In the span of a few weeks, both the current and former U.S. presidents have publicly invoked the Almighty in ways that provide a revealing window into the American political soul.
For Donald Trump, it was declaring divine intervention after narrowly escaping an assassination attempt. “It was God alone who prevented the unthinkable from happening,” Trump said, seemingly interpreting his brush with mortality as evidence of providential purpose, like many of his supporters did.
For Joe Biden, it was initially claiming that only a request from “the Lord Almighty” would compel him to drop his reelection bid, before later conceding that dismal polling data might also do the trick.
On the surface, these statements couldn’t be more different — one, a belief in divine favor; the other, a hyperbolic quip. And yet, both reflect the remarkable persistence of religious ideas and imagery in American political life, even in an increasingly secular age.
References to God’s will and God’s blessing have long been a staple of U.S. politics, from the puritanical language of the Founding Fathers to the seemingly obligatory “God bless America” that closes most modern presidential speeches. It’s practically required that politicians proclaim their faith, with a quarter of Americans still saying they would never vote for an atheist candidate.
But in a country with growing religious diversity and a rising share of “nones” unaffiliated with any religion, what do these ritual invocations of the divine really signify? Are they mere rhetorical flourish or something deeper?
In the case of Trump and Biden, the substance is less about theology than about a shared belief — real or affected — in a God who takes an active interest in human affairs. Their discourse invokes a Supreme Being who intervenes in elections, guides the course of nations, and places a thumb on the scale of history.
This idea of a deity intimately engaged with worldly concerns can serve multiple purposes. It can be a source of solace and strength in times of strife, an organizing principle for an otherwise chaotic existence, and a powerful tool for asserting moral authority and rallying popular support.
It also reflects a characteristically American tendency to see the hand of Providence behind national triumphs and trials.
From the moment the Pilgrims set foot on Plymouth Rock believing they were divinely ordained to establish a “city upon a hill,” the American story has been steeped in a sense of sacred destiny. The First Great Awakening of the 1730s and 1740s, which sparked an unprecedented religious revival, reinforced the notion that the colonies were ordained by God. Centuries later, the Civil Rights Movement was infused with the language and symbolism of the biblical Exodus.
In times of war and economic hardship, American presidents have often reached for religious language to comfort the nation and frame its sacrifices in a larger moral context.
During the Civil War, Abraham Lincoln spoke of the conflict as a divine punishment for the sin of slavery, famously vowing in his second inaugural address to pursue the fight “with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right.”
Amid the depths of the Great Depression, Franklin D. Roosevelt asserted that “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself,” echoing the biblical injunction to “fear not,” and declared that “the money changers have fled from their high seats in the temple of our civilization” — a New Testament allusion to Jesus driving the merchants from the temple in Jerusalem. By portraying the nation’s ordeals as a crucible of spiritual testing and renewal, such language has lent transcendent meaning to earthly events.
While this fusion of religious and civic identity has often been a force for social change and shared purpose, it has an uglier side in the form of messianic nationalism, xenophobic crusade and a self-righteous sense of exceptionalism.
The belief that the United States is a divinely anointed “New Jerusalem” has sometimes bred an arrogant disregard for other nations, expressed in policies like the Monroe Doctrine and the invasion of Iraq. It has fueled an expansionist impulse to remake the world in our image, from Manifest Destiny to the Marshall Plan. And it has fostered a Manichean worldview that frames rivals and adversaries as godless enemies.
Equally troubling, groups from the Puritans to the Ku Klux Klan have invoked God’s blessing to justify rigid intolerance, viewing their religious and racial identities as a badge of divine favor.
History offers cautionary tales of political and military leaders who claimed a monopoly on God’s will to sanctify their agendas and demonize their foes. While Trump and Biden’s recent remarks do not rise to the level of zealotry, they nonetheless illustrate how even our most dogmatic political leaders are not immune to sudden outbursts of public piety in moments of personal and professional peril. But their instrumental use of religious rhetoric also highlights the way sacred symbolism and sweeping spiritual narratives continue to infuse our secular politics — for better or for worse.
This persistent appeal to divine authority, even in an increasingly diverse and secular society, underscores the enduring power of religious symbolism in American political discourse. In a nation where Judeo-Christian assumptions still shape the moral imagination of many voters, God-talk remains the ultimate trump card — even for those who rarely walk the walk. Until that changes, expect the Almighty to be a fixture on the campaign trail, regardless of the religiosity of the speaker.
Asma T. Uddin is an attorney, a Deseret contributing writer and the author of “When Islam Is Not a Religion: Inside America’s Fight for Religious Freedom” and “The Politics of Vulnerability: How to Heal Muslim-Christian Relations in a Post-Christian America.”