Washington’s Warning

Faith is waning and you’re whining. We should’ve heard Washington’s Warning.

Juan P. Villasmil is currently a student in Georgetown University’s Security Studies Program, a research fellow at the Center for a Secure Free Society, an editorial assistant at The Spectator, and a Constitutional Studies Fellow at The American Conservative.

If you read The American Postliberal, you probably do not need to hear this, but the decline of faith — and with it, community — is a major problem for our country. Many of you know this crisis of faith at an almost instinctual level, instructed not solely by mere observation, but by a deep and personal relationship with God. To y’all, I raise a glass. 

Let’s be honest, though, you are the exception, not the rule. I do not mean this to be just another “America needs a religious revival” piece. Yet, you do read the Bible and go to Church. In today’s America, to put it bluntly, you are the heretic. And it is important to acknowledge this if you want to deal with reality, not just whine about it.

Most of Gen Z does not know faith like you do. Many did not grow around faith at all, others maintain superficial religious involvement, and some have distanced themselves from the Church. For most of us, pursuing faith seriously is difficult, especially when we fail to conceive how exactly it will make our lives better. 

I like to think of the parable of the sower in Matthew 13:31-35. In it, Jesus explains how the humillity and receptiveness of one's heart is neccesary for entrance into his heavenly kingdom, and he calls for us to cultivate such hearts. The role of cultivating is key — it is a process. Heaven belongs to those who want, who strive for an open heart, not just to those who have one.

The act of wanting to open one’s heart is the precondition, the necessity. Hence, the question I think better Christians than myself should be asking themselves is: How do we get people to want to open their hearts? That’s also the question that I’ve been asking myself lately. After all, even as I write this, I find it difficult to believe. And for me, it has been a communal understanding of religion and its role, not individual circumstances, that has helped me want to open my heart.

It was Washington’s words, not Jesus’, that made me initially think about faith after a period of severe disconnection. It is my understanding that a real Christian faith wants itself to inform the political. I think it is important for Christians to remember that to reach the mind of the far removed, you sometimes need to speak their language.

Do not get me wrong, I’m not arguing for changing traditions. All I am saying is that I think that having the “why we must want faith” conversation, even if done in a political fashion, inspires more reflection among those in our age group than almost all other conversations of the sort. 

I now want to reflect on my religious understanding through Washington. I wrote this piece after a time where my faith was at one of its lowest points. Still, the process of writing about faith and the introspection that followed made me think about it more than ever before. I hope you start to think about wanting faith — about its purpose beyond individual salvation and conviction. As just a warning, my following reflection is meant to be a tad polemical. Sometimes I borrow from Nietzche’s aggressive humor — but I do not borrow much else, so don’t worry.

Unlike what a few loudmouths may suggest, neither America’s foundational documents nor most of its history depict a nation characterized by a French-like devotion to laïcité. This may very well be because the Founders were not French — thankfully — or maybe because they never got to learn from intellectual giants like Christopher Hitchens. Mainly, though, it appears like they may have liked the idea of an ordered civilization with a people inclined to defend it at any cost.

In all seriousness, aside from one’s Lincolnian inclination to laugh when one should weep, as our nation distances herself from God, properly looking at the Founding is necessary.

In the last few decades, like narcissists with their mirrors, a growing class of misguided humanist intellectuals has attempted to portray the Founding as nothing but a reflection of their preferences. Nowhere is this more evident than in their advocacy for a secularized society, and in their regurgitation of mockeries of the establishment clause, claiming it prevents any public expression of religion.

By the end of his second presidency, after twenty years of public service, George Washington left to his “friends and fellow-citizens” a brilliant valedictory. Since then, his “Farewell Address” has become a popular source of quotes for pure-hearted politicians and a call to action for good souls in a capricious citizenry.

From the start, in a seemingly Tocquevillian fashion, Washington centers his letter on the preservation of mores, communicating directly with citizens, not just to say goodbye, but to demand precise forms of engagement for the continuation of the national project. In doing this, Washington calls for social cohesion as a prerequisite for nationhood. He asserts that for “citizens, by birth or choice, of a common country, that country has a right to concentrate [their] affections,” granting feelings of ownership, not just cognizance, their rightful place.

In the same vein, in expressing the vitality and virtue of national unity, he continues by noting that “[t]he name of American, which belongs to [us] in [our] national capacity, must always exalt the just pride of patriotism more than any appellation derived from local discriminations.”

It does not end there. Unlike what compulsive progressivism dictates, the Great American adds that “with slight shades of difference, [we] have the same religion, manners, habits, and political principles. [We] have in a common cause fought and triumphed together; the independence and liberty [we]  possess are the work of joint counsels, and joint efforts of common dangers, sufferings, and successes.”

In other words, for Washington, diversity was not an inherent strength. Strength, in his eyes, resides in the commonalities, of which, religion is listed first — and political principles last. Hence, from early on in his letter, we see the former president directly reject some of the most ludicrous postulations of hubristic humanists, who read into the Founding unfounded secularism.

If this were insufficient, Washington then proves that his substantive defense of religious society is more than a flirtation. He states that “of all the dispositions and habits which lead to political prosperity, religion and morality are indispensable supports.”

He continues by suggesting that by virtue of their religiosity, citizens are inclined to defend their national inheritance: “In vain would that man claim the tribute of patriotism, who should labor to subvert these great pillars of human happiness, these firmest props of the duties of men and citizens.” Additionally, Washington inquires, “Where is the security for property, for reputation, for life, if the sense of religious obligation desert the oaths which are the instruments of investigation in courts of justice?”

The sophists of our time can play around with words, as in to suggest that Washington, for instance, never talked about religion with the meaning that has been attached to the word for centuries.

Yet, if it it is clear enough by now, Washington includes a precise and refreshing refutation: “And let us with caution indulge the supposition that morality can be maintained without religion. Whatever may be conceded to the influence of refined education on minds of peculiar structure, reason and experience both forbid us to expect that national morality can prevail in exclusion of religious principle.” In saying this, he conveys that there is no national morality without a religious population.

Following the refutation, Washington then calls for the promotion of, “as an object of primary importance, institutions for the general diffusion of knowledge.” Interestingly, right after making the case for religion’s vitality, the statesman advocates for the spreading of institutions tasked with the “essential” role of securing that “public opinion” remains “enlightened,” which leaves us with another question: Was religiosity tied to the knowledge that he wished be diffused? And the answer to that is almost certainly a resounding yes. For Washington, freedom from religion leads to chaos and freedom of religion ought to not translate into the demise of shared ethos. 

This may discomfort some, as treating Washington’s words like Washington’s words does not yield ammunition to defend the ubiquitous platitudes of the day. Still, we must not let discomfort prevent us from taking Washington’s Warning at its face. 

We cannot let a ragtag group of lazy thinkers, incredulous activists, and ill-intentioned deconstructionists continue to trick us into believing that, in accordance with the American intellectual tradition, religiosity is secondary, even replaceable, in the pursuit of the national project that our Founders put in march.

If we as Americans decide to not take the decline of religiosity seriously, then we are not taking Washington seriously. We can debate whether we can move forward with a new cohesion-inducing mechanism — although the ones offered so far seem deficient. Before we can even hope to revive Christianity in our country, we must first wrestle with Washington’s words.

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