AI Is A Gateway To The Welfare State
October 6, 2026 |
Keith Giles
Did you know that Donald Trump speaks in coded language to his ardent followers? Only “they” can discern his meaning. There was also a child trafficking ring in the basement of the Comet Ping-Pong Pizzeria in Washington, D.C., and Dr. Fauci started the COVID crisis so he could profit from vaccines, which, by the way, contained microchips to track and control the population.
These were not just conspiracies propagated by a lunatic fringe, but embraced by many evangelicals who make up the base of Trump’s MAGA core.
To be fair, not all evangelicals fell victim to these untruths, lies, and distortions, but enough did to raise the question: What makes evangelicals so susceptible to such fabrications of unreality?
Consider these findings from the Survey Center on American Life showing how evangelical Republicans responded to a series of questions about politics:
Seventy-four percent of white evangelical Republicans say they agree with the claim that there was widespread fraud in the 2020 election. (There wasn’t)
Sixty-Seven percent of this cohort believe a group of unelected government officials in Washington, DC, referred to as the ‘Deep State,’ had been working to undermine the Trump administration. (Not true)
Sixty percent of this group believes Antifa was mostly responsible for the violence that happened in the riots at the US Capitol on January 6. (Verifiably False)
Finally, thirty-one percent believe Donald Trump has been secretly fighting a group of child sex traffickers that includes prominent Democrats and Hollywood elites. (He is part of that elite)
I honestly don’t care much what evangelicals believe, but the reason these findings matter is that evangelicals sustain and support both the Republican Party and the MAGA movement. This group is the reason Trump retains control over the Party and members of the Republican caucus in Congress.
Evangelicals and white Christian nationalists, more specifically, make up 30 to 35% of those who will always support Trump regardless of the facts, truth, or reality.
Evangelical conspiracy thinking is not new. During my earlier evangelical days, I accepted other evangelical suppositions, such as the “apocalyptic” vision of the end times, ruling elites who persecute Christians, and even the existence of demons who can control and inhabit people.
Believing in things that aren’t true or verifiable is a staple of religious thinking.
These common evangelical beliefs make it an easy leap for them to embrace QAnon, “deep state” conspiracies, spiritual warfare against “territorial demons,” and 2020 election lies.
This phenomenon is often dismissed as ignorance, radicalization, or media manipulation. Those explanations are partially true, but incomplete.
What distinguishes evangelical conspiracy belief is not simply misinformation, but meaning. These beliefs are sustained by a theological and cultural framework that makes conspiracy thinking feel spiritually coherent, emotionally protective, and morally necessary.
My core argument here is straightforward: certain dominant strands of evangelical theology, especially apocalypticism, persecution narratives, and distrust of secular authority, create a mental and moral environment in which conspiracy theories flourish.
Scripture is not the source of these conspiracies, but selective and literalist readings of the Bible function as a permission slip that lowers resistance to them. When combined with cultural status loss and political mobilization, the result is a religiously infused rejection of shared reality and the undermining of democracy.
Let’s delve into the evangelical mind and try to understand the rationalizations and justifications for holding to conspiracy theories so tightly.
Evangelical Christianity has long emphasized the belief that the world is fundamentally deceived and under the influence of malign spiritual forces. Several commonly cited verses reinforce this posture of suspicion:
“The whole world lies in the power of the evil one.” (1 John 5:19)
“Wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction, and many enter through it.” (Matthew 7:13)
“The god of this world has blinded the minds of unbelievers.” (2 Corinthians 4:4)
Within evangelical culture, these verses are frequently interpreted to mean that the majority of people and the institutions that represent them are not merely mistaken but actively deceived.
It never crosses their minds that they may be the ones being deceived.
Truth is assumed to be held by a faithful minority (evangelicals), while consensus or compromise itself is taken as a warning sign. When most media outlets, courts, scientists, or election officials agree on a set of facts, that agreement is easily reframed as evidence of coordinated deception rather than independent verification. Facts and conclusions don’t matter when you consider the source of those facts to be deceptive.
Conspiracy theories fit neatly into this worldview. They offer a narrative in which hidden forces manipulate reality while believers possess special insight. In this sense, conspiracies do not challenge evangelical theology; they complete it.
