David Brooks and His Perspective on Christianity

David Brooks often isn’t the easiest writer to digest, and his latest essay in the New York Times feels much the same way. Right from the start, it has that familiar, frustrating tone—like a sense that he’s set himself up as the arbiter of the universe.

He begins with well-trodden clichés, peppered with his usual dramatic pauses and a tone that suggests he believes he holds all the answers. In one notable segment, he expresses discontent with Christians, which has become almost ritualistic at this point—a repetitive complaint that feels like spam you just can’t unsubscribe from.

Now, to be fair, Brooks is no fool. He possesses a knack for storytelling and knows how to ascend to moral high ground without making it obvious. He plays the role of the reasonable voice in what he perceives as a declining age of rationality.

However, one can’t help but notice the barely concealed condescension directed towards faith-driven Americans. He tends to discuss common Christians as if they were unrefined, much like that pretentious barista who rolls their eyes at those ordering a plain ol’ coffee.

Despite claiming to fear a rigid version of Christianity, he exudes confidence in his own beliefs, segmenting society into two opposing camps: the “Christian nationalists” and the “cynical” secular humanists. He sees himself as the only one who can navigate through this perceived fog.

Any Christians who support stricter borders or cherish their nation are dismissed with a flick of his wrist—they’re engaging in a “prodigal” rendition of their faith. And yet, his opinions tend to act like unsubstantiated evidence in his argument.

Brooks characterizes these believers as angry and power-hungry, wielding their beliefs like weapons. He suggests they never act from a place of devotion, and he claims they are blind to the gradual disappearance of the America they cherish.

He goes on to suggest that their actions stem from anxiety rather than hope. The idea of cultural decline, he implies, is merely an exaggerated tale that families aren’t actually witnessing unfold.

Next, he pivots to his preferred themes of longing and doubt, which sound great but feel more like decorative touches than foundational truths. His spiritual reflections drift in vague and fluffy language that fails to connect to real struggles. This isn’t a faith grounded in truth and sacrifice; rather, it appears more like a fleeting scent—something that dissipates before it can make an impact.

In this lengthy essay, Brooks cites a small circle of “wise men”—the likes of Thomas Halik and Rowan Williams—as exemplars of a desirable faith. He seems enamored with their quietism, treating it as the ultimate form of Christian maturity, celebrating those who speak softly while remaining distant from daily challenges.

Yet, what often goes unmentioned is that these figures thrive in spaces far removed from the gritty realities most Christians endure. Halik might eloquently express ideas of longing and humility, but neither he nor Williams faced the same battles that everyday believers confront head-on.

The crux of Brooks’ viewpoint seems to be a thinly-veiled contempt for ordinary Christians who believe their faith should inform their society. Although he doesn’t say it outright, he repeatedly hints at this in his writing.

For him, faith is largely a personal affair—essentially trivial. When it intersects with national destiny or cultural morality, it morphs into what he labels nationalism. Protective parenting against cultural liberalism? In his eyes, that’s just regression.

He leans heavily on Halik’s work to advocate for a more inward-focused approach to Christianity. Halik speaks of integrity; Brooks interprets that as a call to retreat from societal engagement.

Brooks manipulates these lessons for his own agenda, suggesting that real Christians should maintain silence and distance from the collective struggle against a culture that challenges their values.

What he fails to acknowledge is that many believers see what he terms “Christian nationalism” not as an extreme, but as an instinct to defend a cherished heritage. It’s not about domination or animosity towards non-believers; it’s gratitude for their cultural history.

Instead of recognizing this nuance, Brooks depicts a one-dimensional caricature that he can easily criticize, warning against a supposed “creeping fascism” that exists only in his imagination.

He seems to want Christians to abandon their strengths and stand down in favor of his abstract ideals, where faith is relegated to the background. But many Christians know better—faith that hides and yields is ineffective. Brooks, of course, would likely disagree.

Once more, this self-appointed authority critiques American Christians, yet misses the mark entirely.