America’s National Origin Myth

Background:

We might start by asking: From where does such a mis-impression come?  One possibility is the fact that the first settlers in New England were Puritans (read: theocratically-minded Christian fundamentalists).  Perhaps some are thinking of the first settlers of Mary-land (centered at Saint Mary’s City; named after Henrietta Maria of France), who were hidebound Roman Catholic theocrats.  In any case, to conclude from such episodes that the establishment of the United States was predicated on doctrinal fealty–to any particular creed–is a gargantuan non-sequitur.  Suffice to say: John Winthrop’s navel-gazing asseverations played no role in the vision of a new Republic put forth in Philadelphia during the summer of 1787.

Why is this topic so rife with controversy?  As with so many other national origin myths, nescient Americans cling to a vaunted legacy that is more farce than fact; but it has utility for those propounding it.

When ideologues encounter anything that threatens their dogmatic edifice, they tend to dig in their heals.  And so it goes here: Even in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, delusive Christians insist that the United States was founded as a [Judeo-]Christian nation; and so feel at east pushing their religious agenda in the present day.  Claims of divine ordinance are USUALLY at the root of Exceptionalism.  To reiterate: A cherished myth can be stupendously resilient, especially when it serves an important purpose.  By positing Providential provenance, the nation is granted license to do whatever it sees fit.  In this case, hubris operates under the aegis of “Manifest Destiny”. 

So by dispelling the myths surrounding America’s founding, a key buttress of American Exceptionalism is eliminated.  Shorn of Providentialism, Manifest Destiny is deprived of its primary ideological fulcrum; and that is a problem for those who covet that leverage.

It is not for nothing this historiography is gilded.  The notion of divine sanction gives license to impresarios of domestic and foreign policy to do whatever they see fit, as even the most odious act of imperialism is simply seen as doing god’s work.  And who can argue with that?  With the (purported) imprimatur of the godhead, anything goes.  Without this rationalization, though, one is forced to fall back on (universal) moral principles.  And that is the last thing the theocratic-minded want.

Even after setting the record straight on this matter, large swaths of the American public still subscribe to Christianized myths about America’s founding.  Take, for instance, George Washington’s fabled “prayer” at Valley Forge during the most dire winter of the war for American independence.  This tale was almost certainly apocryphal, as the celebrated general actually commissioned the unabashedly anti-religious Deist, Thomas Paine to do a reading.  (Washington knew Paine’s soaring oratory and passion would increase morale amongst the soldiers, and galvanize the beleaguered cause during a grueling winter.  He was correct.)  In no uncertain terms, Washington attributed his soldiers’ inspiration to Paine’s oratory.

So what of the alleged “PRAYER”?  The farcical account seems to have been concocted by Mason Weems, the same man responsible for the tale about Washington chopping down the cherry tree (“I cannot tell a lie”).  Other apocryphal tales soon abounded–from Paul Revere’s midnight warning, “The British are coming!” (many townsfolk thought of THEMSELVES as British) to the pilgrims breaking bread with Native Americans for “Thanksgiving”.  In Americans’ eagerness to romanticize their heritage, they are apt to find heroes in the most ironic of places (as with, say, the bold “last stand” at the Alamo, by a cadre of white Texans who wanted to keep slavery legal).

When it came to the establishment of the new Republic, one might ask: Which of the founding principles, exactly, was grounded in the Abrahamic creed?  The answer: none. {2}  All the key insights of which the Founders availed themselves–and boldly proffered in the face of countervailing historic precedent–would have been available to them just the same had Judaism or Christianity never existed.

So if not doctrinal fealty, from whence did the Founder’s ideals come?  The “separation of powers” was based on Montesquieu’s 1748 “The Spirit Of The Laws”, a work that explicitly called for the elimination of three facets of government: feudal lords, the aristocracy, and the clergy.  For Montesquieu recognized that democracy could not abide so long as feudalism, a moneyed elite, or religious doctrine held sway in the affairs of State.

