Bad Faith

August 7, 2025

by Daniel N. Gullotta

In Mark 9:38–41, the disciples are troubled to see someone casting out demons in Jesus’s name who is not part of their circle. Expecting rebuke, they are surprised when Jesus affirms the outsider’s work: “Do not stop him... for the one who is not against us is for us” (Mark 9:40).

  Jonathan Rauch, a self-described atheist, gay, Jew, and senior fellow in governance studies at the Brookings Institution, is certainly not a member of Jesus’s movement. Yet in Cross Purposes: Christianity’s Broken Bargain with Democracy, Rauch finds himself doing something in Jesus’s name: advocating Christianity as essential to the health of liberal democracy.

  Not long ago, this would have seemed an unlikely role for Rauch. In a 2003 Atlantic essay, he all but cheered the decline of Christianity in American public life, envisioning a more inclusive and enlightened society where people like himself might finally inherit the earth. In Cross Purposes, Rauch offers a striking reversal. He admits, “My younger self acknowledged the social benefits of religious participation but imagined that other institutions and pursuits could substitute, an assumption which proved wrong as an empirical matter.” He now argues that the consequence of Christianity’s absence has been not moral progress, but a cultural vacuum increasingly filled by forces that corrode the civic and ethical foundations of liberal democracy.

  Part mea culpa, part sociological analysis of a post-Christian America, part polemic against post-liberalism, part defense of democratic ideals, and part proposed remedy for a fractured church, Rauch’s Cross Purposes is trying to do a lot between its slim covers. At its heart, however, is Rauch’s plea for Christians and secularists alike to recognize and recommit to the implicit yet essential relationship between Christianity and liberal democracy.

  The conceptual framework of the book is straightforward. Rauch breaks down contemporary American Christianity into three categories: “Thin,” “Sharp,” and “Thick.” According to him, most churches today, particularly the historic mainline Protestant denominations, fall into the category of “Thin Christianity.” These churches, in his assessment, have become culturally diluted and spiritually enervated, failing to provide meaningful moral guidance and doctrinal depth.

  Echoing Ross Douthat and sociologist Christian Smith, Rauch argues that “thin” communities have become overly assimilated into American life, reflecting secular values rather than shaping them. The result is what he calls a “cultural trade deficit,” where Americans increasingly turn to alternative but less powerful belief systems such as “wellness culture, occultism, Wicca, radical social justice (‘wokeness’), the New Age, techno-utopianism, the alt-right, and more.” But according to Rauch, these alternatives fall far short of the Christian tradition they aim to replace. They lack its institutional grounding and moral coherence and are too individualistic and emotionally driven by the moment.

  If Thin Christianity lacks both bark and bite, “Sharp Christianity” is defined by both. Rauch does not name specific denominations, but does speak of predominately white evangelical churches that have aligned with figures like Donald Trump.

  As the name suggests, Sharp Christianity is confrontational, divisive, and overtly politicized. Rauch considers this form troubling, as it often rejects democratic pluralism outright. Some “sharp” Christians counsel retreat from an American society they regard as irredeemably corrupt (opting for countries like Hungary). Others are aggressively seeking to impose its moral framework on others. In its more charitable expression, Sharp Christianity is driven by fear, in its more cynical manifestations, by raw political ambition. Rauch argues that this development is not primarily the result of secular hostility, but rather the outcome of “tragic decisions made by Christians themselves” by focusing on culture warring and partisan entanglement.

  “Thick Christianity,” finally, represents a more resilient and demanding faith that combines personal commitment with communal engagement. Rauch’s primary example is the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, a choice likely to surprise both secular readers and evangelical Christians. Yet for Rauch, Mormonism embodies the virtues he finds lacking elsewhere: theological clarity, lay leadership, robust volunteerism, and a strong institutional commitment to service, education, and civic responsibility. He notes that many Latter-day Saints are drawn to professions that benefit the public good, such as teaching, medicine, and social work, as well as to family-centered and community-oriented entrepreneurship.

  Rauch also applauds Mormons’ pragmatic approach to pluralism. Though doctrinally opposed to same-sex marriage, the LDS Church supported the 2022 Respect for Marriage Act, which sought to balance religious liberty with civil marriage rights. For Rauch, this is a compelling example of Thick Christianity contributing to democratic life without compromising its principles.

