An Awakening Of Conservative Christians: Rick Santorum On Faith And Politics

"Like" the Patheos Evangelical Page on Facebook to receive today's best commentary on Evangelical issues. In October 2010, I interviewed former Senator Rick Santorum, who at the time was working at the Ethics and Public Policy Center and, as he said, "kicking the tires and having my tires kicked" about a potential run for president. The conversation was centered especially on the roles of faith in politics and how Senator Santorum lived out his convictions in office. As it happened, my hard drive was damaged and the interview was inaccessible until recently. Given Santorum's rise in the Republican primary contest, and the enduring nature of the issues we discussed, I thought it would be interesting to transcribe and publish the interview. I want to begin with questions regarding your own political career to date, and what you've learned along the way. You were elected to the House of Representatives at the age of 32, and then to the Senate at 36. You are well known as a Catholic, but that much success at a young age might well tempt a person to pride, and access to such power might well tempt one to seek power for its own sake. How did you maintain—or perhaps sometimes even fail to maintain—the proper perspective on yourself and your political career? I can say in all honesty that I didn't always maintain the right perspective. Pride comes with the territory when you're successful—and particularly when you're successful in such a public manner—and surrounded by large groups of people who work for you. There are a lot of trappings to political success. It's very easy—even if you are not caught up in the adulation, which was not a common issue for me—to struggle with pride. My particular struggle with pride centered on the importance of the things I was doing. I came to believe (and there is some legitimacy in believing it) that when you're working on very important things, that makes other things less important. So you tend to forget some of the basic necessities of life, to be so driven that you do not treat your fellow man in the way you probably should treat them, and to pay too little attention to the other important things in life. This was the great trap of pride for me. I could always legitimize it by saying that I was called to do these important things. In retrospect, now that I can look back and see my colleagues from the outside and not just the inside, I understand and sympathize with that struggle—but that doesn't mean it was right. How, then, do you escape the temptations of pride in such lofty circumstances? For me, it was a matter of having an accountability circle. Accountability is extremely important. In light of the public respect that comes from being a United States Senator, I was always deeply blessed to have a wife who kept me grounded. My staff was the same way. We also had a prayer group of peers who watched out for each other. They see things others don't, because they work beside you and many of them have the same issues. Sometimes you can see them in others more easily than you can see them in yourself. And finally, from the faith point of view, it was key for me to keep my mission in focus. You have to remember that you're in that position in order to serve others. It's about serving God, serving your country, and serving the people you were elected to represent. Some have characterized your political style as confrontational. What is the right way for Christian politicians to engage in disagreement? I was confrontational when I felt it was important to be confrontational. My record, also, though it's not necessarily accentuated, was also rather cordial and effective at getting things done in a cooperative way. My legislative accomplishments are fairly long and exclusively bipartisan, and I often worked together with people with whom I had many disagreements and very contentious relationships. For instance, if you look at the fact that I went toe-to-toe and had some rather harsh debates with Barbara Boxer, and yet we worked together to sponsor three different pieces of legislation—two of them fairly significant pieces on foreign policy that we agreed on—that will tell you that you can be confrontational and also work together when that's necessary in order to get things done. She didn't necessarily take the lead on those pieces of legislation. I did, but she did support them. Or for another example: Dick Durbin and I don't get along at all, but we worked together on AIDS and animal welfare bills. It wasn't always comfortable. We had some very tough differences. But we wanted to get these things done, so we put our other differences aside. It's important to argue passionately for the things you care about, but you have to keep the issues from being personal. You were defeated in your race for reelection in 2006. You probably didn't envision a six-year exile from elected office. What has it taught you? I actually did envision what happened in 2006. Some people come to Washington with strong feelings about what made this country great and successful, and a strong desire to see those things reflected in the laws of our country. I call those people conviction politicians. I was not trying to be a successful politician who gets reelected by following the direction in which the wind is blowing. I was trying to move public discourse. In