If you’re alarmed by the rise of Christian nationalism, the single worst thing you can do is define it too broadly. If you define it too broadly, then you’re telling millions of ordinary churchgoing citizens that the importation of their religious values into the public square somehow places them in the same camp or on the same side as actual Christian supremacists, the illiberal authoritarians who want to remake America in their own fundamentalist image.

Enter the new feature-length documentary “God and Country,” which examines the role of Christian nationalism in American politics. Even before I knew that Rob Reiner (the director of “A Few Good Men”) was involved in the project, I agreed to be interviewed by the filmmakers for two key reasons:

First, I wanted to make sure that I could offer a sensible definition of Christian nationalism, one that didn’t cast aspersions on Christians simply for bringing their values into the public square.

And second, I wanted to outline exactly why actual Christian nationalism presents a real danger to our Constitution.

What it’s not

To understand what Christian nationalism is, it’s important to understand what it is not.

It is not Christian nationalism if a person’s political values are shaped by the individual’s Christian faith. In fact, many of America’s most important social movements have been infused with Christian theology and Christian activism. Many of our nation’s abolitionists thundered their condemnations of slavery from Northern pulpits. The Civil Rights Movement wasn’t exclusively Christian by any means, but it was pervasively Christian — Martin Luther King Jr. was, of course, a Baptist minister.

Anyone may disagree with Christian arguments around civil rights, immigration, abortion, religious liberty or any other point of political conflict. Christians disagree with one another on these topics all the time, but it is no more illegitimate or dangerous for a believer to bring her worldview into a public debate than it is for a secular person to bring his own secular moral reasoning into politics. In fact, I have learned from faiths other than my own, and our public square would be impoverished without access to the thoughts and ideas of Americans of faith.

Primacy is the problem

The problem with Christian nationalism isn’t with Christian participation in politics but rather the belief that there should be Christian primacy in politics and law. It can manifest itself through ideology, identity and emotion. And if it were to take hold, it would both upend our Constitution and fracture our society.

Sociologists Samuel Perry and Andrew Whitehead define Christian nationalism as a “cultural framework that blurs distinctions between Christian identity and American identity, viewing the two as closely related and seeking to enhance and preserve their union.” Author and pastor Matthew McCullough defines Christian nationalism as “an understanding of American identity and significance held by Christians wherein the nation is a central actor in the world-historical purposes of the Christian God.” Both definitions are excellent, but what does ideological Christian nationalism look like in practice?

In 2022, a coalition of right-wing writers and leaders published a document called “National Conservatism: A Statement of Principles.” Its section on God and public religion states: “Where a Christian majority exists, public life should be rooted in Christianity and its moral vision, which should be honored by the state and other institutions both public and private.” That’s an extraordinary — and ominous — ideological statement, one that would immediately relegate non-Christians to second-class status. It’s utterly contrary to the First Amendment and would impose a form of compelled deference to Christianity on both religious minorities and the nonreligious.

Not just ideology, but also identity

But Christian nationalism isn’t just rooted in ideology; it’s also deeply rooted in identity, the belief that Christians should rule. This is the heart of the Seven Mountain Mandate, a dominionist movement emerging from American Pentecostalism that is, put bluntly, Christian identity politics on steroids. Paula White, Donald Trump’s closest spiritual adviser, is an adherent, and so is the chief justice of the Alabama Supreme Court, Tom Parker, who wrote a concurring opinion in the court’s recent IVF decision. The movement holds that Christians are called to rule seven key societal institutions: the family, the church, education, the media, the arts, business and the government.

One doesn’t have to go all the way into Seven Mountain theology, though, to find examples of Christian identity politics. The use of Christianity as an unofficial but necessary qualification for office is a routine part of politics in the most churchgoing parts of America. Moreover, one of the common red-America arguments for Trump is that he might not be devout himself, but he’ll place lots of Christians in government.

But what is Christian identity politics but another form of Christian supremacy? How does Christian identity alone make any person a better candidate for office? After all, many of the worst actors in American politics are professed believers. Scandal and corruption are so pervasive in the church that when a person says, “I’m a Christian,” it tells me almost nothing about their wisdom or virtue.

Feelings over reason

Finally, we can’t forget the intense emotion of Christian nationalism. Most believers don’t follow ideological and theological arguments particularly closely. In the words of historian Thomas Kidd, “Actual Christian nationalism is more a visceral reaction than a rationally chosen stance.” It is tied, in other words, to a visceral sense that the fate of the church is closely tied to the outcome of any given political race.

That fervor can make believers gullible and potentially even dangerous. Its good-versus-evil dynamic can make Christians believe that their political opponents are capable of anything, including stealing an election. It artificially raises the stakes of elections to the point where a loss becomes an unthinkable catastrophe, with the fates of both church AND state hanging in the balance. As we saw on Jan. 6, 2021, this belief invites violent action.

Committed Christian nationalists represent only 10% of the population, according to a 2023 PRRI/Brookings Christian Nationalism Survey. But even members of a minority that small can gain outsize power when they fold themselves into the larger Christian electorate, casting themselves as “just like you.” That’s why we cannot conflate Christian activism with Christian nationalism. One can welcome Christian participation in the public square while resisting domination, from any faith or creed.