All sounds nice in theory and echoes other writers who have praised the religious contribution to American civil society. The problem, of course, is the practice. Although Rauch admires from the outside, he would never commit to the kind of Christianity he describes. This is the deepest flaw running through Cross Purposes. Rauch wants Christians to behave like Christians only so long as they act like the sort of Christians he happens to like. That is, the kind who remain socially useful and politically non-threatening (and probably vote for Democrats, or at least, do not like the actually existing Republican party enough to support it).

  Equally frustrating is the way Rauch insists that Christianity must get back in line with liberal democracy. It seems that it is only liberalism that sets the terms: Christians may operate freely within their own institutions, so long as they make peace with liberalism’s dominance in the broader society and culture. As his second chapter makes plain, Rauch has no patience for evangelical dissent from the liberal consensus. His so-called “Sharp Christianity” is caricatured as fearful, authoritarian, and theocratic, yet he never seriously engages the causes of its emergence or the legitimate grievances fueling it.

  Rauch too easily waves away the sweeping changes that have occurred in American society (legal, cultural, and institutional) which have not only marginalized Christian voices but in many cases have made it difficult for traditional Christians to participate in public life without compromising core convictions. He applauds the Supreme Court for protecting religious liberty but fails to ask why those cases reached the Court in the first place. Rauch dismisses concerns about cultural hostility as paranoia, yet he never engages the deep structural secularism now embedded in media, education, law, and corporate power. It seems that he wants Christians to keep playing the liberal game, but also to ensure that they never win.

There is a political and theological incoherence at the heart of Rauch’s vision, then. He wants churches that are communally thick, and morally serious, but only so long as they are not politically assertive. He admires the zeal and cohesion of conservative denominations, yet prefers the politics of the dying mainline. The baffling thing is that Rauch names the problem and even cites scholars like David Hollinger who have chronicled, the theological and institutional collapse of mainline Protestantism. Yet he fails to grapple with why those churches have declined, namely, their embrace of theological minimalism and political accommodation. 

The reality is that theological minimalism does not produce vitality. The churches that are growing today, such as the Anglican Church in North America (ACNA) and the Presbyterian Church in America (PCA), are precisely the ones Rauch is most likely to find unsettling: they hold firm doctrinal boundaries, articulate moral clarity, and have emerged from culture war ruptures over issues like same-sex marriage, gender identity, and abortion to embrace effectively conservative positions. To be clear: these churches are not explicitly partisan in the way Rauch criticizes. But they have an unavoidably political quality that seems to make him uncomfortable.  

In the end, Cross Purposes is a personal and often earnest book, full of reflections that will resonate with anxious secular readers. It is accessible, laced with Rauch’s icy wit, and at times genuinely insightful. At its best, it contributes meaningfully to the growing genre of liberal secularists realizing (too late) that you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone, including Christianity. But it ultimately fails to grasp the true nature of the thing it seeks to save.

           In this way, Rauch’s project is less an anomaly than a continuation of a long-standing tradition in American religious commentary, dating back at least to Tocqueville (whom Rauch opens his book by quoting). Like many before him, Rauch admires the public effects of religion, especially its capacity to cultivate civic virtue, sustain community, and promote moral order, all the while remaining uncomfortable with the actual beliefs that underwrite those effects.

  Yet Tocqueville seemed genuinely anguished about his struggle to believe. Rauch is merely the latest in a growing list of figures who aim to “hack” religion, extracting its social and psychological benefits while discarding its theological claims. Consider Jonathan Haidt wanting Sabbath rest as a detox from tech overload, Alain de Botton admiring religion’s aesthetic and communal architecture, Tom Holland crediting Christianity for Western moral intuitions, or Sam Harris extolling awe and meditation. These figures who value religion’s fruits but have little interest in its roots. Yet without those roots, the fruits eventually wither. A culturally useful but theologically hollow Christianity may satisfy short-term civic hopes, but it cannot sustain a living faith. And it is doubtful that such a compromised religion can inspire the very virtues Rauch, and others, so clearly admire.

Daniel N. Gullotta is Assistant Professor at The Ohio State University’s Salmon P. Chase Center for Civics, Culture, and Society.