a state like Pennsylvania, which is centrist at best, perhaps center-left, a person with my convictions is going to have trouble when the wind blows the wrong way. That's a given. I was prepared for that. In the providence of God, however, do you feel that the loss and the six-year interim have changed you for the better? Losing isn't the worst thing that could happen to you. You learn to appreciate the opportunities you have. You never know how long your life will be, or how long you'll have the opportunity to make a difference. So you try to take advantage of those opportunities, do your best with them, and have no regrets. For the most part, I can say that that's been the case. I have no regrets from the standpoint of the public policy I advocated for. I certainly have regrets for some of the things that happened, and some of the things I've said and done. But overall my sense is that losing and being out and looking at the world differently can be a very good thing for your life and for your family. For me, it was a very good thing to be able to be outside of Washington during this critical time and see it from the standpoint of how the average American sees it, as opposed to someone inside who is playing the game. You're not only a politician but also a student of political history. Progressive Christians like Jim Wallis often allege that their conservative brethren only care about abortion, homosexuality and perhaps pornography. Is that an accurate characterization of the Religious Right that you knew, or was there also a broader view of social transformation? It's not that conservative Christians don't care about those other things. It's that they don't see the government as the operational force behind them. That's a very important distinction. If you look at conservative Christians in Congress, many of them give financially or volunteer support for a lot of things that help their fellow men and their communities. You don't necessarily find that on the other side of the aisle. They tend not to be charitable givers, volunteers, or to be involved in community organizations. This is a reflection of how we understand the Lord's call for us to take care of those who are in need in our society. Conservative Christians generally believe that responsibility should not be farmed out to the government. It has to be personal. It's best for those in need, and for those providing for those in need, when people take personal responsibility. It's not: "I pay my taxes and therefore I don't have to care for my brother." It's: "I pay less taxes so I can have the opportunity, and fulfill the obligation, to better care for my brother." So I find it unfair to claim that there is no genuine concern amongst conservative Christians just because they're not advocating for increased government roles in caring for the least among us. That's a false measure. If there is a legitimate criticism of Christian conservatives on this score, it's that, because of the mindset I described, they choose not to get involved in improving the delivery system the government has in place. The attitude can be, "Let's just get rid of it." But there are things we cannot get rid of right away, perhaps ever. So, isn't it better to engage in the discussion on how we can change those systems to work better, and work in a manner more consistent with the overall theme of having government do less and people do more? That's why I was actively involved in the debate over the Welfare Reform Act. Some conservative Christian groups—but only very few—were actively involved. Most stood on the outside and opposed it, rather than getting involved, getting into the weeds. The Tea Party movement has been accused of everything from racism to bigotry, and some pointed to the Restoring Honor rally and said the Tea Party reflected a new religious zealotry. Are conservative Christians hyper-politicized? Oh, I wish they were! No, if anything, I think conservative Christians have been hypo-politicized. Hopefully, what we're seeing here is just an awakening of conservative Christians to participate in politics as much as the rest of society does. There's something endemic in the orthodox Christian believing mindset that suggests we should just pray and ask God to handle our social problems—a tendency not to take responsibility for faith and works as opposed to pure faith alone. A lot of Christians tend to burrow in and pretend they have no role to play or no responsibility to participate. I think that's an inaccurate interpretation of the gospel. We are seeing people wake up and realize that, yes, you should continue to pray, but we also live in the world not yet in the kingdom. God has a role for you to play in this world as well as the next. When John F. Kennedy was pressed on whether he'd take orders from Rome, he drew a hard line between religious conviction and political decision-making. You gave a speech in Houston in 2010 that claimed Kennedy misdirected our conversation on the roles of faith in public life. You said, "Kennedy took words written to protect religion from the government and used them to protect the government from religion." Can you explain what you mean? How did Kennedy lead us off track? I think the speech did a good job of laying it out. [ Editor's note : See a full transcript of the speech here.] President Kennedy said that there was an absolute separation of state