THE WAR ON TERRORISM AND SIN

Ira Chernus

We are guided by a power larger than ourselves … We are not this [American] story's author, who fills time and eternity with his purpose. … And an angel still rides in the whirlwind and directs this storm.

On our TV screens the other day, we saw the evil one threatening.

--- George W. Bush, October 11, 2001

When a president uses words like these in his most important speeches, it is time for scholars of religion to begin talking again about civil religion. More precisely, it is time to begin talking about civil religions, in the plural.

The study of civil religion has often been criticized, with good reason, for its assumption that there is, or should be, a single set of beliefs and values that are "truly American." Inevitably, this raises suspicion that the study of civil religion is an ideological and a moral crusade, masquerading as analytical scholarship. But there is great danger of discarding the proverbial baby along with the bath water. If the United States has indeed embarked on a global war that (in Vice-President Dick Cheney’s words) "may never end. At least, not in our lifetime," (Cheney 2001b) we should surely return to studying the intertwining of religion and political life in this nation, past and present.

One way to renew to that study, while respecting pluralism, is to recognize that there has never been a single civil religion. Whatever phenomena "civil religion" might denote, they have always been pluralistic sites of diversity and contestation. Therefore they should be studied in the plural. Studies of civil religions need not perpetuate elite privilege, nor impede cultural diversity, as long as they insist on the plural form.

However, the welter of data does offer some patterns that recur with notable frequency. John F. Wilson, an astute critic of civil religion studies, has identified some of these. He writes: "A resolution is repeatedly believed to be at hand to that one special evil which, when overcome, will permit a long-anticipated…era to be ushered in." (Wilson, 106) The "one special evil" may be a foreign state or group, a group within the nation, a domestic political process, a disruptive social behavior. Most often, it is compounded of more than one of these.

For some Americans, beginning with the colonial Puritans, the form the evil took was a secondary concern, for the core of every evil was the sin within the human soul. The social construction of evil in U.S. civil religions has never been free of this theological taint of sin. In fact, under close scrutiny, sin appears in some surprisingly recent places, including the White House. It might not be surprising to find John Adams or James Madison concerned with the political fruits of personal sin. It might be more surprising to find that the first president of the 21^st century has given the idea of sin a central role in political discourse and policymaking. George W. Bush’s discursive construction of sin is a contemporary variant of the old pattern that Wilson describes.

Bush’s discourse also reflects a corollary pattern that Wilson goes on to point out. The "long-anticipated era" is a "presumably static era." Paradoxically, the most intensely dynamic change is embraced as a route to the cessation of change. Bush’s discourse often seems to promote dynamic positive change. But its ultimate goal is the prevention of unwanted change, in order to achieve a more static national state. In the first year of Bush’s presidency, "compassionate conservatism" and the war on terrorism combined and reinforced each other to create a form of civil religion that leans strongly in this traditional American direction—but with a new twist.

COMPASSIONATE CONSERVATISM

During the 1990s, a chorus of elite voices proclaimed that the world was not less, but more, dangerous than before. Fears of the communists, the bomb, and economic collapse were replaced by fears of narco-terrorists, missile-wielding "rogue states," violent youth, immigrants, and a host of others. Mainstream public discourse was still framed largely in terms of apocalyptic threats and efforts to contain them; perfect stability was still the unquestioned goal. And massive violence was still sanctioned as a means to stability. The public seemed eager to hear about apocalyptic dangers and plans for containing them, but hardly able even to imagine changes that would fundamentally improve their world.

This was the discursive situation in which George W. Bush embarked upon his presidency. In his inaugural address (2001a), when he could talk about anything at all, and his choices would clearly signal his priorities, he made "compassionate conservatism" the most central theme. "Compassionate conservatism" seemed to mark a new direction. Or, more precisely, it seemed to be a return to a pre-cold war mode of discourse. In language more reminiscent of the Roosevelts and Wilson, Bush’s inaugural address focused on improving society. He did acknowledge that Americans are a "flawed and fallible people." He implied a danger of selfishness when he asked his audience "to seek a common good beyond your comfort." Here he voiced the same religious conviction as Eisenhower.

But that conviction seemed to take on a very different meaning, because he did not dwell on the need to restrain the manifestations of sin. Instead he focused improving the lives of all those who have not yet fulfilled the American dream: "The grandest of these ideals is an unfolding American promise: that everyone belongs, that everyone deserves a chance.¼ I will work to build a single nation of justice and opportunity." The emphasis was not on fear, but hope, because "all of us are diminished when any are hopeless."

Bush explicitly contrasted the old images of preventing harm with his own emphasis on spreading prosperity and well-being: "Through much of the last century, America's faith in freedom and democracy was a rock in a raging sea. Now it is a seed upon the wind." In a similar vein, he cited a question posed by an obscure Founding Father, John Page, to Thomas Jefferson¾ "Do you not think an angel rides in the whirlwind and directs this storm?"¾ so that he could close by insisting that "an angel still rides in the whirlwind and directs this storm." Unlike the cold war years, when the U.S. had to hold back the stormy raging sea, now the U.S. would follow God’s direction and guide the storms of history to a better life for all. Faith was presented as a force for promoting positive change, rather than restraining dangerous change, or so it seemed. Of course Eisenhower, too, had used the progressive language of the Roosevelts and Wilson to legitimate his policies. The study of civil religion must always look beneath the surface for deeper meanings.

Beneath the surface of Bush’s words and his program lay a well-articulated religious ideology, based on premises not too different from Eisenhower's. It was based on the writings of Marvin Olasky, whom Bush praised as "compassionate conservatism's leading thinker," affirming that the ideology articulated by the Texas professor and born-again Christian "is an approach I share." (Olasky 2000: vi) Olasky’s first principle is akin to Eisenhower's, though it does not shrink from explicitly religious language: "Man is sinful and likely to want something for nothing.…Man's sinful nature leads to indolence." (1996: :64, 41; on Olasky, see Westbrook, Grann, Kutchins)

Most of the needy got they way because they simply wouldn't control their sinful impulses, Olasky affirms. Their problem is bad attitudes: "appetite and lust and idleness." (1996:60) No amount of aid will make any difference until they decide to live a disciplined life and earn their daily bread by the sweat of their brow. Bush echoed this theme in his inaugural address when he said, "Our public interest depends on private character." In the writings of conservative Christian moralists, "character" is the most common code word for voluntary restraint of sinful appetites. In the same sentence, Bush amplified the theological point: "and the proliferation of prisons, however necessary, is no substitute for hope and order in our souls." Self-restraint brings order to individual life, according to this argument, and only orderly individuals can create an orderly society.

