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Well-Known Member
George W. Bush and Jesus are pals. Voters knew this when we elected him president in 2000 (Bush, not Jesus), and we assumed it would pop up from time to time during his tenure, in a compassionate conservative kind of way. But with the president employing "God talk" more and more often in the run-up to war, there has been much anxious discussion about the implications of Bush's outspoken religiosity. Some people (especially among Bush's evangelical base) dig it, pleased that their president is a proudly spiritual fellow willing to embrace the moral absolutes of "us v. them," "good v. evil." Others are made uneasy by Bush's conviction that God is on our side and by his compulsion to express that conviction publicly, even at the risk alienating the rest of the world (which already holds a dim view of America's battle plans).
It's not hard to understand the basic objections/reservations to Bush's wartime God-talk. For starters, any time a leader claims a divine calling for his temporal aims--especially temporal aims likely to involve massive bloodshed--people should get a little nervous. The belief that God is on one's side tends to skew the judgment and behavior of any mortal, much less a guy already miffed because Saddam once tried to kill his daddy. Moreover, since Bush is a self-described born-again Christian, the Muslim world can certainly be forgiven for disliking the Crusader-ish overtones of the president's stated goal of overhauling the entire Middle East.
But as we wait for the first wave of troops to go marching into Baghdad (and the wave of retaliatory terrorist strikes to hit the United States), I'd like to flag a couple of points about Bush's particular brand of faith that make me considerably more jittery than I would be if the unflappably Episcopalian Poppy were running this show.
As Howard Fineman points out in the current issue of Newsweek, W.'s relationship with Jesus has always been of the twelve-step, baby-boomerish variety so popular in recent years. The president's path to salvation began in the mid-1980s, when his chum Don Evans got him involved in a Bible-study group characteristic of the "small-group movement," described by Fineman as a "mix of self-help, self-discipline, group therapy ... and worship." Bush thus came to know Jesus as someone who helps you achieve even the really tough things you want to get done: stop being a drunk, grow up, become president, etc. Basically, Jesus became Bush's life coach--a sort of divine Tony Robbins.
Now, for the most part, there's no harm in this particular conception of God. Seeing God as your own personal life coach frequently motivates people to undertake acts of self-improvement, whether or not God actually cares if they quit smoking or drop ten pounds. And even if this God-as-life-coach view occasionally becomes harmful--say someone believes God wants them to work to the point of exhaustion for that promotion--it normally doesn't impact anything other than their own personal fate. But all of that goes out the window when the man getting lifestyle advice from God is the one making military decisions for the most powerful country in the history of the planet. Even for those who accept the basic premise of a proactive Almighty Father, it's probably unsettling to think that W. is charging into battle with the blind confidence that God will of course help him emerge victorious--just like he helped Bush kick the hooch and become a better father.
Which brings us to the second unnerving aspect of Bush's religiosity: Lots of political leaders make decisions and pronouncements based broadly on what they believe is God's will. But Bush's brand of born-again Christianity isn't rooted in the kind of theological study or debate that might produce a coherent worldview. Instead, it follows directly from the believer's one-on-one communion with God. At best this gives the prescriptions Bush gleans from his faith an ad hoc quality--had Bush interpreted his particular Iraq conversations with God differently, the fate of the entire Middle East might have been altered. At worst, this becomes completely self-justifying, placing a divine stamp of approval on pretty much anything the believer wants to do--or rather, wants God to help him do. As Newsweek's Fineman put it, "Bush decided Saddam was evil, and everything just flowed from that."
It bears noting, however, that Bush is not the only devoutly spiritual fellow talking to God about Iraq--and not everyone seems to be getting the same answer. As yesterday's New York Times noted, a large swath of the nation's religious leaders have come out against the war. In addition to the Roman Catholics, whose opposition is well known, other churches calling for restraint include the United Methodist Church, the Presbyterian Church, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, the American Baptist Church, the United Church of Christ, the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America, the Syrian Orthodox church of Antioch, and the Coptic Orthodox Archdiocese of America. (Jewish organizations are divided.) Those voicing support for the war tend to be the leaders of Pentecostal or evangelical ministries, including the mega-denomination in which I was born and bred, the Southern Baptists. These are the president's people, born-agains who build their lives around the idea of a personal walk with Christ. Many of them certainly share Bush's conviction that God is staunchly on our side in this battle. With the stakes so high, I envy them and the president their certitude--though not half so much as I fear it.