We might recall that the ENTIRE ENLIGHTENMENT was, at root, a process of secularization; and was in no way dependent on religionism.  Indeed, the Enlightenment zeitgeist–of which all the Founders were an integral part–was secular through and through (which is to say: it was a matter of emancipating thought from religion-based dogmatism).  Thomas Paine corroborated this in 1776 (during the lead-up to the American revolution) when he wrote “Common Sense”.  It was by recourse to our innate moral intuitions that the case for independence could be–and indeed WAS–made.  (This point was even clearer with Paine’s “American Crisis” essays…and clearer still with his “Rights Of Man”.)  The notion that humans are all equipped with a moral compass goes back the ancient notion of “genius”: the Latin term for the divine nature that inheres in any given individual.  And so it went with Immanuel Kant’s exaltation of “the divine law within” each and every one of us (an idea he articulated in 1784 in a landmark essay).

The Declaration of Independence says nothing about religion having a role to play in government.  The signatories swore not to a deity, as supplicants; instead they swore upon their sacred honor, as men of integrity.  The drafters of the U.S. Constitution felt so strongly about this that they deliberately left any mention of a deity out of the document.  Religion PER SE is mentioned only to make it clear that, in a genuine democracy, it was incumbent upon the State to never promote any given creed…while ensuring that each person was free to practice however he liked (of his own accord).  Thus the Founders of the new Republic were focused on–more than anything else–ensuring that each individual was at liberty to conduct himself according to the dictates of his own conscience.

By “self-evident” Truths, Jefferson was clear he didn’t mean obvious to everyone, but something that would be self-evident primarily to those whose minds were unclouded by superstition (that is: those who were not held captive by dogmatism, addled by ingrained biases, or stymied by ignorance).  In other words: Jefferson recognized that the axioms he put forth in his famous letter to the British crown would probably not be evident to those who were Reactionary.  (He may just as well have said: “If you are overly doctrinal, this will probably NOT be obvious to you.  For Freethinkers, this is plain to see.”)

Jefferson was an avid reader of “natural law” theory, which had come from the School of Salamanca during the Renaissance.  The idea was that ethics (specifically, rights and mandates for liberty) inhered in nature itself rather than having been issued (as decrees) from “on high”.  Such thinking was inspired by the new humanism, which found human dignity in the natural order rather than in holy writ.  Inspiration for such thinking had come from Deists like Locke and Montesquieu, not from church doctrine (which was man-made).  The ideation of a “natural order” could be found across the ancient world–from Egypt (“Ma’at”) to China (“Tian-ming”). {13}

When surveying the historical record, we find that various articulations incorporated idiomatic expressions–phraseology that were standard in the lofty rhetoric of the period.  This included locutions like “divine Author”, “the Creator” / “our Creator”, “the Almighty” / “Almighty God”, “Nature’s God”, and–of course–simply “God”.  Such practice was nothing new; it went back to ancient Athens.  Aristotle also referred to the gods in decidedly NON-theocratic ways; yet was ultimately concerned with the natural order of things.

In the Revolutionary precincts of the American colonies, when composing heightened exposition, it was fashionable to pay lip service to the moral messages found within what was the only relevant religion of the time (and thus the only one worth referencing).  For American colonists, that happened to be Protestant Christianity.  The vernacular of Christendom was employed because THAT was the narrative most known to the general audience.  Consequently, it provided the most poignant language.  Noticeably absent, though, where terms like “Christ”, “Messiah”, “resurrection”, and “Holy Spirit”…or, for that matter, ANY terminology that was distinctly [Judeo-]Christian.  There was no talk of miracles or of sin or of salvation (in the soteriological sense).  There was never any mention of a trinity or of a crucifixion…let alone of vicarious redemption.

Speaking in grandiloquent Providential terms enabled one to abstract from–nay, transcend–phrasing that was indicative of a specific creed.  No particular dogmatic system was ever endorsed.  Soaring oratory and flamboyant rhetorical flourishes were typical of disquisition during this period–which is why we encounter idiomatic expressions involving such things as “Providence” and “the better angels of our nature” during the 18th and 19th centuries.

When seeking to couch ideas in familiar terms, the Judeo-Christian idiom was the obvious choice.  Savvy expositors at the time recognized this–which explains why we sporadically encounter locutions like “divine author”, “the Almighty”, “Our Creator”, etc. in their discourse.  It comes as little surprise, then, that such locutions cropped up in the Founders’ disquisition.

Be that as it may, the Framers were adamant about extolling personal prerogative (viz. religiosity) even as they espoused such things as “Christian virtue”.  (“Christian virtue” was a catch-all term for the canon of virtues associated with Jesus of Nazareth–such as kindness, temperance, and forbearance.)  In the idiom of the time, describing someone as “Christian” or “religious” was a way of saying the person championed estimable values, and so could be counted on to conduct himself ethically.