On the question of how to restrain sin and preserve order, Bush and Olasky agree with Eisenhower that the answer must be an inner spiritual transformation. Olasky writes that religion is "the greatest incentive to help and be helped." (1996:31) In his writing, the explicit ideal is 19^th century U.S. society, when (he claims) pious folk understood "the deviousness of the human heart" (1996:53) and saw "faith as central to our being, not a lifestyle option." (1996:30) Bush implicitly beckoned the nation back to that era in his inaugural address. He asked his audience to be "responsible citizens, building communities of service and a nation of character." In Bush’s discourse, character and responsibility are directly linked to both religious faith and free choice. In his second inaugural address as governor of Texas, he said: "All of us have worth. We're all made in the image of God. We're all equal in God's eyes. And all of our citizens must know they have an equal chance to succeed."

Whereas Eisenhower used faith and the "image of God" theme to legitimate democracy vis-a-vis communism, Bush used them to promote his version of social service and progress. But success "does not happen by telling them they are victims at the mercy of outside forces." People succeed "when they realize they have a worth, a dignity, and a free will given by God." (Hatfield:10) The implicit argument is clear. Faith, and only faith, can evoke an awareness of free will and a free decision to use freedom responsibly; i.e., to choose freely to restrain sinful impulses.

During the 2000 campaign, responding to an interviewer’s question about the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal, Bush applied this argument to contemporary U.S. society: "Hopefully this is an awakening for all of us to be able to understand how important it is to keep a check on carnal desires and to be responsible for the decisions we make in life. We've got a culture that has sent a signal that says: ‘If it feels good, just go ahead and do it. And if you have a problem in society, then blame somebody else.’¼ What this country needs to do is to usher in what I call ‘the responsibility era’--where you are responsible for the decisions you make." (Bush 2000) He made the same point in the inaugural address: "We find the fullness of life, not only in options, but in commitments. And we find that children and community are the commitments that set us free."

The message encoded in these words was easy enough to decipher. Everyone must choose, as Olasky says, between religion and "moral anarchy." (2000:107) Clinton and Gore symbolized the "‘60s generation," those who (according to conservatives) rejected religion and therefore were unable or unwilling to restrain their sinful impulses. They legitimized their indulgence of appetites and lusts by calling it freedom. Because they accepted no values as eternally valid, they had no enduring values by which to raise a stable family. They had only the inconstancy of constantly shifting "options" (and, presumably, sexual partners). Advocates of "compassionate conservatism" could hardly be expected to see any virtue in what Robert Wuthnow has called "the spirituality of seeking." They were committed wholeheartedly to the spirituality of dwelling. "Images of a safe, secure spiritual dwelling have continued to inspire nostalgia," Wuthnow asserts, especially among those who grew up in the ‘50s, like Bush and Olasky. They "lament the breakdown of the family, worrying that life has become too complicated and expressing a desire to ‘go back home again.’" (44) This lament was clearly reflected in the praise of "family values" and the attack on "options."

Conservatives attacked not only infidelity but irresponsibility. They accused the "60s generation" of justifying sinful behavior by blaming external causal factors, not freely made choices, which encouraged others to behave irresponsibly. Thus, the argument went, they sowed the seeds of disorder in U.S. society. And they disregarded the consequences of their actions, to themselves and others, because they believed that freedom means being free from any consequences.

Olasky praises the 19^th century’s faith-based social service agencies because they understood the need for consequences and strict accountability. They assumed that "many persons, given the option of working, would choose to sit." (1996:36) So the needy must have constant challenge, testing, and scrutiny to learn the spiritual virtue of self-control. Those lessons will be lost unless those who don't measure up suffer painful consequences. Therefore, 19^th century humanitarians did not merely hand out food and money. "Most significantly, our predecessors made moral demands on recipients of aid." (1996:30) If the recipients chose to ignore those moral demands, they would suffer painful consequences meant to bring them back into line. Bush has also emphasized the need for sinful behavior to carry painful, even ultimate, consequences: "If the death penalty is administered surely, swiftly and justly, it will save lives because people will know that there is going to be a consequence to crime." (Bush 2000)

But Olasky stresses the 19^th century belief that external consequences alone would never fully reform sinner. Only religion can produce the internal pressure needed for change. The shiftless and indolent "need the internal pressure to [as Booker T. Washington said], 'live honored and useful lives, modeled after our perfect leader, Christ.'" (2000:48) So religious groups can help the needy only if they dish out religious teaching and inspiration along with hot meals and job training. They might keep two separate sets of books, one for prayer and preaching, the other for spending federal funds. But if they try to keep the activities separate, our tax money will be wasted. And Olasky urges, above all, the religion of the Bible, where God offers tough love, making stiff demands and expecting them to be met.

Bush would not go this far in his inaugural address. He did say: "Some needs and hurts are so deep they will only respond to a mentor's touch or a pastor's prayer. Church and charity, synagogue and mosque, lend our communities their humanity and they will have an honored place in our plans and in our laws." But his speechwriters surely recognized the Constitutional quagmire he was approaching, so they went no further. During the campaign, however, he had already endorsed specific Christian programs as models of the kinds of programs he wants the government to fund: "Charles Colson's Prison Fellowship ministry comes to mind. They are operating a Christian prison in Texas. They are saying, ‘Why don't we change prisoners' hearts--and watch their attitudes change.’ Look at the Teen Challenge ministry." (Bush 2000)

Here he implicitly endorsed Olasky’s argument that the most effective way to spend public money is to focus not on behavior or even attitudes, but on the inner spiritual state of the recipient. He alluded to the same belief just a week after his inauguration, when he announced the creation of the White House Office of Faith-based and Community Initiatives: "We will help all in their work to change hearts while keeping a commitment to pluralism. We will encourage faith-based and community programs without changing their mission." (Bush 2001b) Pluralism would be safeguarded, he claimed, because the government would fund a religious group only when a secular agency offered the same service in the same area.)

