something like patriotism for the universe itself.
Given Wolfe’s definition of a nation/ethnic group, why should we consider America a nation and not a multinational system like the UK? After all, how do Oregon, Hawaii, Georgia, and Massachusetts all form one coherent national identity? Or how could ‘nation’ be said univocally of, say, Poland or Hungary?
For the patriot, this is not so important, because I can at once be a patriotic Oregonian and a patriotic American. Another may simultaneously be a patriotic Hungarian and European. But the nationalist, who is set on drawing rigid lines between peoples, and perhaps even enforcing those lines as borders, the question is unavoidable.
Patriotism does not face the same problem because it is a love of affection, so it need not be in conflict with other loves. Nationalism involves a necessarily conflictual and exclusivist perspective. As Wolfe says, “conflict” between nations or ethnic groups should be seen as “natural” and not the result of sin (p. 146).
From the Catholic perspective of subsidiarity, we exist in communities on many different levels ranging from the very local to the global. We ought to have a love for our “home” at each of those levels, while recognizing that some competent authority exists to direct each of them toward their common good. The nationalist fixes a monopoly of state power at one particular and arbitrary level, undermining the exercise of legitimate authority on both sub-national and supra-national levels.
While we can and should address local problems with more-empowered local authorities, we should also address global problems with proper international authorities. But instead the nationalist project has us fixated on only the “national” level, which can often be either too big or too small for the task at hand.
What, then, is a Catholic integralist response to the movement of Christian nationalism in America today? Without question, it is to love America, to pursue her flourishing, to defend her rights, including the protection of her borders. But this is in no way in conflict with the empowerment of human community at both a smaller and larger scale. Most importantly, it is a recognition that America is a temporal not a spiritual power, and thus is in no way competent to govern the Church. America, rather, must be subject to a higher power, namely, the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church of Christ, whose Vicar is in the eternal city of Rome.