Jonathan Rauch is worried about American democracy. He thinks that, as a country, we are becoming too partisan, and thus, we are becoming ‘ungovernable.’ And he thinks that part of the problem lies with American Christianity. As an avowed atheist, he has done his fair share of criticizing religion throughout his life. However, Rauch argues that he has come to understand how important American Christianity is for American democracy, even though he himself is not a person of faith. Indeed, he has come to see Christianity as a ‘load-bearing wall’ of our liberal democracy. This means that if there is something amiss in Christianity, this will have negative consequences for our democracy. Hence, he has turned his attention to figuring out just what has ‘gone wrong’ with American Christianity. Cross Purposes: Christianity’s Broken Bargain with Democracy (Yale University Press, 2025) is his attempt at identifying the current state of affairs in American Christianity vis-à-vis our current political climate.
In this examination, Rauch ends up identifying the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints as a unique example of a church which teaches principles which are supportive of liberal democracy. His work is a very valuable contribution to the wider discussion of the relationships between church and state, and faith and political participation. However, at times Rauch leans into characterizations of American Christianity which do not always seem entirely fair. And while his characterization of our theology and practice is motivated by a (rare) heart-warming desire to truly understand us, Rauch’s own (leftist) political commitments clearly imply that his favorable commentary on the CoJC also somewhat problematizes the political conservativism that still characterizes many Latter-Day Saints.
Rauch argues that American Christianity is ‘in crisis’. By Christianity, he mostly means ‘white, Protestant Christianity’. But what does he mean by ‘crisis’? This is sometimes hard to discern. At some places in the book, Christianity’s ‘crisis’ seems to mean the great ‘dechurching’ that has been happening since the 1970’s. That is, one ‘crisis’ of Christianity is that fewer people are religious now than in previous eras, and Christian leaders are unsure as to how to increase membership in this era of significant secularization.
The great dechurching, according to Rauch, happened specifically to mainline Protestantism in the last part of the 20th century. During this time, mainline Protestant churches became more concerned with the ‘social gospel’ than they were with theological issues. These churches ceased being counter-cultural, and instead just started to reflect the culture of the time. Rauch argues that this kind of watered-down religion can be considered ‘thin Christianity’. In this view of religion, going to church turned into something akin to ‘consumer choice’; one just chose the church that suited them, but since there was really nothing foundational or faith-building in this approach, people stopped going to church in this kind of theologically bereft landscape.
However, one reaction within Christianity to this ‘thin Christianity’, was the rise in what Rauch calls ‘Sharp Christianity’. According to Rauch, sharp Christianity is ‘a divisive, fearful, partisan, and un-Christlike version of Christianity with dangerously illiberal implications.’ (40) Although Rauch is concerned about thin Christianity in its ineffectiveness to give people sufficient spiritual moorings, he does seem to be more concerned about sharp Christianity. Indeed, when he says that Christianity is in ‘crisis’, more often than not, the ‘crisis’ is that American Christianity has turned into sharp Christianity.
It's hard to say exactly how this sharp Christianity arose, but Rauch wants to tie it to the historical connection between white evangelicals and the Republican party. Although he cites the 1980 election of Ronald Reagan as an important historical moment in cementing the evangelical contingent of the party, it is really the developments since the turn of this century that are of particular interest to Rauch. For, at some point in the 2000’s, ‘the political union of white evangelical Christianity with Republican partisanship … evolved into codependency’. (56-57) Rauch argues that ‘partisanship backflowed into the church, causing a spiral in which white conservative Republicans self-selected into evangelical religious identities and those identities in turn reinforced the church’s partisanship.’ (57)
Essentially, the phenomenon seemed to be that people who were politically more conservative tended to go to church, and then once they were at church, they met other, like-minded political conservatives. The political similarities among the members then turned these religious communities into something like political echo-chambers, rather than a church which is truly a unified ‘body of Christ’ in the theological and spiritual sense. Furthermore, this is a self-reinforcing phenomenon, so that the more that political conservatives go to church, the more politically conservative the church will be, and the thus the more the church will attract political conservatives. As Rauch puts it, ‘sharp Christianity intensifies partisanship, which further sharpens Christianity.’ (57)
However, Rauch argues that the developments in 21st century America go beyond this phenomenon. That is, it’s not just that political conservatives go to church, and therefore influence the culture of the church to become more political. It’s that, in our current political climate, it seems as though ‘partisan politics [has become] the main reason people choose to identify as evangelicals.’ (57) In other words, ‘millions of Americans are being drawn to the evangelical label because of its association with the GOP,’ not because of a ‘theological affinity for Jesus Christ’. (57) This, I think, is part of what Rauch means when he says that Christianity is in crisis. The rise in sharp Christianity means American evangelical Christianity has become primarily cultural rather than theological; it has replaced a ‘spiritual outlook’ with a ‘political identity’; indeed, the term ‘evangelical’ has become a ‘political uniform’. (58)
