Books I Read So You Don't Have To | Part 4

Part 4: Jesus & John Wayne, Kristin Kobes Du Mez

Introduction

Out of the 3 books I set out to read so you don’t have to, I knew that Jesus & John Wayne by Kristin Kobes Du Mez was going to be the most intense. With a subtitle How White Evangelicals Corrupted a Faith and Fractured a Nation, it isn’t difficult to see why this book caused quite a splash when it was released in 2020. Published in the midst of the political and evangelical earthquake that was the beginning of this decade, rather than offer solutions, Du Mez’s book adds to the confusion.

Her project traces all the various threads of the last 100 years in evangelicalism to show that theology, power, and politics were all intertwined to make the nomination and subsequent election of Donald Trump to the American presidency inevitable. In essence, Du Mez makes the implicit case that in 2016, evangelicals voted for Donald Trump not in spite of his moral flaws, but precisely because of them.

At almost 300 pages of historical prose, Du Mez takes a blow-by-blow approach, walking through every aspect of cultural evangelicalism in the 20th and 21st centuries. This is another attempt at "history.” However, like Beth Allison Barr, although she is attempting to be objective in her history, Du Mez can not help but show her cards throughout. She clearly has an ax to grind, and she can not hide her bias.

The nature of this book makes it really difficult to review—it is part storytelling, part historical drama, and part shrill activism. Du Mez has dismissed any and all critiques of her book by deflecting, accusing her audience of misunderstanding the connection between faith and history, and claiming that people simply want to discredit her and her work (for one example, see here). So this review is an attempt to highlight the key problems I see with this book and the dangerous method it employs. Let’s begin.

John Wayne Masculinity

The title of the book is central to her argument. She asserts that Christians of the 1900s were sick of wimpy, feminine Christians, so they latched on to anybody who exuded some form of masculinity—like John Wayne. Wayne's masculinity was militant and rugged, and that masculinity was then transferred to homes from fathers to sons, producing a hyper-masculinity and inevitable patriarchy (more on that below).

Americans in the 20th century, particularly post WWII, desired to see America become a leading figure in the world, and despised any sort of effeminacy. The general love of manly men like John Wayne, despite his moral foibles, were evidence of this. American Christians, then, fought to reconcile that rugged and aggressive masculinity with traditional Christian virtue. For Du Mez, this approval of brash Christianity was at its root racist. "Invariably, however, the heroic Christian man was a white man, and not infrequently a white man who defended against the threat of nonwhite men and foreigners (p. 39)."

Du Mez then spends chapter after chapter connecting the assumed dots. Throughout the entire project, she makes every effort to show the connection between religion and politics—the creation of the “Religious Right”. This, coupled with “macho masculinity” led inevitably to militarism and Christian nationalism (p. 95). She seems to be tracing and critiquing these pastors and theologians from various decades and across a diverse range of contexts—ranging from Billy Graham to Carl Henry to James Dobson to Mark Driscoll—as war-mongering and dramatic men with the intention of stirring up religious activism. Ironically, Du Mez’s entire book is meant to do the exact same thing.

Patriarchy and Womanhood

Du Mez’s targets vary, but very clearly in her crosshairs are the topics of reformed theology and complementarianism (patriarchy). Again, multiple chapters are given to tracing the history of the dramatic and public sexual scandals throughout the past 100 years in evangelicalism. Oftentimes, Du Mez’s book reads like a gossip column of a bygone era, carelessly weaving together facts and allegations from suspect and disgruntled sources. It is as if she has collected all of the salacious details of the very real sins of men in order to create a barrage of cases to prove some point. But what is her point?

Du Mez’s clear intent is to show you that conservative theology necessarily produces these types of abuse. For Du Mez (and Barr), the flowchart looks like this: inerrancy leads to patriarchy, which leads to Christian nationalism, which leads to white supremacy (p. 27). For Du Mez, this is a slippery slope that results in racism, misogyny, and sexual abuse. But this simply doesn’t follow. Can bread, in certain conditions and if left unattended, develop mold? Of course. But that doesn’t mean all bread necessarily will produce mold. And it certainly doesn’t mean that the possibility of mold means to never make bread. The same analogy could be employed for every position, including Du Mez’s. In a sinful world, there will always be cases of abuse and extreme misapplication, but that doesn’t mean that the starting point was wrong.

There is also an obvious association fallacy between all these stories. Just because these cases have some things in common—conservative evangelicalism and “traditional” views of manhood and womanhood—does not mean they are the same nor that they will lead to the same conclusion. Any student of Church history would contest the equivocation between men like Billy Graham and Bill Gothard, Mark Driscoll and James Dobson, and more. It is just simply too simplistic to equivocate between all these characters in order to draw the conclusions that she does.

A Field of Strawmen

One of the most frustrating parts of reading this book was that Du Mez documents these events throughout history and presents them as objective, undisputed facts. This is laughably and demonstrably false. There is no such thing as a perspective from nowhere. There is no such thing as an objective history. Throughout the entire project, beginning with her subtitle, Du Mez reveals that she has an axe to grind. Words and phrases are loaded and framed in a negative light—”patriarchal marriage”, “militant Christianity”, “fundamentalist preacher”, “conservative evangelicals”, “‘getting saved’” (in scare quotes). Her attempt at scholarly work reads more like hysterical activism.

I would dare say that any and all of the cast of characters she describes throughout all 300 pages would object to the way that Du Mez represents them. Many of the men she describes are dead, so they are unable to defend themselves. But many are alive—some are even men I know. So where is she getting all her info?

This may be a personal thing, but I like books that include their citations in the footnotes of the page. Not only does that make the reading experience easier (as opposed to in-text citations that muddy the prose), but it also allows the reader to check and trace the author’s sourcing much quicker and easier. Du Mez’s citations are all collected at the end of the book in a sea of words and numbers, forcing you to flip back and forth to see where she gets her evidence.

I’m not attributing any malicious motivation to her, but simply to note that, as you read story after story and scandal after scandal, you really are taking her word for it. However, I started digging into her sources for the more recent scandals. I found many of her citations to be websites. When followed through, I discovered that there are frequent references to activist blogs. For example, when commenting on an alleged cover up abuse scandal, Du Mez cites a blog by T.F. Carlton, a former member of the church in question, as an accurate and authoritative source on the history of the scandal. However, T.F. Carlton’s bio reads as “the founder/editor of Are Women Human?, a space for queer feminist and critical race analysis of religion, media, and pop culture.” Considering what she is critiquing is a conservative, reformed church like ours, this is far from an objective, scholarly source.

If this is her method, doubt is cast on all of her historical work throughout the entire book.

Conclusion

This is not a serious work. Despite the appearance of an unflinching history and a machine-gun approach meant to overwhelm the reader with evidence, Du Mez’s book lands as nothing but a shrill and unhelpful piece of activism. It is filled with dishonest framing and misrepresentation.

Despite a complete absence of Scripture or theological engagement, Du Mez can’t help but make theological and ethical conclusions. But because she presents this material as simple and objective history, you must accept her implicit conclusions or be seen as part of the problem. But I can condemn the very real sin and lament the very real pain described in these stories, as well as reject the conclusion that it is the natural and unavoidable consequence of conservative theology. In fact, it is precisely because of my biblical standards that I am able to call that sin wrong. I can walk and chew gum at the same time.

Proverbs 20:19 says, “Whoever goes about slandering (“gossiping” NIV) reveals secrets; therefore do not associate with a simple babbler.” The wisdom of Scripture, and my recommendation, would be to avoid the gossip and babbling found in the pages of Jesus & John Wayne.