So far as the Founders were concerned, to be “Christian” was simply to be an upstanding citizen.  They used the term as more of a colloquialism than as a tribal designation.  (It most certainly was not an endorsement of a specific doctrine.)  The whole point was neutrality on the part of the State, which was to be categorically secular.  It makes no sense to construe a prescription for anti-theocracy THEN as a clarion call for theocracy NOW.

The supposition that the locution, “good Christian” might have any connection to sacred doctrine is belied by the fact that so many self-proclaimed “Christians” have not qualified as “good Christians”…even as plenty of non-religious people have been referred to as “good Christians” over the generations.  Such modish turns-of-phrase are germane to demotic language.  Over the years, admirable people have been described in a host of ways–from “god fearing” to “true blue”.  This is not to insinuate that morally upstanding people are either neurotic or azure.

At the time, such wording was prudent if for no other reason than it had profound resonance with the general populace.  And it would CONTINUE to have resonance in certain circles long into 20th century.  But for most of us now, this is no longer the case; as such vernacular seems antiquated. {12}

The metamorphosis of demotic language is a reminder that the meaning of some phrases fluctuates over time.  And so it has with the qualifier, “Christian”, which–in political theater–has been used more colloquially than formally.  When Franklin D. Roosevelt was asked about how he thought of himself, he responded: “A Christian, an American, and a Democrat in that order.”  Yet his administration was characterized by ANYTHING BUT a doctrinaire Christian approach to governance…or by any religiosity AT ALL, for that matter.  (His policy was impelled by a sense of compassion for the downtrodden, the primary trait with which Jesus of Nazareth was associated.  He railed against avarice, which was considered a very “Christian” thing to do by most Americans.  Had he been in the Far East, it would have been considered a very “Buddhist” thing to do.)

Roosevelt was not pushing anything remotely close to a “Christian” agenda as we might know it today, yet he fashioned himself a “Christian” above all else.  So what’s going on here?  Clearly, Roosevelt was using the term colloquially, not in an attempt to proselytize.

Even the most secular expositors are apt to do this. {4}  Theodor Adorno’s disquisition was the epitome of secularity.  Nevertheless, he routinely made use of religiously-charged language for rhetorical effect.  Oxford don, A.J. Ayer–an adamant atheist–was known for always saying Grace before dinner–invoking “god” and blessings and all the rest.  Idiomatic expression has always played an integral role in eloquent speech.  Shall we suppose Adorno and Ayer were giving ringing endorsements to fundamentalist Christianity?

When Karl Jung (who was not even a Christian) averred that “the soul is naturally Christian”, he was obviously not referring to an adherence to specific doctrinal points. {7}  Such colloquialisms eventually came to be somewhat of a cliché.  As qualifiers, they were euphemisms for having a “tried and true” moral compass.  They often simply meant “someone like us”, which–in turn–meant “someone who can be trusted”.  To be Christian wasn’t to be dogmatic or tribalistic; it was simply to be morally upstanding.

At the time of America’s founding, whatever was considered an admirable character trait was often associated with being a “good Christian” (that is: hewing to virtues that were generally extolled throughout Christendom).  The gist was that MORALITY MATTERS; not that it was necessary to be a Christian fundamentalist.  In his inaugural address, George Washington illustrated this point, stating: “The foundation of our national policy is laid in the pure and immutable principles of private morality.”  This was hardly a mandate for religious zeal. {12}

Whenever the Bible was cited by the Founding Fathers, it was invoked as a familiar literary source, not as a holy book to which all were beholden.  Certain passages were quoted for didactic purposes (that is: simply because a largely Christian audience could relate to them).  We might note, though, that rarely did any of those passages convey points that were necessarily–or distinctly–Judeo-Christian; they were usually making larger points that could have been made in other ways.  (Good will toward one’s fellow man can be conveyed using myriad allegorical digressions.  For a Buddhist audience, references to Siddhartha Gautama would have been the prudent choice.)

