In the long sweep of history, few ideas have proven as seductive — and as spiritually dangerous — as the doctrine of national exceptionalism.
This belief, which casts certain nations as uniquely chosen or divinely favoured, has been a potent ideological force behind imperial conquest, military aggression, and moral self-exemption.
The modern state of Israel is often seen by its most ardent defenders, both Jewish and Christian, as the fulfilment of a biblical promise. But the fusion of ancient promise with modern statehood is fraught with danger. The Hebrew Scriptures indeed speak of Israel as God’s "chosen people," but not in terms of privilege or licence. The calling is not toward dominance but toward justice, hospitality, and mercy.
The promise of land in the Hebrew Bible is inseparable from the demand for righteousness and care for the stranger, the widow, and the orphan. Failing to uphold the dignity and rights of others, especially the vulnerable, constitutes a violation of the covenant.
Applying the logic of national exceptionalism to justify the dispossession of Palestinians, the expansion of settlements, and the denial of civil rights within occupied territories, including the devastation of Gaza, amounts to a tragic inversion of the biblical witness.
Gaza has been described by Mirjana Spoljaric, head of the International Committee of the Red Cross, as worse than hell on earth. The scale of devastation and the depth of human anguish defy comprehension. To claim moral or theological justification for them is indefensible.
American exceptionalism tells a similar story. From the Puritan preacher John Winthrop’s "city on a hill" to Ronald Reagan’s dream of America as the last, best hope of earth, US political identity has been steeped in theological imagery. America, we are told, is not merely one nation among many but a nation uniquely blessed by God.
But when divine blessing is invoked to justify global dominance, the theological scaffolding of exceptionalism begins to rot.
The Jesus who said, "Blessed are the meek," and who stood with the poor, the imprisoned, and the oppressed, is nowhere to be found in the forced deportation of migrants, the indefinite detention of unaccompanied children, or the surveillance and silencing of dissenting voices.
Nor is he present in the vast machinery of American militarism. American exceptionalism has fostered a self-righteousness that treats criticism as betrayal and repentance as weakness.
Here in New Zealand, we are not immune to the subtle seductions of exceptionalism. The popular phrase "Godzone" may seem harmless. But when taken uncritically, it implies a kind of spiritual superiority, a presumption that we are more blessed than other nations. It blinds us to our own histories of colonial violence and social inequalities.
The most chilling example of national exceptionalism in modern history is Nazi Germany. Hitler’s regime co-opted Christian symbols and theological language to advance a demonic ideology of racial purity and Aryan supremacy. This fusion of nationalism, racial myth, and theological rhetoric culminated in genocide. It was not simply an abuse of power. It was a blasphemy.
Likewise, in Russia today, a potent mix of nationalism, Orthodoxy, and authoritarianism underpins the ideology of the so-called "Russian World." The Russian Orthodox Church has lent theological legitimacy to Vladimir Putin’s vision of Russia as the protector of true Christianity and moral order, in contrast to the perceived decadence of the West. This has been used to justify territorial aggression, including the invasion of Ukraine.
These examples are extreme, but they are instructive. They show what happens when theological language is commandeered to legitimise nationalistic ambitions.
Scripture requires us not to divide and conquer, but to heal and reconcile. It calls for national self-examination, not national self-congratulation. It challenges us to remember that God’s purposes cannot be captured by any flag or enforced by any army.
To be chosen is not to occupy a position of privilege but to be burdened with an ethic of compassion. Any nation that forgets these truths becomes not a light to the nations, but a warning to them.
• Dr Graham Redding is the Douglas Goodfellow lecturer in Chaplaincy Studies, University of Otago.