In his very first days as president, then, Bush made it clear that traditional 19^th century notions of sin, salvation, and self-restraint would be central to his civil religion as president. In effect, he was trying to rally the nation to a spiritual revitalization through a collective attack upon sin. He could couch it, quite sincerely, as a call to "help thy neighbor," because in the 19^th century ideology he employed, attacking sin and helping neighbor were inseparable sides of the same coin.

Did this rhetoric reflect the construction of sin in Bush’s personal, private discourse? Unfortunately the sources currently available are far too sparse to evaluate with any certainty. Moreover, nearly all of Bush’s available words on his personal religiosity were constructed for political purposes. But his constant involvement in religious activities since his conversion, and the consistency of his views, put the burden of proof on skeptics who would doubt his sincerity. So a few tentative observations may be useful.

All accounts of Bush’s life agree that on a particular day in 1987, at the Broadmoor Hotel in Colorado Springs, he successfully resolved to stop drinking alcohol. This decision is sometimes depicted as a religious conversion. But the best evidence indicates that his conversion came a bit earlier. In his official campaign autobiography of 2000, he connected the two events: "The seeds of my decision [to stop drinking] had been planted the year before, by the Reverend Billy Graham." (Bush 1999:136) By 2000, Bush could no longer remember just what Graham had said in that crucial conversation in Kennebunkport. But the effect of Graham’s view as well as his person still remained.

For Bush, conversion begins with a confession that "we're all sinners. When you admit you're a sinner, it is recognition that there is a need.¼ an understanding that the human condition requires a power greater than self." (Bush 2000) But conviction of sin need not entail feelings of guilt: "Billy Graham didn't make you feel guilty; he made you feel loved. … I would recommit my life to Jesus Christ. I was humbled to learn that God sent His Son to die for a sinner like me.¼ Through the love of Christ's life, I could understand the life-changing powers of faith." (Bush 1999:136) "I understand that there is a force greater than myself¾ and it gives me great comfort." (Bush 2000)

Bush has never put his beliefs together into any full-fledged theological articulation. But his fragmentary statements certainly reflect classical Christian reasoning. Sinners know that they are guilty when they fail to restrain their impulses (as, for example, in excessive drinking). Yet they are unable to stop sinning on their own. By accepting God’s love, they are no longer in the grip of guilt feelings. They find God Himself enabling them to stop the sinful behavior. In response, they find themselves able to act out of love. In an interview, Bush alluded to love as a principal justification for "compassionate conservatism": "Government can hand out money, but it cannot put hope in people's hearts. Government is limited in its ability to encourage love." (Bush 2000) Apparently, the needy and troubled should be served by religious institutions because only religion can evoke the hope and love that are the source of self-discipline.

One biographer (revealing no source) depicts Bush’s decision to stop drinking as a dramatic conversion in line with this theology: "He fell to his knees and sobbed uncontrollably, asking God to save him before he drank himself to death. " (Hatfield: 72) If it happened this way, Bush surrendered to God’s higher power and discovered, in this surrender, the love of God that enabled him to stop drinking.

However Bush himself, and other biographers, give a very different picture. They contend that the decision was a much more calm, rational decision that he would simply be better off if he stopped drinking. In other words, he drew primarily on his own human powers rather than on divine power. He seems to confirm this in a comment that, according to that same biographer, he frequently makes in public: "A lot of people say, 'Well, gosh, what's in his background, that he had to quit drinking?' What they ought to say, 'This is a guy that's disciplined enough to quit drinking.'" (Hatfield: 72) Self-discipline is certainly a central issue in the "compassionate conservative" critique of Clinton-Gore liberalism. Although Bush’s record number of executions as governor of Texas indicate his willingness to have the state impose discipline externally, he clearly agrees with Eisenhower that an internally imposed self-discipline is far preferable. State-imposed discipline is a regrettable last resort.

This very tentative analysis of Bush’s discursive construction of sin points to the classic Christian dilemma of faith versus works. Bush and his mentor Olasky treat this vexed question in the most simplistic, unsophisticated way. Yet they can not escape it. They certainly do not affirm salvation by faith alone. They expect the sinner to make a free choice to change attitudes as well as behaviors. They are willing to have external agencies impose discipline to compel that change. But they see no hope for the sinner to choose to change without some kind of relationship with the divine. And neither of them express any meaningful notion of the divine apart from the biblical image of God the Father and His only-begotten Son.

In his inaugural address, Bush went on to develop Olasky’s thought in a direction that Olasky himself has scarcely developed. Bush had to tie "compassionate conservatism" to a sense of national mission, a theme that is virtually a sine qua non in any version of civil religion, especially in presidential rhetoric. So, immediately after he promised to "build a single nation of justice and opportunity," he affirmed: "I know this is in our reach, because we are guided by a power larger than ourselves, who creates us equal in his image." In the context of Bush’s religious discourse, this suggests that those who acknowledge a divine creator will also acknowledge the equal claim of all His creatures to justice and opportunity.

Bush was saying more than this, however. In the speech’s conclusion, he spoke of "our nation's grand story of courage, and its simple dream of dignity. We are not this story's author, who fills time and eternity with his purpose. Yet his purpose is achieved in our duty and our duty is fulfilled in service to one another." Here the speech’s argument was made complete. Duty and service require self-restraint, character, and order in our souls, rather than self-indulgent pursuit of options. Only through virtuous self-restraint can God’s purpose for America be fulfilled. So "compassionate conservatism" is the only way for the nation to complete its divinely-appointed mission, a mission that fills eternity as well as time. By the time he closed with the image of an angel riding in the whirlwind, directing this storm, the audience had to conclude that the whirlwind and storm represented the social chaos impending from unrestrained sinful impulse. The angel, of course, is the angel of character, order, and self-discipline. God’s special providence over America gives Americans a unique ability not only to implement those values in their private lives, but to build a common public life upon them.

Here was a richly developed civil religion. To be sure, it offered hope for billions of federal dollars to flow to religious institutions that could help Bush and the Republican Party. But it also offered a more elevated kind of hope. For the first time in half a century, a president was creating a civil religion that seemed to return to millennial hope for a better future, to replace Eisenhower's language of apocalypse management. Yet hidden within this civil religion was a discursive construction of sin not all that different from Eisenhower's. Both agreed that social order built on freely chosen self-discipline is the essential goal of all political policy.