So, sharp Christianity is politically partisan, according to Rauch. But is this enough to say that Christianity is in crisis? I mean, sure, it would be great if we could all rise above political issues and just live our religion, ignoring what is going on in our wider world. But that’s not the world we live in, and Christianity does actually call its members to be engaged in the world, to make life better for those around us. Since politics is one way we get involved in that engagement, it doesn’t seem like a death-knell for Christianity if Christians find themselves motivated to be politically engaged, and indeed find like-minded people in their congregations. But Rauch’s critique seems to be that in sharp Christianity, political ideology is being privileged over theology. In this sense, Rauch argues that sharp Christianity is not engaging with key theological concepts as they guide their members in Christian discipleship. In other words, part of the crisis in sharp Christianity is that they are not teaching their members the gospel of Jesus Christ. Referencing the work of Catholic theologian James Alison, Rauch identifies three teachings of Jesus which he argues are distinctive to Christianity. These three core concepts are: ‘Don’t be afraid; Imitate Jesus; Forgive each other.’ (69) By contrast, Rauch asserts that sharp Christianity emphasizes fear, engages in hateful behavior in political settings and social media, and encourages vengefulness, political or otherwise. Rauch calls this the ‘Church of Fear’.
In addressing each one of these aspects of the ‘Church of Fear’, Rauch’s own political commitments become more explicit, thus making it fairly easy to fill in the blanks. For instance, regarding Christ’s admonition to ‘fear not’, Rauch asserts that of course Christians should ‘not be afraid’, because what is there to be afraid of? Perhaps Christians think that the ‘progressive Left’ is after them, but Rauch argues that, on the contrary, the war on Christians is ‘entirely made up’. (60) Christians enjoy unprecedented freedom of religion in U. S., and the courts continue to rule in favor of protecting religious liberties. However, even if we were to grant that Christians in the U.S. are under attack to a certain extent, Rauch says they have let their fear of the progressive Left get out of control. And this rampant fear has eventually led them to their support of Trump. And here is where we get to the heart of the matter.
Rauch argues that Christians have entirely abandoned all their Christian principles by supporting Trump. Furthermore, their support of Trump is entirely their fault. There was ‘absolutely nothing about secular liberalism’ that ‘required white evangelicals to embrace the likes of Donald Trump.’ (61) In other words, according to Rauch, we cannot blame the blatant overreach of the Left in any number of areas for the rise of Trump. The seeds of the support for Trump had already been planted in the culture of sharp Christianity, which was already embracing ‘militant masculinity’ by the time Trump came on the scene. (66)
This is clearly a very strong criticism of American evangelical Christianity. And although one can perhaps call to mind specific examples where these kinds of attitudes are exhibited by individual Christians, Rauch’s critique often feels more like a secular liberal’s criticism of the practice of Christianity, rather than a Christian’s criticism of the practice of Christianity. For instance, it is simply not true that Christians have ‘nothing to fear’ from progressive Leftists, as the past decade has seen one political move after another to make it harder for Christians to live their religion in their personal lives and in their families (one recalls to mind Obama’s ‘bitter clingers’ phrase). To be fair, Rauch has been very intentional about speaking to pastors and ministers and theologians about the state of Christianity in America, and he should be applauded for using these kinds of credible sources to build his argument.
At the same time, he also tends to lean into current leftist narratives about religion - narratives which are often crafted from an unsympathetic point of view which is positioned outside of the practice of faith.
Rauch argues that part of what is stoking the Church of Fear is the move in philosophy toward ‘post-liberalism’. Post-liberals claim that under liberalism, ‘aggressive secularism’ has been allowed to attack and undermine ‘Christian communities and other adherents of traditional values.’ (40) The idea is that the philosophy of liberalism, which claims that the state should remain ‘neutral’ regarding theories of the good, is actually ‘self-undermining because it cannot help but destroy the institutions and norms it depends on – among them, religion, faith, and the communal, traditional values which religion and faith sustain.’ (41) Indeed, post-liberals argue that there is no such thing as remaining ‘neutral’ regarding theories of the good, and so liberalism actually values radical individualism rather than faith commitments. The logical end-game of liberalism is a world where there is no theory of the good that individuals are allowed to hold in their individual lives, for that would be to privilege one theory of the good over another. Thus, liberalism undermines ‘social bonds in nearly every aspect of life – familial, neighborly, communal, religious, even national’ (43), because social bonds are formed over a shared conception of the good.
