Author Interview: "Ministers of Propaganda: Truth, Power, and the Ideology of the Religious Right"
Author Scott Coley gives us a wonderful resource for understanding the (il)logic underlying right-wing religio-political culture warriors. And you'll laugh a bit, too.
I’m excited to share about a recently released book written by philosopher Scott Coley, “Ministers of Propaganda: Truth, Power, and the Ideology of the Religious Right.” I first began to interact with Scott on Twitter (RIP) back in the good old days before it became what it is now. I continue to be impressed with his clarity of vision and explanation regarding serious issues facing the United States and particularly Christianity in our country.
Scott’s book appeared just a couple weeks ago and I wanted you all to have the opportunity to learn a bit more about his book. It really is a wonderful read in that you’ll be learning constantly but it never feels like work. My experience reading it was like keys smoothly sliding into locks and opening doors in my mind. I also endorsed the book, officially:
“I couldn’t put this book down. Coley skillfully provides a framework that reveals how and why influential portions of American Christianity have consistently failed to embody the command of Jesus to love our neighbors as ourselves. Equipped with this knowledge, readers will be able to recognize these mechanisms at work, faithfully confront those advocating only for self-interested expressions of Christianity, and pursue a more just future for all.”
Now, on to the interview!
I want to start with the opportunity for you to give your “elevator pitch” for the book. In that spirit, give us a peek as to what the book is about.
A majority of white evangelicals in the US (hereafter “evangelicals”) appear to inhabit an alternate reality—one in which the 2020 election was stolen, systemic racism is a myth, the scientific establishment and mainstream media regularly disseminate misinformation, public schools are grooming children, and climate change isn’t real. This alternate reality has a cognitive element and a social-political element. Ministers of Propaganda is the fruit of my effort to understand each of these elements and how they relate to each other. Ultimately, I argue that cognition and social practice form a kind of feedback loop in which corrupt practices engender corrupt thinking—which thinking, in turn, serves to justify corrupt practices.
What I love about this book is how you systematically build your case that reveals the logic (or illogic!) behind how evangelical ministers have (and continue to) made their claims and used the Bible in particular ways. Can you share an outline of how you build your case?
If I’d written this book ten years ago, I probably would have argued that evangelicals favor regressive policies because they don’t think clearly, e.g., about the moral significance of institutions (e.g. laws and public policies) or the way that history and group identity might conspire to limit one’s access to wealth, income, and opportunity. In other words, I would have argued that evangelicals tend to favor (morally) bankrupt policies because they hold (intellectually) bankrupt beliefs. I now understand that this is only part of the picture: yes, bad beliefs often engender bad social practices or political commitments—but what I’ve learned in the process of researching and writing this book, and what I hope to impress upon the reader, is that it's equally important to understand that bad practices engender bad beliefs. This is what I call ideology: a feedback loop in which beliefs shape practices, and practices shape beliefs.
A striking historical example of such a feedback loop is found in the cooperation between white supremacy and racial segregation in the Jim Crow South: racial segregation (a social practice) normalizes white supremacy (a belief), which in turn reinforces racial segregation, which perpetuates white supremacy. So there’s a feedback loop between bad beliefs and bad practices.
An important conduit in this feedback loop is what we call a “legitimizing narrative,” which is exactly what it sounds like: it’s a story we tell ourselves about why the social arrangements that we prefer are morally legitimate. Much of the book focuses on legitimizing narratives that draw on the resources of Christian theology. I show how evangelicals have effectively transformed the Bible into a perennial source of justification for social arrangements that benefit themselves, often to the detriment of already marginalized groups.
The implications for what you argue are pretty substantial. Growing up in the evangelical subculture I was able to personally identify with so much of what you show us in your book. In particular, what this now means for folks who still identify with the religious tradition, or for those who now find themselves outside it. Given what you’ve shared above, what are the implications of your argument for evangelicalism in the US, and for American Christianity and Christians?
The book argues for at least two practical suggestions that I think all Christ-followers should be eager to embrace, regardless of political persuasion. The first is a basic orientation toward politics, and the second is an orientation toward scripture. In the political arena, our ambition shouldn’t be to institute laws and public policies that benefit ourselves. Machiavelli can teach us how to pursue our own self-interest—we don’t need Jesus for that. Jesus calls us to something entirely different. According to the logic of the cross, self-interest comes last. When we apply that logic to the political sphere, we arrive at a political vision that prioritizes the orphan, the widow, and the dispossessed. This means advocating for laws and public policies that conform to the truth about what others deserve and what we owe to each other.
Similarly, we shouldn’t approach the Bible in such a way that the text consistently legitimizes social arrangements that serve our own interests. If your encounters with scripture routinely produce just-so stories about why God mandates social hierarchies that benefit you, then you’re probably approaching the text with the question, “Who should have all the money and power, and why is it me?” Again, Machiavelli can teach us how to manipulate religion in order to get what we want—we don’t need Jesus for that, and it’s not what Jesus calls us to do. And yet, as I demonstrate in the book, evangelicals have been doing exactly this for decades if not centuries. It's an anti-Christian orientation to scripture.
Importantly, you and I don’t need to agree on a single doctrinal or political issue to agree on these two basic points about how we should orient ourselves to scripture and politics. And if more evangelicals were to adopt this approach to politics and scripture, the resources of our faith would be totally useless to the aims of authoritarian ideology.
I also want to share that there were points in this book where I legit laughed aloud. The humor you employ at points—even when stating weighty claims—is exceptional. I know from your social media presence you are skilled at turns of phrase (y’all should follow Scott online!). Were there times while writing that you felt compelled to use humor or a bit of satire to in a sense “help the medicine go down”? Having written about really emotionally and spiritually charged topics, I know there are times where it almost feels like too much! Or, perhaps you were really just allowing your own style and personality to come through?
I’ve been really delighted by the response to the book’s use of irony and humor. I think this aspect of my writing is motivated partly by pedagogy and partly by personal taste. Humor helps us remember things. And I tend to favor dry humor—not only because it’s my preference, but because it requires the audience to pay attention if they want to be on the inside of the joke.
Finally, I like to try and end with a note of hope. If your experience writing was anything like mine, there were certainly days when writing where hope was pretty hard to find. Can you speak to some of your own experience while writing this book, and where you find yourself today?
In moments of discouragement, I think it’s helpful to step back and distinguish two related but importantly different sets of personal loyalties. As an American, I’m loyal to a particular political project, the promise of certain ideals as I understand them, public institutions, shared traditions, and so on. As an American, I’m not optimistic about the near term. I’m cautiously hopeful that changes in demographics and attitudes might come swiftly enough to salvage our liberal democracy. But the next several years are going to be unpleasant. And I’m sorry to say that much of the unpleasantness will be wrought by the selfishness, myopathy, and naked ambition of our coreligionists. It will be difficult to watch—largely because this morass of our own making is so predictable and avoidable.
That said, as a Christ-follower, the United States isn’t the horizon of my hope. My citizenship here and now is a fact about the place and time in which I live out my vocation. I don’t mean to be cavalier about the real problems in front of us—indeed, an important part of my vocation is, I believe, resisting authoritarianism. I suppose that hanging onto hope in this situation is a bit like maintaining work-life balance. My job is really important to me, but it’s not who I am—it’s a social role that I inhabit. Similarly, resisting religious authoritarian threats to American democracy is important to me. But ultimately it’s something I feel called to do—it’s not who I am.