Unlike Eisenhower, though, Bush gave hope and love a central place as the prerequisites for self-discipline. And he applied his religious discourse primarily, not to containing a world-historical evil, but to improving life for everyone here at home. So his discourse of "compassionate conservatism" embodied a distinct tension between its dynamic language of changing individuals and society for the better and its more static language of restraining the discharge of sinful impulses. Would the hopeful element in his discourse¾ the hope of promoting orderly change¾ dominate over the powerful theme of restraint, which implies merely preventing chaotic change?

By the time Bush entered the eighth month of his presidency, that was still very much an open question. After an initial flurry of interest, his program of "compassionate conservatism" had become bogged down in political wrangling. Even its godfather, Olasky, was expressing serious reservations about putting theory into practice. Every route from theory to practice seemed to hold the specter of federal oversight and federal regulations. Conservatives feared that the government might well end up telling the churches how to spend their money. At the liberal end of the political spectrum, Olasky’s inseparable link between social service and spiritual guidance was the frightening specter. So there was almost a tacit agreement between both ends of the spectrum to take the spotlight off of "compassionate conservatism." This left the Bush administration bereft of a banner under which to combat sin and march into the pages of history¾ until September 11, 2001, when the president found, as he himself put it, "our moment and our mission."

THE WAR ON TERRORISM

On the day that four airliners were hijacked, the Pentagon was attacked, and the World Trade Center towers came crashing down, President Bush and his speechwriters faced a major challenge. Within hours, they had to create a new discursive structure. Many options were available for discourse as well as for policy; the events themselves did not dictate any particular kind of response. But the requirements of the president’s office did demand language that could bring coherent, meaningful, and comforting order out of the chaotic experience. To achieve that goal, the structure had to acknowledge the depth of the tragedy yet promise that the nation would somehow transcend the tragedy. And it had to be instantly familiar to the vast majority of Americans. Inevitably, it would draw on past traditions of civil religions. But it remained to be seen whether it would emphasize dynamic hope or static restraint.

The solution that emerged on the day of the tragedy was certainly familiar. "Our nation saw evil," the president announced. "Freedom itself was attacked this morning," and "freedom will be defended.¼ We stand together to win the war against terrorism." That was now the president's, and the nation’s, mission. But the war against terrorism was depicted as more than just a battle of good against evil. It was a test of the nation’s will: "The resolve of our great nation is being tested. But make no mistake: We will show the world that we will pass this test." Fulfilling the mission would be passing the test, and vice versa. Victory was assured for several reasons: "All Americans from every walk of life unite in our resolve for justice and peace"; Americans were filled with a "quiet, unyielding anger"; and Americans would be "comforted by a power greater than any of us, spoken through the ages in Psalm 23: ‘Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil for you are with me.’" (Bush 2001c)

In the weeks that followed, Bush had many opportunities to develop these themes in public rhetoric. But the structure remained essentially the same. The president declared war in every sense but the legal sense. He consistently depicted unity, unyielding resolve, and the divine presence as the keys to passing the test and winning the victory over evil. With God invoked on the side of freedom and goodness, the evil was clearly identified as sin (although he did not use the word itself). He called the nation to a fight against terrorism, the new form of sin, in every possible way.

No doubt the Bush administration chose this discursive structure for many reasons, just as it chose its policies after September 11 for many reasons. Decades from now, historians will still be debating exactly why this administration embarked on a long-term, global war, treating nations deemed "supporting terrorism" as equivalent to terrorist groups themselves. It is far too soon to make any firm judgment about the political or economic motives. Nor is it necessary, in the present context, to make any value judgment about the wisdom of the administration's choices. Perhaps the policies it chose were wise, or tragically necessary. But all policies have unintended consequences, sometimes very far-reaching consequences, that need to be understood. Regardless of why the Bush administration responded as it did, and regardless of whether its response was right or wrong, it is clear that the president's language was framed largely to foster public support for the policies he and his advisors chose. It is important to examine that discursive construction and its long-term impact upon U.S. public discourse.

At first glance, it seems that Bush succeeded so well with the public because he revived the most traditional mode of war language in the U.S.: the apocalyptic crusade against sin. In fact, he did use the word crusade once, before learning that it offended Muslims and so would have to be eschewed. But the concept remained, though with a new meaning. "We don't view this as a war of religion," the president insisted. (Bush 2001g) "Our war on terrorism has nothing to do with differences in faith. It has everything to do with people of all faiths coming together to condemn hate and evil and murder and prejudice." (Bush 2001r) Bush went to great lengths to ally his own Christian faith with Islam, as well as Judaism, as partners in the coalition to defeat evil: "We're going to lead the world to fight for freedom, and we'll have Muslim and Jew and Christian side by side with us." (Bush 2001g) Certainly this was done for strategic and tactical reasons. The war would be fought largely in predominantly Muslim lands; he had to do whatever he could to minimize the anti-U.S. backlash. A perception of the West once again crusading against Islam would be disastrous.

However, Bush’s discursive approach also allowed him to place the enemy, who spoke the language of Islam and presented themselves as pious defenders of the faith, outside the pale of all faith and religion. "These murderers have hijacked a great religion." They were "barbaric criminals who profane a great religion by committing murder in its name." (Bush 2001q) This enabled him to depict the apocalyptic war as a battle against sin waged not just by the U.S., but by every imaginable form of genuine religious virtue: "Throughout the world, people of strong faith, of all faiths, condemn the murder of the innocent." (Bush 2001u) No doubt there was empirical truth in Bush’s claim that most people of all religions, including Islam, condemned the mass murder of September 11. And therefore many Muslims agreed with him that the murderers were not virtuous Muslims nor authentic representatives of Islam. Still, it was striking to hear an evangelical Protestant stating categorically what did and did not constitute genuine Islam, or genuine religiosity in any other faith. The U.S. became the arbiter of true and false religion. But this was a crucial part of the rhetorical strategy. If this were to be a global war of faith against sin, supporting U.S. policies had to become the test of any religion’s virtue and truth.

