Comparing identity politics to a religion is nothing new or unusual. Voices ranging from Andrew Ferguson to Voddie Baucham have done so. The very language of being “woke” has religious overtones (cf. Rom. 13:11).
A graphic example of this mixture of religious language with identity politics can be seen in a video of a woman protesting comedian Dave Chappelle’s supposedly transphobic Netflix special, repeatedly shouting “Repent, [expletive]!” As Rhys Laverty observed, this type of “preaching” offers no good news but rather “an endless, inescapable purgatory.”
To Laverty, Joshua Mitchell would say “Amen.” Mitchell, professor of political theory at Georgetown University, is the latest Christian thinker to critique the religious nature of identity politics. In his book American Awakening: Identity Politics and Other Afflictions of Our Time, he argues “we are living in the midst of an American Awakening,” much like the Great Awakenings of the past—only this time “without God and without forgiveness” (41). Identity politics is the dogma of this new awakening and involves “the pride of believing that we ourselves are clean, that transgression is someone else’s problem, and not our own” (225).
American Awakening is packed with biblical wisdom for Christians of every color, both sexes, and almost all political persuasions. But if you’re a Christian who’s attracted to identity politics, Mitchell wants to convince you that what’s attracting you isn’t a legitimate political extension of Christianity but rather an idolatrous substitute. His chief claim is that “Christianity has not disappeared from America; rather, the Christian categories of transgression and innocence have moved into politics” (34). And unless they’re moved back where they belong, our society is doomed.
False Atonement: Scapegoating Straight White Men
Christianity teaches the doctrine of original sin—all mankind is fallen in Adam and inherits his guilt and stain at birth. The only way to have our stain removed is by having it transferred onto the divine Scapegoat, Jesus Christ, who bore our sins in his body on the tree (1 Pet. 2:24; cf. Isa. 53:6; John 1:29). This is the heart of the Christian gospel: salvation by substitution. What can wash away our sin? Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
But when this message is rejected, the need for cleansing doesn’t just disappear. Instead, we seek to cover our guilt by other means, either engaging in penance ourselves or else finding scapegoats to blame. This has been a driving force for false religions throughout history: the effort to achieve innocence by scapegoating something (or someone), thus appeasing the gods.
When scapegoating moves from religion into politics, we get identity politics. And according to Mitchell, “The scapegoat identity politics offers up for sacrifice is the white, heterosexual man. If he is purged, its adherents imagine, the world itself, along with the remaining groups in it, will be cleansed of stain” (xxi).
Straight white males make a natural scapegoat (I speak as one). In intersectional scorekeeping, we rank dead last. As males, we’re guilty of oppressing women. As whites, we’re guilty of oppressing racial minorities. As heterosexuals, we’re guilty of oppressing those who identify as LGBT+. And worse, according to identity politics, we’ve also “broken the world . . . economically by [our] invention of capitalism . . . and environmentally by the greed of [our] industrial capitalism unleashed” (72).
When scapegoating moves from religion into politics, we get identity politics.
Some of these concerns are legitimate. All of them also require clarification. But, as a whole, this condemnation feels like an updated version of the old “white man’s burden,” only this time with white men cast as the villain instead of the hero.
Mitchell presses the religious nature of this scapegoating further. In embracing his role as scapegoat, the straight white male doesn’t literally have to die (though hopefully demographic destiny will diminish him in due time). But he’s required to forever engage in acts of “innocence signaling.” In a Passover-like ritual, he must display the acceptable “signs of innocence on his front door—or more likely, his office door—for all to see.” Examples include stickers declaring “This office is green,” announcements about upcoming “diversity training,” and New York Times articles excoriating Donald Trump (xxiv–xxv). When they see the blood, they’ll pass over you. Just remember, this is a daily ritual, not a yearly one—so gird up your loins.
Some might wonder if Mitchell is blind to the genuine racial injustices of the past (or present) or whether he may be unwittingly carrying water for true racists. I don’t think he is. He spends an entire section of the book condemning the alt-right as yet another perverse alternative to Christianity (104–20).
But given how broadly the definition of racism has been expanded (10), in addition to being lumped in with other dubious social justice issues (like LGBT+ rights), Christians of all colors will have to risk being falsely accused of this sin by certain hostile sectors of the American public. Our goal is to not actually be a glutton or a drunkard or a racist—rather than to avoid being called one at any cost (Matt. 11:19). God knows our hearts, and he’ll vindicate all who truly love him and his people on the Last Day, if not sooner.
But regarding racial injustice, Mitchell insists throughout the book that “the wound of slavery is a singular wound in American history,” and one that still struggles to heal. Part of the problem, however, is that identity politics has “recklessly exploited” this wound by extending the “black American template of innocence” to more and more identity groups (12, 215). Woe betide the black man or woman who objects to transgender rights piggybacking on the civil rights movement. In this regard, Mitchell contends that “identity politics is racist—for it demands of black Americans that they sit in silence as identity politics castigates the generative family (and the churches that defend it), without which the legacy of the wound of slavery has no hope of healing” (216, 98–104).
What Mitchell objects to isn’t the obvious recognition that straight white men are totally depraved sinners who have committed injustices (xxv) but rather the religious scapegoating whereby they’re seen as a uniquely guilty class against which all other identity groups find their innocence.