Rauch argues that sharp Christianity has taken post-liberalism at its word, and fears that there is no way our late-stage liberalism can truly allow Christians to live their religion in the way they believe is required of them. For liberalism is proving to be the kind of philosophy that always puts faith last. For instance, if Christians think that abortion is bad, under a liberal regime they must accept that other people believe that abortion is good, and therefore the state must allow abortion, under the rationale that the state remains ‘neutral’ on whether abortion is good or bad. However, to Rauch, criticizing liberalism in this way stokes the Church of Fear. The problem with this criticism of liberalism, Rauch argues, is that we do live in a liberal democracy. Thus, if sharp Christianity fears liberalism, this fear will work to undermine our liberal democracy.
After criticizing both ‘thin Christianity’ and ‘sharp Christianity’, Rauch wants to introduce us to what he thinks a healthy Christianity would be in a liberal democracy, and that is ‘thick Christianity’. Thick Christianity is a faith that is ‘both demanding and enfolding, combining high personal investment with high communal returns.’ (104) In other words, thick Christianity is one that maintains its distinctiveness from the world, while being in the world. And Rauch thinks that the CoJC is precisely this kind of Christianity: ‘the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is not a ‘thin’ religion. It has not blended into the cultural zeitgeist or watered down its requirements. Just the opposite: it is one of America’s most prominent examples of a thick faith ….’ (104) To re-iterate, Rauch insists that the CoJC ‘stands as one of our country’s more prominent examples of a thick church – one which demands much of its adherents and offers much back to them.’ (107)
But this, Rauch argues, is actually a problem for the post-liberals. For, according to post-liberals, ‘it should not be possible for a traditionalist, conservative church to embrace negotiation and mutual accommodation amid today’s consumeristic, individualistic, homogenizing culture while also preserving its values and distinctiveness. If the post-liberal critique were true, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints should have been assimilated long ago by the relentlessly liberal Borg.’ (107-108) In other words, the CofJC shows that it is possible for a counter-cultural church to survive in a liberal regime. It shows that Christianity can thrive in a pluralistic world, not be subsumed or dominated by it.
Rauch argues that instead of choosing to be fearful in the current political climate, the CoJC has chosen to honor pluralism and compromise. He is particularly taken with Elder Dallin H. Oaks, whom he credits with articulating something no less than a ‘civic theology’. He notes that Elder Oaks has argued that as followers of Jesus Christ, we ‘have a duty to seek harmony and peace.’ (96) Rauch goes so far as to say that Elder Oaks believes this to be a ‘civic commandment’, to ‘approach politics and public debate in a particular way’. (96) Essentially, Elder Oaks’s position is that ‘we should not expect or seek total dominance for our own positions.’ (96)
But Rauch also notes that Elder Oaks’s position is not just a politically expedient thing to say; he argues that this attitude toward pluralism and compromise is rooted in our theology. Here is where Rauch delves, as best he can, into the CoJC’s notion of agency. He holds that we believe our agency to be an indispensable tool to making moral choices, which then allows us to make essential progress in our moral and spiritual development. Rauch happily explains that ‘the doctrine of agency applies to all persons, not only members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. The doctrine is universal. Everyone must be able to make decisions according to the dictates of judgment and conscience. This is our human inheritance from the time of creation.’ (115)
From this fundamental – and apparently distinctive - theological point, Rauch argues it is then ‘but a short step to Madisonian pluralism’. Quoting Elder Oaks again: ‘First … we learn that God grants us moral agency and, consequently, we are not only free to choose and to act according to our choices, but we are also accountable to God for those choices. Second, the most desirable political condition for the exercise of agency is maximum freedom for persons to act personally without tyrannical dictate.’ (116) Rauch sees this position as ‘quite impressive’, a ‘fully formed, coherent scriptural foundation for Madisonian pluralism’, the ‘polar antithesis of Christian nationalism’ and a repudiation of ‘Christian domination.’ (116)
At this point in Rauch’s argument, members of the CoJC may find themselves somewhat bemused. Here is an avowed atheist, sympathetic to the idea of Christianity as necessary to the well-functioning of our liberal democracy, who singles out the CoJC as an example of a Christian church which is practicing Christianity in a way that supports said liberal democracy, locating the source of our particular practice of Christianity in our doctrine of agency. Yet, it is not clear that our doctrine of agency can fully support Rauch’s desire for pluralism and compromise in the way that perhaps he is asserting that it can. Yes, we believe that we have moral agency, which makes us free as well as accountable to God for those choices. Yes, we believe that we must be allowed to use our agency, and, by the same token, allow others to use their agency. At the same time, we need to remind ourselves that our moral agency is not something that can be taken away. In this sense, our notion of agency is quite existential – we always have agency, even when we are under oppressive external conditions. And this, I think is one of the great, empowering messages of the gospel of Jesus Christ: we never lose responsibility for our choices and our actions; God is always there, and we can always use our agency to reach out to Him to act righteously in whatever particular circumstance we find ourselves. And the purpose of our agency is to do precisely this: to choose the right, not the wrong; to choose the good, not evil.