The logical corollary was the converse: All opposition to U.S. policies had to constitute sin. Bush took a major step in this direction by constructing the acts of September 11 as the epitome of sin. Over and over again, he repeated the word evil. He consistently referred to those whom the U.S. would attack as "the evil ones" and "the evildoers." In his speech before Congress on September 20, which defined the U.S. mission and his discursive commitments more than any other, he credited the terrorists with certain dastardly goals: "These terrorists kill not merely to end lives, but to disrupt and end a way of life." Terrorism’s aim "is remaking the world and imposing its radical beliefs on people everywhere." The terrorists harbor this aim because "they hate our freedoms." This construction allowed Bush and his audience to ignore the very specific sources of anger articulated by the man he held responsible, Osama bin Laden. For years, bin Laden had complained of excessive and baneful U.S. influence in Muslim lands, especially the permanent U.S. military bases in Saudi Arabia and the U.S. bombing and sanctions in Iraq. Bush’s image of bin Laden as an imperialist made bin Laden’s charge of U.S. imperialism seem logically impossible and therefore irrelevant. But this speech generally left the impression that the enemy was motivated by some humanly comprehensible, even if reprehensible, goals. The U.S., it seemed, had become a victim of what Samuel Huntington has called "the clash of civilizations."

However that seminal speech also planted the seeds of a rather different view, which would soon become Bush’s preferred view. "They're the heirs of all the murderous ideologies of the 20th century. They follow in the path of fascism, Nazism and totalitarianism¼ abandoning every value except the will to power," he declared on September 20. If so, their urge to dominate the world came not from any specific ideological commitments, but from sheer, unbridled lust for power.

In the weeks that followed, Bush never reverted to the "clash of civilizations" theme. He barred even the most minimal admission of the enemy’s humanity. "They have no justification for their actions. The only motivation is evil." (Bush 2001k) "We've seen that evil is real." (Bush 2001q) On October 11, he offered a full construction of the enemy as the epitome of sin: "An enemy has emerged that rejects every limit of law, morality and religion.¼ Behind them is a cult of evil." This cult committed "pure malice while daring to claim the authority of God.¼ We cannot fully understand the designs and power of evil. It is enough to know that evil, like goodness, exists." Addressing schoolchildren, the president said: "These attacks are from some people who just are so evil it's hard for me to describe why. It's hard for us to comprehend why somebody would think the way they think and devalue life the way they devalue it and to harm innocent people the way they harmed innocent people. It's just hard for all of us adults to explain." (Bush 2001v)

The evildoers "have no country, no ideology. They are motivated by hate," Bush insisted. "Evil knows no borders, no boundaries." (Bush 2001r) He did not shrink from the logical consequences: "In our world, there is no isolation from evil." (Bush 2001u) Yet everywhere, "the terrorists have chosen to live on the hunted margin of mankind. By their hatred, they have divorced themselves from the values that define civilization itself." This was certainly a frightening image of an inexplicable, irrational, implacable evil¾ evil for its own sake¾ already spread throughout the world. If the enemies were beyond understanding, it was easy to conclude that they were also beyond the reach of divine love and redemption. Personalizing the cosmic evil, Bush labeled Osama bin Laden "the evil one." (Bush 2001 r) The image would be immediately comprehensible to anyone familiar with traditional Christian imagery of the Devil.

It might be equally comprehensible to the more theologically sophisticated, who were familiar with the work of Reinhold Niebuhr. Niebuhr’s enduring influence on the U.S. foreign policy elite since the 1940s is legendary. Many policymakers have prided themselves on their "realism," a tradition largely legitimated (and some would say instigated) by Niebuhr’s "Christian realism." Had Niebuhr been alive in the autumn of 2001, he might have been pleased to hear a U.S. president insist on the reality and inscrutability of evil. Bush seemed to be rejecting the liberal optimism that Niebuhr excoriated. According to that liberal view, a fundamental goodness prevails in history. To be sure, there are evil actions. But they are caused by unfortunate circumstances. Once circumstances are improved, behavior improves. All humans are redeemable, because there is no innate evil within us. "Christian realism" refuses to accept this view.

Although there is no evidence that Bush is familiar with Niebuhr’s work, it is not surprising to find him arriving at Niebuhr’s conclusion, for the two share some basic theological tenets: no one can claim moral perfection; all people are sinners; no one can escape from the snares of sin on their own power; only by a relationship with the divine can we overcome the power of sin. If the Devil is the source, the embodiment, or the symbol of all sin, then every person has a diabolical aspect. So it may have been easy for Bush, in explaining the war on terrorism, to agree with Niebuhr that evil is ultimately unmotivated and inexplicable. It arises from the perversity of the human will, or from an innate will to power. When Bush identified terrorism with fascism and totalitarianism, he was focusing on the very forces that moved Niebuhr to adopt the full-blown "Christian realist" perspective. In good Niebuhrian fashion, Bush administration officials warned that the U.S. would have to associate with rather unsavory forces in order to defeat terrorism; in the "city of man," where all of us are sinners, sinful means must be used to prevent even worse sins. In all these ways, Bush seemed to be continuing the Niebuhrian strain in U.S. foreign policy.

Yet Bush also continued the tradition of policymakers drawing selectively on Niebuhr’s thought. The overarching discursive structure of the cold war denied that U.S. goals and values were at all tainted by sin. Sinful means were actually being justified by the image of an apocalyptic dualism pitting American absolute good against communist absolute evil. Since there could be no compromise, and the consequences of defeat were apocalyptic annihilation, all means were permitted in pursuit of victory. Niebuhr spent the last 15 years or more of his life protesting against this apocalyptic dualism, which claimed perfect virtue for the U.S. and the "free world."

Were he alive in 2001, no doubt he would have protested as strenuously against Bush’s apocalyptic dualism. Terrorists "have divorced themselves from the values that define civilization itself," the president insisted. "This conflict is a fight to save the civilized world and values common to the West, to Asia, to Islam." (Bush 2001u) Civilization, equated with all forms of religious faith and virtue, represented the opposite of sin and evil. "This is civilization's fight," he declared, and there could be no neutrality, because "God is not neutral" (Bush 2001h) "Stand with the civilized world, or stand with the terrorists." (Bush 2001n)

To choose for civilization was also to choose for the United States: "The civilized world is rallying to America's side." (Bush 2001h) The U.S. had to be identified with absolute good in order to sustain the claim that terrorists are absolute evil, and vice versa. If the terrorists could make any claim to have understandable goals and purposes beyond simply evil for evil’s sake, there might be some reason to consider whether U.S. policies had provoked the terrorists. If the U.S. bore any taint of impurity, there might be some reason to question the virtue of U.S. policies. The Bush administration was clearly bent on preventing any such questions or discussions. So the president once again evoked the overarching theme of the inaugural address¾ God’s special affiliation with and providence for the American way of life¾ which, now as always, implied the unique moral purity and innocence of God’s chosen nation, embarked on their divine mission of eradicating sin from the world.