Another example of how idioms change over time is the Enlightenment sense of “the pursuit of happiness”.  Said pursuit was more akin to an adjuration to pursue the good life (to live a life of virtue) than it was an invitation to avarice and cheap gratification.  It was human excellence (what Aristotle referred to as “eudaemonia”), not the trappings of opulence, that such thinkers had in mind when they spoke of “happiness”. {5} 

This was the point of stipulating that the State must ensure the ability of every person to pursue “happiness”.  As one of the Founders, James Wilson put it: “The happiness of the society is the first law of government.”  John Adams reiterated the point: “The happiness of society is the end of government.”  Hence the U.S. Constitution’s Preamble declares that the raison d’etre of the State is, in part, to ensure “the general welfare”–that is: to facilitate the commonweal, not to engender widespread gaiety.  Hubris had nothing to do with it.  (The notion that avaricious plutocrats are simply “pursuing happiness” as the Founders stipulated is absurd.)

And so it went with the metamorphosis of myriad popular locutions.  This is a reminder that to convey a message, people simply employ different idioms at different times–based largely on resonance.  In the 19th century, some men referred to their wives as their “rib”; and in much of the 20th century, women referred to a menstrual period as “the curse”.  Both are obsolete religious idioms.  No sane person today holds that women are somehow derivatives of men or that menstruation is punishment for Eve’s impertinence.

Rhetorical flourishes involving the Abrahamic deity were standard amongst Deists throughout the Enlightenment period–from Spinoza to Kant.  But why the use of the above locutions as opposed to, say, Odin or Zeus?  To reiterate: The geo-political context at the time was ENTIRELY that of Christendom.  So discourse was festooned with those turns of phrase, as they resonated most–be it in Elizabethan England (as with Biblical phrases in Shakespearian verse) or 18th-century Philadelphia.  (I explore another prime case-study of such locution in footnote 4.)

It should come as no surprise, then, that in Enlightenment exposition, the Christian idiom was so prevalent.  And so it went with the American Declaration of Independence, with the invocation of the DEISTIC “Nature’s God” (as opposed to the Biblical god).  The phraseology was in keeping with the zeitgeist.  Regardless of the message, one was apt to use such locutions for rhetorical purposes if for no other reason than that people can RELATE TO that articulation.  Deists like Franklin, Washington, Paine, Jefferson, Madison (and even liberal Christians like Adams and Hamilton) would have surely agreed that religious ideology played a negligible role in the formation of the fledgling American government. {8} 

Ironically, Hamilton and Adams were Federalists–at the time, the political party most AGAINST putting so-called “states’ rights” above centralized government.  This would have positioned both men in diametrical opposition to the agenda of today’s Christian revisionists, who’s fetishization of “states’ rights” echoes the platform of the (adamantly “Christian”) Confederacy.  (The fetishization of “states right” suffused the rhetoric employed in the subsequent fight AGAINST civil rights throughout the Jim Crow south, and was inextricably linked to Christian doctrine.  I explore this point in my essay on “The Universality Of Morality”.)

So how are we to approach the historical record?  In trying to distill the essence of a text, ANY text, fixating on the idiosyncrasies of a particular phraseology is a surefire way to miss the point.  It makes sense, then, to ask of any document: What were the authors coming from; and what were they ultimately getting at?  Answering such questions requires us to abstract from certain quirks in the vernacular of the time and place of composition.  Our ability to do this presumes that we are not slaves to our own–or anyone else’s–language games.  Insofar as we manage to do this, we see how ideas could possibly be couched in alternate terms; and thereby ascertain why authors of a certain time and place opted to couch their ideas in the particular ways they did.

Looking back at the late 18th century, we find that it was incumbent upon (astute) statesmen to phrase things in a manner that would resonate with the target audience.  Strident discourse is routinely conducted using the prevailing idiom of the time; as doing so is the most potent way to convey meaning.  It stands to reason, then, that important points were made by couching them in Christian terms (that is: in FAMILIAR terms).  To read this as a mandate for Christian theocracy is to mis-read history.

Perspicacity means repudiating the exegetical shenanigans so often encountered by Christian revisionists, who construe every religious-sounding locution as evidence of doctrinal fidelity.  Those of us who are dispassionately committed to assaying the available evidence can see the myth of America’s Judeo-Christian origins for what it is: an enchanting farce.

Could the Founders of the new Republic have phrased their message in another way?  Indubitably.  Had the idiom of the time been different, their mode of articulation would have reflected that.  Had their audience been accustomed to–or been moved by–alternate turns-of-phrase, the authors would have surely adjusted their wording accordingly.  That’s what good writers do.  The point, after all, is to be compelling.  And any savvy statesmen takes care to employ phrasing to which the target audience can relate.