This scapegoating will fuel an endless cycle of people who “bite and devour one another” (Gal. 5:15). As Mitchell argues, “innocents must have their scapegoats” (70)—which means once the straight white male has been purged, “someone else—a former innocent—must take his place” (xxxii). Mitchell suspects straight white women will be next in line, followed by straight black men. Indeed many from these groups have already had their innocent status revoked for holding deviant political views (think J. K. Rowling and Clarence Thomas). Identity politics requires its groups to be monolithic in their beliefs, and it only rewards you if you stay within the bounds of orthodoxy.
More importantly, this is antithetical to the gospel. Without creating a cultural melting pot or ignoring horizontal injustice, the gospel does clearly lump the entire human race into one rotten basket, bearing labels like “under sin” (Rom. 3:9), “separated from Christ” (Eph. 2:12), and “by nature children of wrath” (Eph. 2:3). The only way for these damning labels to be removed is the way provided by God himself: Christ crucified and risen. Before this divine Scapegoat, every child of Adam must humbly repent, whether privileged or unprivileged. And before this wrathful Lamb, every unrepentant person will one day flee in terror, whether they’re kings or slaves (Rev. 6:15–17).
False Politics: Trading Liberal Competence for Utopia
Despite the religious overtones of the book, Mitchell is a political philosopher, not a theologian. And his critique of identity politics is part of a broader diagnosis of what ails American society. Mitchell sees identity politics as the current alternative to what he calls “the liberal politics of competence” (i.e., the “classical liberalism” of Alexis de Tocqueville). In this vision, competent citizens seek to “build a world together” despite their religious, social, and political differences (xxvi–xxvii).
Before this divine Scapegoat, every child of Adam must humbly repent, whether privileged or unprivileged.
Mitchell’s liberal competence requires tolerance and forgiveness between individuals and groups. It requires the civil government to restrain itself rather than swallowing up the mediating institutions like family and civil society. It requires the government to give people the freedom both to try and to fail rather than acting like a coddling helicopter parent (26–29).
But perhaps most importantly, the politics of liberal competence involves recognizing that perfect justice isn’t possible in this life, and only God can ultimately settle accounts. In this present evil age, “human relations are never clean; motives are never pure. There are never ‘solutions’ to ‘problems,’ only never-ending trade-offs between lesser evils and partial goods” (191).
It’s in contrast to this more constrained vision of justice that identity politics offers a “shortcut” (xxxi), a way to settle the scores and remove the tares before the final harvest. Put theologically, identity politics is a form of overrealized eschatology that “immanentizes the eschaton.” This is something any orthodox Christian political theology should seek to avoid.
False Discipleship: Turning Supplements into Substitutes
Finally, Mitchell points to “addiction” (147–86) as one of the chief “afflictions of our time” (to quote the book’s subtitle). Addictions are one reason why “there is no expressly political or legal remedy to our problem” (xxviii). If identity politics miraculously disappeared tomorrow, liberal competence wouldn’t immediately return—because addictions would stand in the way (147).
When we hear the word “addiction,” we immediately think of drugs. But in Mitchell’s diagnosis, addiction is simply the disordered state that emerges any time you turn a supplement into a substitute (149). Alcohol can make a good supplement for food and water, but when you decide to “drink your supper” on a regular basis, you get addiction. Here are just a few supplements that won’t work as substitutes:
Facebook friends can’t substitute for real friendships (158–59).
Better weapons can’t substitute for courage (149).
Mercy can’t substitute for justice (51).
Government welfare can’t substitute for private charity or commerce (51).
Fast food can’t substitute for home-cooked meals (154–55).
The federal government can’t substitute for mediating institutions like the family, the church, civic organizations, or your local neighborhood (170–74).
A universal basic income can’t substitute for meaningful labor (47).
The digital world can’t substitute for the analog world (165–70).
I would add the following:
Video games can’t substitute for outdoor play.
Pets can’t substitute for children.
The church can’t substitute for marriage and procreation.
Livestreaming and podcasts can’t substitute for the church.
Sunday school can’t substitute for family discipleship.
Your spouse can’t substitute for same-sex friends.
Twitter scrolling can’t substitute for deep theological reading.
Blog reading can’t substitute for Bible reading.
Culture warring can’t substitute for personal piety (or for culture building).
Most of these things can be good and useful. Some of them are even necessary in their proper place—but only as supplements, never as substitutes. Let’s not kid ourselves. These are stubborn natural realities that not even Christians can transcend—no matter how much gospel-centeredness we try to muster. Our culture isn’t going to be saved or served by addicts with disordered loves. Such salt has lost its savor (if indeed it ever was salt).
Culture warring can’t substitute for personal piety (or for culture building).
Jesus is our only hope, but these are the kind of people he’s building in order to do his work: people who love their neighbors regardless of their race or political tribe; people who can bear with the weakness of others because they know their own sinfulness; people who are sufficiently acquainted with their own sin not to wilt when someone calls them out on it; people who know the “not guilty” verdict of God and are therefore increasingly immune to manipulation and shaming; people who are learning to distinguish supplements from substitutes and to “live self-controlled, upright and godly lives in this present age” (Titus 2:12); and people who know that no amount of virtue signaling or hashtag activism can remove the ugly stain or relieve the guilty conscience.
We don’t need to be anyone’s scapegoat, nor need we look for any other except the One whom God has provided.
This is all my hope and peace . . .
This is all my righteousness:
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
May this good news lead to a truly great awakening.
The Gospel Coalition