Building on this apocalyptic dualism, Bush constructed a traditional biblical drama of God guiding his people from adversity to triumph: "God's signs are not always the ones we look for," he told the prayer service. "We learn in tragedy that his purposes are not always our own." (Bush 2001d) On many occasions, he found hope arising from tragedy and fear by invoking the imagery of apocalyptic rebirth: "I believe my faith teaches that out of evil can come good." 2001v 10/24 "Out of our tears, I said I see opportunity, and we will seek opportunity, positive developments from this horrible tragedy.…We've entered into a new day," (Bush 2001g) These last words referred specifically to the "new kind of war" he so often proclaimed. But the words carried overtones of millennial progress, which he soon made explicit: "The future of the world is at stake." (Bush 2001r) "We have found our mission and our moment." 2001h 9.20 "They just strengthened our country." (Bush 2001j) U.S. strength and determination would create "an age of liberty here and across the world," "a legacy that this administration and this generation can leave for future generations." (Bush 2001h, j) "We see an opportunity to not only defend freedom but to make the world more peaceful." 2001m 10/4 Occasionally, he even spoke of "a war to save the world." (Bush 2001m, s) All of this progress would depend, of course, on a total victory over terrorism. So, just as he compared terrorists to Nazis, Bush compared the new kind of war with the very familiar "good war," World War II (a comparison suggested thousands of times in U.S. news media). He repeatedly vowed that he would not rest until terrorism was defeated, echoing Franklin D. Roosevelt’s demand for unconditional surrender.

However, the seminal September 20 speech included two crucial lines that limited the commitment to total victory. Bush promised that the war "will not end until every terrorist group of global reach has been found, stopped and defeated." He offered no definition of "global reach." (Bush spokesman Ari Fleischer, asked about this next day, responded equally vaguely: "Those who carry out acts of terror that threaten freedom will find a very strong foe in the United States.") This left the administration free to disregard terrorism that it defined as not of "global reach." More importantly, Bush described the war as "a task that does not end." These remarkable statements went almost totally unremarked at the time. Public discourse could still assume that World War II was the operative model for defining victory. Yet top officials of the administration endorsed and amplified Bush’s limited vision of victory. Vice-President Dick Cheney said, "There's not going to be an end date when we're going to say, `’There, it's all over with.’'' (Cheney 2001a) On another occasion, Cheney was more qualified, saying that "it may never end. At least, not in our lifetime." Cheney 2001b) Gen. Richard Myers, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, endorsed Cheney’s view.

Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, in press briefings, gave the fullest interpretation of this vision of endless war. He acknowledged that U.S. actions "surely will not" eliminate terrorism "completely from the face of the Earth.¼ You can't stop [terrorists] from doing things that are unpleasant to their neighbors or their neighboring countries." Yet in his view this did not contradict the president's claim that the U.S. would win the war. "We can continue to live in a world with powerful weapons and with people who are willing to use those powerful weapons," Rumsfeld said, "and that will be a victory," as long as "the American people and our interests and friends and allies and deployed forces can go about our business not in fear." (Rumsfeld 2001a)

"We live in a world that's a dangerous world," Rumsfeld explained. "It's an untidy world, it's a big world. We have to engage in that world as free people because the linkages we have across this globe are so centrally a part of our lives¼ that we have no choice but to contribute to a more peaceful and stable world.…What you can do is to go after the problem to a point that you are satisfied that the American people are going to be able to live their lives in relative freedom and have the kinds of linkages with the rest of the world that we feel are so central to our well being." (Rumsfeld 2001a) "The United States is linked with so many nations across the globe that we need to be able to engage in the kinds of things that Americans engage in.…What we are attempting to do is to assure that we can prevent people from adversely affecting our way of life. We are a free people.¼ Children have to go off to school and we have to have reasonable expectation that they'll be coming home from school." (Rumsfeld 2001b)

A new definition of victory emerged from Rumsfeld’s tortuous sentences. When the American people felt relatively free to continue their accustomed lifestyle based on extensive international linkages (presumably commercial linkages, above all), while accepting that some threat of terrorism would always exist, the war would be won. In another word, which was not used though it might well have been, the goal was not unconditional surrender but containment. This should not have been any surprise, because Rumsfeld also explained that the "new kind of war" was not so new; it "undoubtedly will prove to be a lot more like a cold war than a hot war.''

This took the Bush administration, and the nation, a large step back into Eisenhower's civil religion of apocalypse management. Now terrorism rather than communism was the visible manifestation of sin. But the goal was the same: containing and restraining the dangerous changes that the forces of sin try to instigate. Bush, like Eisenhower, would strive for global stability. He said as much on September 20, when he warned that terrorism anywhere would "threaten the stability of legitimate governments. And you know what? We're not going to allow it." (Bush 2001h) "So long as anybody's terrorizing established governments," he repeated a few weeks later, "there needs to be a war." (Bush 2001t) Perhaps, in 2001, this new effort at global containment was a very good idea. Perhaps it was a tragic necessity. In any event, it had major consequences for the basic structure of Bush’s discourse.

With stability the goal, the description of the enemy as sin incarnate¾ "the evil ones"¾ took on a different function. It could no longer be a spur to apocalyptic improvement of the world. It could be only a dire warning of the urgent need to prevent catastrophic change. So the U.S. appeal to other nations to join the war on terrorism was an appeal to become part of a global barrier resisting radical change. Every nation and religious group could prove its faithfulness to true religion and civilization only by become part of that U.S. – led wall of containment. This implied that religious faith could prove itself true and a force for good, not by showing its capacity to initiate positive change, but rather by showing its capacity to prevent dangerous change.