Source
The New Republic
It's not hard to understand the basic objections/reservations to Bush's wartime God-talk. For starters, any time a leader claims a divine calling for his temporal aims--especially temporal aims likely to involve massive bloodshed--people should get a little nervous. The belief that God is on one's side tends to skew the judgment and behavior of any mortal, much less a guy already miffed because Saddam once tried to kill his daddy. Moreover, since Bush is a self-described born-again Christian, the Muslim world can certainly be forgiven for disliking the Crusader-ish overtones of the president's stated goal of overhauling the entire Middle East.
But as we wait for the first wave of troops to go marching into Baghdad (and the wave of retaliatory terrorist strikes to hit the United States), I'd like to flag a couple of points about Bush's particular brand of faith that make me considerably more jittery than I would be if the unflappably Episcopalian Poppy were running this show.
As Howard Fineman points out in the current issue of Newsweek, W.'s relationship with Jesus has always been of the twelve-step, baby-boomerish variety so popular in recent years. The president's path to salvation began in the mid-1980s, when his chum Don Evans got him involved in a Bible-study group characteristic of the "small-group movement," described by Fineman as a "mix of self-help, self-discipline, group therapy ... and worship." Bush thus came to know Jesus as someone who helps you achieve even the really tough things you want to get done: stop being a drunk, grow up, become president, etc. Basically, Jesus became Bush's life coach--a sort of divine Tony Robbins.
Now, for the most part, there's no harm in this particular conception of God. Seeing God as your own personal life coach frequently motivates people to undertake acts of self-improvement, whether or not God actually cares if they quit smoking or drop ten pounds. And even if this God-as-life-coach view occasionally becomes harmful--say someone believes God wants them to work to the point of exhaustion for that promotion--it normally doesn't impact anything other than their own personal fate. But all of that goes out the window when the man getting lifestyle advice from God is the one making military decisions for the most powerful country in the history of the planet. Even for those who accept the basic premise of a proactive Almighty Father, it's probably unsettling to think that W. is charging into battle with the blind confidence that God will of course help him emerge victorious--just like he helped Bush kick the hooch and become a better father.
Which brings us to the second unnerving aspect of Bush's religiosity: Lots of political leaders make decisions and pronouncements based broadly on what they believe is God's will. But Bush's brand of born-again Christianity isn't rooted in the kind of theological study or debate that might produce a coherent worldview. Instead, it follows directly from the believer's one-on-one communion with God. At best this gives the prescriptions Bush gleans from his faith an ad hoc quality--had Bush interpreted his particular Iraq conversations with God differently, the fate of the entire Middle East might have been altered. At worst, this becomes completely self-justifying, placing a divine stamp of approval on pretty much anything the believer wants to do--or rather, wants God to help him do. As Newsweek's Fineman put it, "Bush decided Saddam was evil, and everything just flowed from that."
It bears noting, however, that Bush is not the only devoutly spiritual fellow talking to God about Iraq--and not everyone seems to be getting the same answer. As yesterday's New York Times noted, a large swath of the nation's religious leaders have come out against the war. In addition to the Roman Catholics, whose opposition is well known, other churches calling for restraint include the United Methodist Church, the Presbyterian Church, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, the American Baptist Church, the United Church of Christ, the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America, the Syrian Orthodox church of Antioch, and the Coptic Orthodox Archdiocese of America. (Jewish organizations are divided.) Those voicing support for the war tend to be the leaders of Pentecostal or evangelical ministries, including the mega-denomination in which I was born and bred, the Southern Baptists. These are the president's people, born-agains who build their lives around the idea of a personal walk with Christ. Many of them certainly share Bush's conviction that God is staunchly on our side in this battle. With the stakes so high, I envy them and the president their certitude--though not half so much as I fear it.
Source
The New Republic