and church and that faith has no role in bringing its claims into the public square and making an argument for laws consistent with those claims. Everyone else could argue on behalf of their convictions. As long as your point of view was not rooted in your faith, you could argue on behalf of your convictions. But if your point of view had a nexus to faith, you couldn't. To me, that is just patently ridiculous. Kennedy created a sort of implicit prejudice against people of faith, to the detriment of a society that was built on the Judeo-Christian ethic. To use an example, Judge Vaughn Walker in his recent ruling on California's Prop 8 wrote that "Moral and religious views form the only basis for a person forming their opinion that same sex couples are different from opposite sex couples, but such moral and religious beliefs are not a proper basis on which to legislate." Is this what you're talking about? And have you ever felt that people laid that kind of criticism on you, that it's improper for a political leader to shape his legislative agenda according to his or her religious views? I think it's perfectly proper to articulate a moral code and to provide a moral rationale for it. What our Founders did, and what Christians do (certainly I do), is we find motivation through our faith to take on many issues. Now, I take those issues on both because the church teaches morally that these things are wrong and evil, but also because you have an obligation to lay out rationally and logically why this is detrimental to society. So it's not merely a religious claim or moral claim—although it would not necessarily be wrong even if it were merely that. You're welcome to come on that basis alone, as well. For example, if you believe biology texts should teach creationism, that God created heaven and earth, I can give a rational and reasoned argument why I believe that's true, just as the other side can give an argument that it is false. But you should certainly be free to enter the public square and say, "The vast majority of Americans believe God created the heavens and the earth, and that should at least be discussed, the pros and cons of it weighed, in a class that is teaching on the origins of life." When people who are non-believers want to come out and say, "I believe there is no God and that we were created from nothing," they're welcome to bring that perspective into the discussion. That's the point of the First Amendment. You allow all voices, and you make decisions not on the basis of what is a religious belief and what is not, but on the basis of whether there is support for this kind of education. We obviously don't teach things that are predominantly taught in the Muslim world. Why? Because it's not the predominant viewpoint in this country and, and our predominant viewpoints are reflected in our laws. Some who write on "public theology" claim that religious believers, even when their positions on social and political matters are grounded in their religious beliefs, must be able to articulate "public reasons" for their beliefs. They should not appeal to divine revelation, or biblical authority. They need to be able to give reasons that make sense to everyone, religious or not. Is that right? Of course a religious believer can make a claim in the public square on the basis of biblical authority. But part of the political process is persuading your fellow citizen of what the law should be, and if you're relying on revelation or the specific beliefs of a particular group of believers, then your reasoning may not be accessible to others. I believe that we have an obligation to address as broad an audience as possible. I also believe that if God says that something is true, then he'll reveal himself through Natural Law and the Creation, and those things will be supported by reason. God is a reasonable God. I'm convinced that a believer can make a reasoned argument, and should make those arguments in ways that will persuade as many people as possible. My final question is this. Jesus Christ held no worldly position of power, and seems to have fled from wealth and the trappings of wealth. What does it mean for believers to imitate Christ when they work in the corridors of power and privilege? Jesus was a leader. He led not just by example, but through his deeds and teachings. While he did not govern, he certainly laid out rules for a just society and anticipated that these rules should be applied—and of course, if you have a society, there must be people who govern it. He called his disciples to go out and form a church. They were called to be leaders. They were called to organize and bring together the movement that became Christianity. So I think Christ not only anticipated but appointed leaders who would have positions of authority. He gave authority to others, and gave clear directives on how people of authority (in the home or in public life) should behave. So I don't feel any contradiction between imitating Christ and exercising authority. The real issue is whether you handle that authority in a manner consistent with the gospels. Editor's Note : Timothy Dalrymple primarily publishes interviews in his " Life in the Marketplace of Ideas " column. For more regular and original thoughts on faith, culture and politics, see his Philosophical Fragments blog.

"An Awakening of Conservative Christians": Rick Santorum on Faith and Politics