I was awarded my PhD on Christian Nationalism from a Welsh perspective back in 2011, and in 2015 I published a Welsh-language book drawing on several of its chapters. At the time, the study of Christian Nationalism felt largely like an historical exercise. Yet since then, with religion making something of a return to the public sphere — accompanied by a sharp rise in radical-right politics — my area of research has become far more relevant than I could have anticipated.
In one chapter, I explore the dangers of invoking religious language when discussing one’s nation or nationalism, warning that it risks elevating the nation to the status of a functional god. That grave theological and philosophical error lies, in many ways, at the heart of fascist ideology. This article is based on ideas explored in that chapter.
Today, with the rise of movements like Reform in Wales and across the UK, we are once again witnessing the radical-right co-opting religious language to advance its cause. Here, I seek to explain why this is so dangerous — and why it should alarm Christians who wish to remain faithful to the way of Jesus and Christian orthodoxy.
Throughout history, national identity has been a powerful force for collective belonging, shared purpose, and political organization. But when ideas of nationhood begin to borrow heavily from the language, imagery, and emotional registers of religion, they acquire a dangerous power. Sacralizing or even deifying the nation may seem at first like a harmless metaphor — speaking of “the soul of the nation” or “the spirit of our people” — but this rhetorical shift can fundamentally alter how individuals and communities relate to the nation itself. Instead of a human construct open to debate, reform, or critique, the nation becomes sacred, untouchable, and eternal. This is not just poetic flourish; it can have real and dangerous political consequences.
At its heart, religion deals with ultimate concerns — questions of life’s purpose, morality, death, and transcendence. When national identity is infused with this same rhetoric, it elevates the nation from a historical and cultural entity into a quasi-divine object. The nation becomes “eternal”, its traditions “holy”, its customs “pure”. Any perceived threat to the nation is no longer just a political disagreement but an existential and even spiritual crisis.
Why is this dangerous? Because it closes down dissent. If one’s nation is sacred, then to criticize it is to blaspheme. If one’s national traditions are divine, then to challenge or reform them is heresy. Those who question the nation’s values or historical narratives can quickly be recast as enemies of the people, outsiders, or traitors. In this way, a healthy culture of political debate gives way to an intolerant and rigid orthodoxy.
Moreover, spiritualized nationalism lends itself easily to exclusion. The definition of “who belongs” to the nation becomes not just a matter of citizenship or cultural participation, but a matter of purity and authenticity. Those who are seen as insufficiently aligned with the “soul” or “spirit” of the nation — by virtue of language, ethnicity, religion, or political views — can be marginalized, scapegoated, or worse. In its most extreme forms, this kind of thinking can lead to ethnonationalism, where whole groups are deemed incapable of ever truly belonging, no matter how long they have lived in a place or contributed to its life.
History offers sobering examples of where this can lead. When the nation is treated as sacred, national myths become unquestionable, historical grievances become sacred wounds, and violence in defense of the nation becomes righteous crusade. In such conditions, radical-right movements thrive. They present themselves as the true guardians of the nation’s soul, claim exclusive understanding of its destiny, and justify increasingly extreme policies in the name of protecting its “purity” or “spirit”.
In the twentieth century, fascist ideologies drew heavily on these themes. Fascism is often misunderstood as merely authoritarianism combined with nationalism. But at its heart, fascism was a deeply emotional and quasi-religious movement. It spoke of the nation as an organic, mystical entity, bound together by a shared blood, destiny, and soul. It promised not just political renewal but spiritual rebirth. It offered to rescue its people from decline and humiliation by restoring their lost essence — an essence supposedly corrupted by foreign influence or liberal cosmopolitanism.
This is why warnings about spiritualized nationalism matter, even when the rhetoric seems benign or poetic. The language we use shapes our politics. When we start speaking of national culture as something mystical and eternal — something that gives ultimate meaning to our lives — we risk turning political communities into sacred objects, blurring the distinction between cultural pride and religious fervor.
The danger is not only theoretical. In periods of crisis — economic hardship, cultural dislocation, or perceived national decline — appeals to national spirit can seem comforting. They offer identity and meaning at a time of confusion and uncertainty. But they do so at the cost of openness and inclusivity. When the nation is spiritualized, it becomes easy to sort people into “authentic” and “inauthentic” members of the national community. Minorities, dissenters, and those who advocate for cosmopolitan values are easily cast as existential threats.
Moreover, when national identity becomes quasi-religious, it competes directly with religion itself. In a society where people have lost confidence in traditional religious frameworks, nationalist ideology can fill the gap, offering a sense of belonging, purpose, and transcendence — a secular salvation of sorts. In this way, nationalism can become a surrogate faith. But unlike most religions, which at their best recognize the dignity and worth of all people, nationalist ideologies typically offer a narrow, exclusionary vision: salvation only for the in-group, suspicion and hostility toward outsiders.
This replacement of genuine spiritual concern with nationalist fervor often brings with it a rigid moral framework. Virtue is defined not by the content of one’s character or the quality of one’s actions, but by one’s conformity to the idealized image of the “true” member of the nation. A narrow and nostalgic vision of national life — how one speaks, dresses, worships, or behaves — becomes a litmus test for belonging and loyalty.
Even seemingly well-meaning movements can fall into this trap if they are not careful. Advocacy for cultural renewal, for example, is important and legitimate. Every nation should cherish and protect its languages, literature, customs, and history. But there is a thin and dangerous line between cultural pride and cultural essentialism. When cultural revival movements begin to frame their mission in absolute, almost messianic terms — describing their cause as the recovery of a sacred inheritance or the fulfillment of a spiritual destiny — they risk unwittingly laying the groundwork for radical-right politics.
There is a further irony here. While spiritualized nationalism often begins with calls for protection, renewal, or moral regeneration, it ends by undermining precisely the pluralistic and open society that allows culture to flourish in the first place. Freedom of thought, diversity of expression, and respect for dissent are essential for any healthy culture. A rigid and exclusionary nationalism that demands absolute loyalty and punishes deviation will ultimately impoverish the very culture it claims to defend.
This does not mean that national identity is itself illegitimate or that patriotism is always suspect. Love for one’s country, language, and heritage can be noble and life-giving. But it must be kept in perspective. Nations, like cultures, are human creations. They are made and remade across time. They deserve affection, but not worship; loyalty, but not idolatry.
The lesson is simple but profound: whenever we begin to speak of our nation in spiritual terms — as the source of ultimate meaning, the guarantor of our dignity, the keeper of our soul — we should pause and reflect. History shows that these ideas, though seductive, carry within them the seeds of intolerance, exclusion, and even violence. The line between national pride and national idolatry is thin — and history teaches us what happens when it is crossed.