However, in order to build public support for the war effort, Bush and his advisors continued to rely heavily on apocalyptic language. The president promised "every means to assure full victory for the United States and the cause of freedom." (Bush 2001r) He called on the whole world to "stand by our side to defeat the evildoers." (Bush 2001k) The qualifier "of global reach" was often forgotten: "This nation will defeat terror wherever we find it across the globe." (Bush 2001s) It sounded like a World War II vintage call for unconditional surrender, the utter extinction of evil. In the larger discursive context, however, it was clear that apocalyptic faith, like all other forms of faith and discursive constructions of sin, were being pressed into the service of resistance to unwanted change. This was a striking example of the traditional pattern described by John F. Wilson. The nation was being rallied to combat "one special evil" so that "a long-anticipated era" of perfect stability could be achieved. Images of the most intensely dynamic change were being embraced as a route to the cessation of perilous change. But, as Wilson pointed out, behind the quest for stability and the apocalyptic imagery lay the ultimate eschatological horizon of all such language: a "presumably static era," the cessation of all change.

CONSTRUCTING COMPASSION AND SIN

From September 11, 2001, forward, Bush made it clear that the war on terrorism would be the overarching goal of his administration. Now he knew what his presidency was about: "We have found our moment and our mission." His construction of sin and a global war against sin would be the scaffolding on which all his discourse would be erected. What, then, of the previous mission of "compassionate conservatism"? It was not at all forgotten. Rather, it was folded into the war on terrorism. This was not difficult, because ultimately the war and "compassionate conservatism" both aimed at the same goal: restraining sin.

The words compassion and compassionate were often on Bush’s lips as he framed the nation’s response to the attacks. He praised the compassion of the many Americans who went out of their way to help others. And he offered that compassion as evidence that the nation would pass the test: "We're too great a nation to allow the evildoers to affect our soul and our spirit. ¼ Today, I herald the soul and spirit of America with live examples of people who have made a huge difference in those who suffer and those who hurt. This is a great land. It's a great land, because our people are so decent and strong and compassionate." (Bush 2001f)

Yet he created a distinct image of a nation carrying compassion in one hand and violent justice in the other. "This nation is peaceful, but fierce when stirred to anger," he told a prayer service. (Bush 2001d) When asked at a press conference, "Is it your view that every sinner should get a chance to redeem himself?", Bush answered, "Of course. But our ability to affect host nations harboring terrorists will depend upon our determination, our will, our patience." Then, a few minutes, later he repeated that he would give the Taliban government of Afghanistan "a second chance." (Bush 2001r) The most vivid symbol of this dual response was the widely heralded fact that, when U.S. planes began dropping bombs on Afghanistan, they also began dropping small food packages: "We are showing the compassion of America by delivering food and medicine to the Afghan people, who are themselves the victims of a repressive regime." (Bush 2001r)

Bush explained the bifurcated policy: "We have no compassion for terrorists in this country. Nor will we have any compassion for any state that sponsors them. Oh, yes, we're a compassionate nation, but our compassion is limited. We have great compassion, however, for the millions around the world who are victims of hate, victims of oppressive government, including the people who live in Afghanistan.…We will fight evil, but in order to overcome evil, the great goodness of America must come forth and shine forth. And one way to do so is to help the poor souls in Afghanistan." (Bush 2001m) "Great tragedy has come to us, and we are meeting it with the best that is in our country, with courage and concern for others…And this is why we will prevail. (Bush 2001e)

In all these ways, Bush used the concept of compassion to legitimate the war effort. American compassion was constructed as the antithesis of the sin of "the evil ones." The war was thus waged by the forces of compassion on behalf of the value of compassion, as well as being accompanied by compassion. Compassion was constructed as an essential weapon to defeat sin. The word’s implicit reference to "compassionate conservatism" could hardly be missed.

However, Bush’s discourse drew other important links between the war on terrorism and "compassionate conservatism." He spoke repeatedly of the war as difficult test, a test of the nation’s willingness to sacrifice immediate pleasures for a longer term good. (At the same time, ironically, pragmatic economic concerns led him to urge Americans to spend money; this, too, was framed as a form of sacrifice.) The nation was being challenged to show its resolve and discipline. And he voiced certainty that America would pass the test, because willingness to sacrifice was so intrinsic to its enduring strength. He told of a letter from a child with a father in the military. "I'm willing to give him to you," she wrote. Bush commented: "This young girl knows what America is all about. Since September 11, an entire generation of young Americans has gained new understanding of the value of freedom and its cost and duty and its sacrifice." (Bush 2001p)

These are all the virtues that Olasky and his 19^th century predecessors praised in the virtuous recipients of aid. For them, the process of giving aid was a test. Only those who were willing to sacrifice and show self-discipline would receive aid, because they had proven themselves worthy; Therefore, they alone understood the nature of American virtue. This gave deeper meaning to the link between true religion and the compassion of the warriors against terrorism. They would defeat "the evil ones," Bush implied, because their compassion was a sign of their self-restraint. They obviously would have "character" and "order in their souls." This further implied that the enemy’s evil consisted of unrestrained selfishness, the very opposite of American compassion.

In order to insist that the terrorists would fail and the U.S. would pass the test, Bush argued that terrorism was in fact strengthening the nation precisely in its compassion: "The evil ones have sparked an interesting change in America, I think, a compassion in our country that is overflowing.¼ I know their intended act was to destroy us and make us cowards and make us not want to respond, but quite the opposite has happened. Our nation is united, we are strong, we're compassionate, neighbors care about neighbors." (Bush 2001the) The sinners had tried to destroy America, whose essence is compassion, he implied. The only way to defeat "the evil ones" was to foil their plan, by showing more compassion than ever.

Bush created a link between sacrifice and compassion quite explicitly and at some length:

I see a great opportunity when I see moms and dads spend more time with their children here at home. I see, out of this sadness and grief, an opportunity for America to re-examine our culture, to re-examine how we view the need to help people in need whether it be in our own neighborhood and around the world. I see, out of this evil, will come good, not only here at home, as youngsters all of a sudden understand the definition of sacrifice, the sacrifice of those brave souls on Flight 93, who after the 23rd Psalm said, let's roll to save America. (Bush 2001m)

So America is sacrifice. I think the interesting thing that has happened, and this is so sad an incident, but there are some positive things that are developing. One is I believe that many people are reassessing what's important in life. Moms and dads are not only reassessing their marriage and the importance of their marriage, but of the necessity of loving their children like never before. I think that's one of the positives that have come from the evildoers. (Bush 2001r)

Bush also drew a direct link between the new-found compassion and religious institutions: "We've got moms and dads reassessing values, recognizing there are things that are so precious in life, like their children and their marriage and their family and their church and their synagogue and their mosque. Values are strong in America." (Bush 2001v) This was clearly an allusion to the "family values" so closely linked to the ideology of "compassionate conservatism."