We encounter this in the 19th century as well.  As it turned out, even those who were most suspicious of religious dogmas nevertheless spoke using religious idioms.  Abraham Lincoln expressed these sentiments in a letter to Judge Wakefield (in the advent of his son, Willie’s death): “My earlier views of the unsoundness of the Christian scheme of salvation and the human origin of the scriptures have become clearer and stronger with advancing years, and I see no reason in thinking that I shall ever change them.”  Lincoln even felt it necessary to declare: “The Bible is not my book nor Christianity my profession.”  Nevertheless, he opted to use the locution, “under God” in the triumphant conclusion to his address at Gettysburg in November of 1863.  Why?  Because such turns of phrase RESONATED with his audience.  The point was to be relatable, not to talk over everyone’s head.

Similar phrasing is found in statements by Albert Einstein–as when he quipped that “god doesn’t play dice” when inveighing against the indeterminacies of quantum mechanics.  He also averred: “The more I study science, the more I believe in god” when marveling at the sublime wonders of the universe.  Such phrasing is no more striking than more quotidian rhetorical flourishes like “god-speed”, “god bless”, “god willing”, “god only knows”, “god have mercy”, and “god help us”…none of which have any necessary religious connotation.  After all, Einstein was a DEIST…just like Ben Franklin, George Washington, Thomas Paine, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, et. al.  Indeed, Einstein was very clear that, in employing this idiom, he did NOT mean the personal god of Abrahamic religion.  This made sense, as he was not in the least religious.

As it turns out, many colloquialisms are lifted from Biblical passages.  When one notes that one made it “by the skin of my teeth”, one is not necessarily citing Job 19:20.  And when one admonishes against casting pearls before swine, one is not necessarily thinking of Matthew 7:6.  When Shakespeare employed the adage that “there is nothing new under the sun” (Sonnet 59), he was not paying tribute to the Book of Ecclesiastes.  Idiomatic expressions can’t help but be heavily influenced by scripture, as scripture has played such a prominent role in our history (sometimes for the better, usually for the worse).  To take this as an implicit endorsement of theocracy is to engage in a non-sequitur that could span the known universe.

So it went with familiar locutions found in America’s founding documents.  Yet some revisionists would suggest–against all common sense–that by dating the U.S. Constitution “the Year of our Lord 1781”, the signatories were issuing a mandate for Pauline Christology.  Shall we pretend that the use of “anno Domini” on the Gregorian calendar were a declaration of fealty to specific Christian doctrines?  According to that logic, the interjection, “oh, my god!” is a profession of theism.

Pursuant to the normalization of ingratiating tropes, the American ethos has been re-engineered to resemble more theocratic nation-State (super-saturated with super-patriotism) than a genuine democracy.  A few seemingly minor adjustments were emblematic of this normalization.  “In God We Trust” was first introduced on coinage during the Civil War, yet became standard on currency when Eisenhower sanctioned it in 1956.  (At the behest of Freemasons and the Knights Of Columbus, Eisenhower had already inserted “under god” into the pledge of allegiance in 1954.)  And the cliche, “God bless America” was not standardized in presidential oratory until Nixon popularized the rhetorical flourish during the Vietnam War.  (Isaiah Berlin had written the song “God Bless America” during the First World War, implanting it in the America psyche.)

In each case, a fashionable idiom was at play.   Such was the case with Abraham Lincoln’s use of “under god” in his soaring oratory.  To mistake an idiomatic expression for a formal declaration is to fail to understand how language works. To this day, in common parlance, “god-given X” means that one is naturally endowed with X–whether X is a physical feature, a talent, or a RIGHT.

We could go on and on: “I swear to god” and “so help me god” and “god be with you” and “god bless you” and “god help us” and “god knows” and “thank god”.  Such utterances are not declarations of religious zeal…any more than are turns-of-phrase like “heaven help us”, “heaven knows”, or “thank heavens”.  For those who are NOT religious, they have as much to do with sacred doctrine as the interjection, “Holy Toledo!”

So where does this leave us?  Any exegesis must correct for the metamorphosis of demotic language.  Historical context is key.  When the ancient Romans invoked “Providentia”, it was a matter of thinking of things occurring in accordance with a divine plan.  (“Providentia” was revered alongside “Libertas” and “Salus”: Liberty and Security.)  So it is no surprise that statesmen of the modern era often pontificated–and made their case–in terms of “Providence”. Let’s look at each of the Founders, and see how they thought of this matter.