On the Matter of Culpability: Duane W.H. Arnold, PhD

On the Matter of Culpability

Let us speak plainly in light of the events and votes of this last week. Let us also name those that are culpable.

The evangelical support for Donald Trump—and for the authoritarian current that has swelled around him—is not a mystery. It is not an unfortunate accident, nor is it solely the work of fringe actors on the political margins. It is, rather, the fruit of a long season of compromise: theological, moral, and cultural. And while not all evangelicals are complicit in the same measure, we must acknowledge that a substantial portion of the American evangelical movement bears real culpability for what has unfolded.

This is not spoken lightly, nor with any joy. But it must be said.

For years, many in the evangelical tradition—a tradition that brought me to faith—have mistaken cultural dominance for Christian faithfulness. The Gospel was quietly rewritten in terms of power: power to define the public square, to shape the laws, to guard the norms of a previous age that we thought we had moved beyond. What began as concern for religious liberty or moral order gradually morphed into something else entirely. Something harder, more brittle, more angry. Something less like Christ and more like Caesar.

When Trump emerged, he did not represent a disruption of evangelical values. He revealed them. Or rather, he revealed what had taken root beneath the surface: a theology that had grown comfortable with nationalism, an ethic shaped more by resentment and grievance than by repentance, and a spirituality that confused God’s kingdom with American greatness.

What made this all the more tragic was the conscious redefinition of morality to fit the needs of the moment. Character no longer mattered—only results. Kindness was derided as weakness; humility was reframed as capitulation. Criminality and sexual immorality were ignored. The fruits of the Spirit were dismissed as impractical in a “war” for the soul of the nation. In their place emerged a transactional ethic—if a leader delivered political victories, their cruelty could be justified, even baptized. Indeed, cruelty became the point. The result was a staggering moral inversion: what Scripture condemns has became, in practice, excused or even admired.

In this moral sleight of hand, entire communities were taught to see decency as naïveté and to view cruelty as strength. Rather than forming consciences according to the life of Christ, many pulpits instead trained people to excuse, rationalize, or simply ignore what once would have been universally denounced. And all of this in the name of “saving” a nation. But when righteousness is redefined to serve power, the Church has already lost its way.

Let’s be honest. Many evangelicals did not vote for Trump despite his cruelty and dishonesty—they voted for him because of it. Because he fought the people they feared. Because he promised to protect “Christian America,” even if he could not quote a single Beatitude. Because he made them feel important again, in a culture that no longer bowed to their assumptions.

The excuses came quickly, of course. “God used Cyrus.” “The alternative is worse.” “He fights for us.” But one does not sanctify sin by pointing to Scripture. If anything, the biblical pattern suggests that God may use such leaders in judgment far more than in deliverance.

And then came the silence. The studied, suffocating silence. When children were torn from parents at the border, when Black citizens cried out for justice, when lies flooded our public discourse, when a mob stormed the Capitol carrying crosses and Christian banners alongside nooses and Confederate flags—how many pastors stood in the pulpit and called it what it was? How many are now speaking out against the resettlement camps in Florida and elsewhere?

How many choose to remain “neutral,” claiming to be above politics, when in truth they are simply afraid to speak or are secretly supportive?

To say nothing in the face of cruelty is to side with the cruel. To remain neutral when truth is at stake is to abandon the prophetic vocation altogether. The Church does not exist to win culture wars—it exists to bear witness to a crucified and risen Lord. And that Lord never once sought the throne of Caesar to establish the Kingdom of God.

I do not write these words with bitterness. I write them as someone who still believes in the possibility of repentance. There are voices within evangelicalism—many quiet, some courageous—who resisted, who lamented, who stayed true. But they were outshouted, shamed, or cast aside. For the rest, it is time to stop pretending this was about “policy differences.” It was, and is, about power.

History will render its verdict. But we serve a Judge who sees more clearly still.  His concern has never been for partisan triumphs or culture war victories—but for the lost, the least, and the truth.

Duane W.H. Arnold, PhD