The Flag and the Cross: White Christian Nationalism and the Threat to American Democracy By Philip S. Gorski and Samuel L. Perry. New York: Oxford University Press, 2022. 176 pp., $21.95 Cloth

The January 6^th insurrection at the U.S. Capitol brought a number of undercurrents on the political right to the attention of a broader audience. In evidence in the crowd on that day were flags and other symbols representing a vast panoply of right-wing groups, to include elements of the alt-right, so-called patriot groups and Christian nationalists. While the assault on the Capitol was an eye-opener for many in the public, academics and other expert observers have been, for some time, warning of the presence of such groups and of the dangers that they pose to democracy. When it comes to the influence of Christian nationalism, few have been sounding the alarm more loudly than Philip Gorski, Samuel Perry, and their various coauthors. Which is why Gorski and Perry’s new book on the subject is a welcome addition to the existing body of scholarship on Christian nationalism. Although clearly written for a popular audience, Gorski and Perry weave together an impressive story utilizing both original survey data and historical narrative that helps to define a number of intriguing directions for future research.

They begin by explaining what Christian nationalism is (and what it isn’t) before turning their attention to telling what they call the “deep story” of Christian nationalism that traces its presence in American life by drawing a more or less straight line between the late 1600s and today. The third section of the book returns to more contemporary data and attempts to chart the political contours of Christian nationalism in America. Finally, Gorski and Perry speculate as to where Christian nationalist elements on the political scene might be going and what, if anything, might be done to blunt their impact and stave off another event of the same magnitude (or worse) as the January 6^th insurrection.

Although intended as a call to arms of sorts, I would be remiss if I didn’t also point out some of the shortcomings of The Flag and the Cross as a scholarly work. The last decade has seen a flurry of research on Christian nationalism, but scholars have only recently begun to turn their attentions to the psychometric properties of some of the measures—like those that Gorski and Perry employ throughout their book—that have been used to capture key elements of the Christian nationalist worldview. Although I do not delve into such a critique here, others (see Davis 2022) have argued that multi-item measures of Christian nationalism do not hang together particularly well and are correlated with other features of American politics (i.e., partisanship) in such a way that diminishes the concept’s utility as an analytical tool. Simply put, Gorski and Perry use an operational definition of Christian nationalism here, as they do elsewhere, that is overbroad to the point that generic conservatism starts to look a lot like Christian nationalism.

I would add that a similar critique can be leveled against the “deep story” of Christian nationalism that they spend a great deal of time developing in The Flag and the Cross. While certainly impressive in its scope, Gorski and Perry’s account of the genesis and genealogy of Christian nationalism throughout the American experience indicts everything from the Star Spangled Banner to Captain America as being tinged with Christian nationalism. To be sure, there is evidence for every element that goes into the “deep story” of Christian nationalism that they tell, but this is because Gorski and Perry look to the historical record asking only what Aileen Kraditor (1972) called “yes-type” questions. That is, rather than being sensitive to whether the undercurrents that they highlight are the main story—or even the only story—that can be told about the developments that they discuss, Gorski and Perry turn to the past with an eye to the present and interpret a host of seemingly disparate events as all being, at root, about Christian nationalism.

One example should suffice to make this point clear. They argue, for instance, that the “individualist component” (p. 71) of white Christian nationalism (one of several “stands” that are not expressly included in the measurement scheme that they employ elsewhere in the book) served to link Christianity with support for free-market policies. One might easily explain how this same linkage came into being, however, with reference to a more conventional story about the give-and-take of coalitional politics and the development of the conservative movement more generally (see Lee 2014). Yes, Christian nationalism might very well be part of the story of how economic libertarian elements became partnered with religious ones on the political right over the last half century, but it is hardly the only way to make such a connection.

In the end, though, Gorski and Perry have, with this little volume, once again set the agenda for future work on Christian nationalism, leaving us with a tantalizing set of suggestions regarding the possible linkages between the Christian nationalist worldview and a host of different forces in American politics. They assert, for instance, but do not explicitly test, that “Christian” functions as a cognitive shortcut for “white” that serves as a rallying point for some. Does the term really operate in such a way? Only further study and experimentation can establish whether it does. They also connect what they call the “apocalyptic strand of white Christian nationalism” (p. 85) with adherence to more secular conspiracy theories. How are such linkages made in the American public mind and what is the relationship between beliefs about the impending end of the world and Christian nationalism? Clearly, further study is warranted, and Gorski and Perry have provided us with a useful starting point from which to address these questions and more.