The discourse of the war was easily tied to "family values," because that discourse included a thinly veiled attack on the ‘60s-style spirituality of seeking. Bush’s description of terrorists as pure evil was widely hailed as a rejection of moral relativism. (New York mayor Rudolph Giuliani, addressing the United Nations General Assembly, made this point explicitly.) No appeal to circumstances or causal factors could matter at all, it was said. Now, finally, every American would have to admit that there was indeed absolute good, absolute evil, an irrefutable difference between the two, and an inescapable duty to of the good fight against evil. There were no options, at least not for a truly patriotic American. In the logic of this discourse, a willingness to go to war was the only way to prove oneself on the side of the good. And the heart of that good was "compassionate conservatism."

Bush used "compassionate conservatism" to tie together all the pillars of his discursive construction of the war on terrorism. Compassion was uniting the nation around moral absolutes, demonstrating its firm resolve to pass the test, and showing that a faithful nation was obeying the will of God, thus insuring continuing divine guidance. Thus it was not only a generic idea of compassion, but the specific elements of "compassionate conservatism," that legitimated the war. However the process also worked in reverse. The war on terrorism served to revive public commitment to "compassionate conservatism" and the flagging spiritual campaign initiated in the inaugural address.

In one important respect, though, the rhetoric of the war on terrorism went beyond the inaugural address. That speech had been directed almost solely to a national arena. After September 11, Bush globalized ""compassionate conservatism." His rhetoric constructed an implicit syllogism: all civilized nations must choose the side of America; America supports, and is virtually coterminous with, "compassionate conservatism"; therefore, all civilized nations must choose "compassionate conservatism." This syllogism made "compassionate conservatism" not only the essence of American values but the essence of all civilized values.

This universal claim was legitimated by Bush’s frequent references to the world’s religions. Again, the chain of reasoning was implicit but clear: all genuine religions share the same moral values; those values are the values of all civilized people; all civilized people must choose "compassionate conservatism"; therefore, "compassionate conservatism" is essential too (and perhaps the essence of) all genuine religion. And since patriotic American values were construed as the only universally legitimate values, no alternative value system could be available, even in theory, to a good person. The only alternative to "compassionate conservatism" was to be among the evildoers. This was the deeper implication of Bush’s dictum: "God is not neutral."

CONCLUSIONS

In the public discourse of George W. Bush, "compassionate conservatism" was enlisted to support the war on terrorism. But the process also worked the other way. The war became a means to boost to the flagging fortunes of the moral crusade announced in Bush’s inaugural address. The two focal points of the Bush administration became complementary and mutually reinforcing parts of a single discursive construction, a new form of civil religion. The war and "compassionate conservatism" were both constructed as ways to overcome sin, do God’s will, and help the United States fulfill its divinely appointed mission. It was easy to merge the language of patriotism with the language of 19^th century moral reform. If patriotism meant a willingness to fight, no matter how great the sacrifice, and if the enemy were ultimately sin itself, then patriotism had to go hand in hand with the battle against sin.

How did this merger affect the unresolved tension in "compassionate conservatism," between hope for social progress and restraint of chaotic change? In some of his public words, Bush seemed to be putting the language of war at the service of progressive change. He talked extensively, for example, about building a democratic and prosperous post-Taliban Afghanistan. Certainly this language helped to bolster domestic support for his initial war effort in Afghanistan. It was easier to see the war in a positive light if it were being fought not only to prevent more harm, but to make one corner of the world a better place.

Yet it is hard to imagine that the U.S. public would so enthusiastically support a war fought primarily to make life better for Afghans. The center of gravity in Bush’s discourse, and the primary source of his public support, was the constantly repeated claim that the war would prevent further acts of terrorism on U.S. soil. And terrorism was constructed as a threat to the existence of the United States and civilization itself. So the language of the war on terrorism was predominantly the language of apocalypse management. Once "compassionate conservatism" was linked with the war, the language of dynamic change associated with "compassionate conservatism" was enlisted in the service of apocalypse management’s goal of global stability. The implication of promoting dynamic change, so prominent in Bush’s inaugural address, was largely eclipsed by the countervailing implication of preventing dangerous change. Like the war, "compassionate conservatism" became primarily a way to manage apocalyptic threats foreign and domestic, to protect the fragile dwelling place that the nation had become, to satisfy the nostalgia for a spirituality of dwelling.

After September 11, 2001, Bush’s civil religion took on a more definite shape. It was built upon a fundamental image of a nation devoted to the mission of containing all forms of sin, foreign and domestic. In an era of apocalypse management, of course, sin could never be eradicated. Indeed, the discourse of the terrorist attack and the U.S. response reinforced the assumption that sin is a permanent fact of life. This gave new urgency to the social and political project of restraining the forces of sin. Within this discursive construction, a true patriot would fight and sacrifice endlessly just to keep the national dwelling safe—to keep sin outside the walls—by simultaneously fighting against potential attackers beyond the nations borders and purifying moral life inside the borders. The spiritual crusade now aimed primarily, not to improve the world, but merely to save it from apocalyptic destruction.

The first presidential civil religion of the 21^st century thus conforms to part, but not all, of the traditional pattern that John F. Wilson described. It does point to a "presumably static era" as its eschatological horizon. But the goal would not be achieved by finally eliminating "that one special evil" blocking the path to salvation. Rather, an endless process of maintaining global stability by managing apocalyptic threats would itself be the goal of the nation’s divine mission as well as the path to fulfilling that mission. In Bush’s civil religion, as long as Americans fight and show compassion, firmly believing that "an angel still rides in the whirlwind and directs this storm," (Bush 2001a) the nation and the world will be pure, stable, and safe from the ravages of sin. That static state of safety, constantly protected by "compassionate conservatism" and war, is itself the highest form of obedience to God’s will.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

2001f speech from the White House Rose Garden 9/18/01

2001j comments on executive order 9/24/01

2001k speech to CIA employees 9/26/01

2001s remarks to military personnel in Sacramento 10/17/01

2001u address to the CEO Summit at the APEC Forum in Shanghai 10/20

2001v speech at the Dixie Printing Company, Glen Burnie, Md. 10/24

Olasky, Marvin.

1996 Renewing American Compassion. New York: Free Press.

Huntington, Samuel.