In that sense, how our doctrine of agency translates in the political sphere is not straightforward. And the quote which Rauch uses from Elder Oaks is puzzling, that ‘the most desirable political condition for the exercise of agency is maximum freedom for persons to act personally without tyrannical dictate.’ In response to this, we would need to further inquire into what is meant by a ‘tyrannical dictate’. That is, we need a further principle to help us parse out just what the limits would be to this ‘maximum freedom for persons to act personally’, for there surely will be some limits.
If we were philosophical liberals, then we could employ something like John Stuart Mill’s Harm Principle, which says that the only time the state can limit people’s freedom is when they would cause harm to someone else with that freedom. But, as I have noted elsewhere, liberals usually have a very hard time defining ‘harm’, and at any rate, how we define harm will depend upon our theory of what it means to be a human being, and therefore, what sorts of things, if anything, are necessary for a flourishing human life. Something like pornography is a case in point. Philosophical liberals want to say that pornography is not harmful, and therefore should not be restricted in any way. And so, within this sphere of freedom, pornography just continues to develop into something more and more harmful. Could we honestly use our doctrine of agency to say that the absolutely monstrous pornography that we have now should not be restricted, legally, in any way? While perhaps some members of the CoJC, in some moods, might agree to this, I see no such straightforward move from moral agency to political ‘maximum personal freedom’. We would need further principles to buttress our discussion of ‘maximum freedom’. In short, we also need principles regarding what is good for human beings. And as Christians, we have those principles. We would need, and we as Christians would want, those principles to guide us politically, every bit as we would need the principle of freedom.
And now it seems we have circled back to some of the deeper concerns Rauch has with Christianity in political spaces. Rauch worries that sharp Christianity is interested in ‘winning’ politically, and ‘dominating’, rather than ‘forgiving.’ But the subtext here is that Rauch does not think that Christians should be able to have certain Christian principles written into law in a liberal democracy. Since we have a separation of church and state, Christians should be willing to keep to the ‘church’ part out of the ‘state’ part. This means they should not, for instance, politically fight against abortion, or progressive sex education in schools, or pornography, or gender affirming care for minors, or other things that they see as antithetical to the gospel of Jesus Christ. But the problem here is that while Rauch objects to Christians pushing their principles in the public sphere, it’s not as though there is a ‘value-free’ public sphere in which there are no forces pushing counter ideologies upon Christians. On the contrary, supporters of abortion and pornography often argue that these things are ‘goods’, while Christians think that life and chastity are ‘goods’. My argument here is simply that, as members of the CoJC, we are the same as other Christians, even sharp Christians, in this respect. Our doctrine of moral agency does not lead us to abandon theories of the human good, or to see them as irrelevant for the public sphere.
However, while I disagree with Rauch on some of the political implications he draws from our doctrine of moral agency, I think he is right to observe that there is a sense in which the flourishing of the CoJC undermines the post-liberal critique of liberalism. It is true that we are a church with a Rawlsian ‘thick’ theory of the good, existing within a liberal order which – while it may often not provide a ‘value-free’ public sphere in practice – at least theoretically does not allow political declarations of the good. And there is a sense in which we very much value the political freedom that comes from that, precisely because it allows us to use our moral agency to live out our particular conception of the good. And while I don’t think our deep valuing of political freedom leads us or allows us to compromise with anything and everything, I do think it shapes our characters and temperaments, such that we approach our politics with an understanding that others need to enjoy the blessing of freedom as well. Indeed, identifying freedom as a blessing reframes freedom as a human good, and a deeply spiritual one at that. This spiritual perception of freedom is bound to influence the way we think and act in political spaces, and I think that it does. And that may just be the point that Rauch is trying to make, after all.
Full Citation for this Article: Hamilton-Bleakley, Holly (2025) "Review: Cross Purposes: Christianity’s Broken Bargain with Democracy, by Jonathan Rauch (Yale University Press, 2025)," SquareTwo, Vol. 18 No. 1 (Spring 2025), http://squaretwo.org/Sq2ArticleBleakleyCrossPurposes.html, accessed <give access date>.
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