David French joined The New York Times as an Opinion columnist last year. Before that, he was a senior editor at The Dispatch, which he helped start, and a contributing writer at The Atlantic. He spent most of his career as a practicing lawyer, working in commercial and constitutional litigation. In his late 30s, he joined the United States Army Reserve as a judge advocate general. David deployed to Iraq in 2007 and served in Diyala Province, where he was awarded a Bronze Star. He is a former president of the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression. His most recent book is “Divided We Fall: America’s Secession Threat and How to Restore Our Nation.” He lives in Franklin, Tenn.

As Israel’s Gaza offensive has grown ever more deadly and destructive, President Joe Biden has equivocated: condemning the civilian death toll while simultaneously sending more arms to Israel. This position, though perhaps politically expedient at the outset of the conflict, has become untenable.

Now, as the war threatens to destabilize the entire region, Biden should take a more forceful stance, much as one of his predecessors did. In 1956, President Dwight “Ike” Eisenhower successfully defused the Suez Crisis, forcing Israel and its allies — as well as the president’s own political rivals — to back down. Eisenhower’s willingness to confront Israel offers a model, however imperfect, for today.

At the beginning of 1956, the Suez Canal remained in the hands of British and French interests, much as it had been for nearly a century. That summer, though, Egypt’s president, Gamal Abdel Nasser, seized control of this critical conduit, effectively cutting off the flow of Middle Eastern oil to Europe. The move also hit Israel, denying its ships passage through the canal.

Nasser’s act, the culmination of rising tensions between Egypt and European powers, set off a major crisis. Britain and France, eager to reclaim some of their former influence in the region, forged an alliance with Israel, which had already clashed with Egypt in 1948. Together the three nations crafted a plan dubbed “Operation Musketeer”: Israel would invade Egypt’s Sinai Peninsula, as well as Gaza, which was then under Egyptian control. Britain and France would then land troops in the canal zone in a bid to overthrow Nasser.

News of the plan left Eisenhower aghast. Though the president counted all three countries as allies, he had cultivated relations with the newly independent Arab nations as well, in part to check Soviet influence in the region. Eisenhower, who had previously warned Britain against using force in the region, resolved to curb his Cold War allies if they proceeded with the plan.

This was not without risk: a direct confrontation with Britain, France, and Israel could backfire not just internally, but also closer to home. With the presidential election set to take place a week later, Eisenhower could ill afford to alienate pro-Israel voters in key states, particularly because his opponent, Adlai Stevenson, had tried to make Eisenhower’s foreign policy a campaign issue.

Israel and its allies undoubtedly expected that these considerations would sideline Eisenhower and proceeded with their plan. Israel moved first, invading Egypt on October 29. When Eisenhower pushed for a United Nations resolution calling for Israel to withdraw, Britain and France vetoed the measure — again, expecting that this would settle the issue.

It did not. Instead, Eisenhower delivered a national address on October 31 declaring that the U.S. would not countenance the invasion. “In all the recent troubles in the Middle East, there have indeed been injustices suffered by all nations involved,” Eisenhower said. “But I do not believe that another instrument of injustice — war — is the remedy for these wrongs.”

Eisenhower understood that eloquence alone wouldn’t force a withdrawal, particularly as Britain and France made it clear they would proceed with the plan. Ike now played hardball, informing the Brits through back channels that the U.S. would no longer help prop up the value of the pound sterling, which was already in freefall. The gambit worked: in the face of potential economic crisis, Britain had no choice but to back down and soon withdrew its troops. France followed suit, furious but unable to proceed without Britain by its side.

Israel, though, refused to withdraw. Eisenhower was not pleased. He turned again to diplomatic back channels, this time to threatening to support a UN resolution that would ban all public and private aid to Israel, including the tens of millions of dollars the nation received from the U.S. each year. At first, Israel refused to budge. But Eisenhower was unwavering — even as Democrats in Congress, led by future president Lyndon Baines Johnson, threatened to revolt.

As the year came to a close, Eisenhower combined the stick with a carrot: reassurances that the U.S. recognized Israel’s right to defend itself should Nasser take any measures to threaten the nation. By March of 1957, Israel bowed to reality and withdrew its forces, ceding control of the territory it had captured. Egypt reopened the canal the following month, and while tensions over free passage of cargo persisted, the Suez Crisis had come to an end.

What can Biden learn from this episode? While it’s tempting to suggest that he should simply emulate Eisenhower, the reality is more complicated. Egypt’s seizure of the Suez Canal wasn’t anywhere near as deadly or abhorrent as the attacks launched by Hamas. Moreover, Israel today is a far more powerful and established country than it was in 1956, and quite mindful of the fact that the U.S. failed to honor Eisenhower’s commitment a decade later, a betrayal that helped set the stage for the Six-Day War.

Still, Eisenhower’s bedrock belief — that the U.S. should put stabilizing the Middle East ahead of propping up its allies — remains relevant today. If Israel proceeds with an invasion of Rafah, it will unleash a refugee crisis that could rupture the tenuous peace Egypt and Israel currently enjoy. Eisenhower would not have let such a thing happen. Neither should Biden.

Biden may wish to reread what Eisenhower wrote in his diary at the height of the Suez Crisis, as the words are eerily prescient. The U.S., Ike concluded, “must be friends with both (Arab and Israeli) contestants in that region in order that we can bring them closer together. To take sides could do nothing but to destroy our influence in leading toward a peaceful settlement of one of the most explosive situations in the world today.”

Stephen Mihm, a professor of history at the University of Georgia, is coauthor of “Crisis Economics: A Crash Course in the Future of Finance.”