Another powerful biblical theme shaping evangelical receptivity to conspiracy thinking is the expectation of persecution. Jesus’ warnings to his followers are regularly emphasized:
“If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first.” (John 15:18)
“Indeed, all who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.” (2 Timothy 3:12)
“Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you, and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me.” (Matthew 5:11)
These verses are often interpreted not descriptively but diagnostically: opposition is treated as confirmation of righteousness. When evangelical political claims are rejected—whether by voters, judges, or fact-checkers—the rejection itself becomes proof that the claim was dangerous to powerful enemies. Debunking does not weaken belief; it strengthens it.
Evangelicals use such opposition as a badge of honor.
This dynamic creates a closed information loop. If a conspiracy theory is accepted, believers are affirmed. If it is challenged, believers are persecuted. In both cases, faith is validated.
Conspiracy thinking thrives on the expectation that hidden truths will soon be exposed. This expectation finds clear biblical reinforcement:
“For there is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known.” (Luke 12:2)
“He reveals deep and hidden things; he knows what lies in darkness.” (Daniel 2:22)
“Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them.” (Ephesians 5:11)
Within evangelical discourse, these passages are often read as a mandate to uncover secret evil and a promise that history bends toward dramatic unveiling. Modern conspiracy movements borrow this language almost verbatim. QAnon’s talk of a coming “storm” or “Great Awakening” echoes biblical apocalypticism, even when Scripture is not explicitly cited. These phrases are dog whistles for evangelicals.
Belief becomes an act of faith in future vindication. The lack of evidence is not a problem; it is a test of loyalty, faith, and patience.
Evangelical suspicion of secular institutions is further reinforced by verses warning against reliance on human wisdom:
“Do not put your trust in princes, in human beings, who cannot save.” (Psalm 146:3)
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.” (Proverbs 3:5)
“Woe to those who call evil good and good evil.” (Isaiah 5:20)
These passages are frequently invoked to justify skepticism toward experts, academics, journalists, and bureaucrats. Scientific consensus, legal rulings, and democratic procedures are framed as morally inverted systems run by elites who “call evil good.”
Notably, this skepticism is applied selectively. Distrust flows downward and outward toward institutions and cultural outsiders, while in-group political leaders are often exempt.
Recently, an evangelical friend posted about the “lawlessness” in Minneapolis. They were not referring to ICE, but to the protesters who this person claimed were acting outside of “God’s will for obeying the law.” They saw the same videos as everyone else, yet concluded that the protesters were at fault.
Supporting ICE and the Trump administration inverts the authority structure. Evangelicals typically reject governmental authority in principle, including in relation to the 2020 election results. However, they embrace governmental authority in practice when it aligns with evangelical identity and grievance.
Biblical warnings about deception by respected figures further prime evangelicals for conspiracy narratives:
“For false messiahs and false prophets will appear and perform great signs and wonders to deceive, if possible, even the elect.” (Matthew 24:24)
“They will turn their ears away from the truth and turn aside to myths.” (2 Timothy 4:4)
“Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing.” (Matthew 7:15)
These verses encourage vigilance against elite betrayal. Media figures, political leaders, educators, and even clergy who dissent from evangelical political narratives can be recast as wolves in sheep’s clothing. Once this framing takes hold, disagreement is no longer a matter of interpretation but of moral treachery.
Evangelicals often appeal to Romans 13 to argue that governing authorities are established by God:
“Let everyone be subject to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established.” (Romans 13:1)
Yet this submission for them is conditional. When political authority aligns with evangelical priorities, it is sanctified. When it does not—such as when courts certify election results—authority is declared illegitimate. This theological flexibility allows believers to view favored leaders as divinely appointed while dismissing lawful outcomes as fraudulent.
Politics becomes moralized and spiritualized rather than procedural. Winning is righteousness; losing is evidence of theft.
Finally, evangelical emphasis on spiritual warfare collapses political conflict into cosmic existential struggle:
“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against… the spiritual forces of evil.” (Ephesians 6:12)
“We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God.” (2 Corinthians 10:5)
When politics is framed this way, compromise becomes betrayal and humility becomes weakness. Facts matter less than allegiance. Conspiracy theories thrive because they identify enemies, clarify loyalties, and offer moral certainty in a complex world.
The convergence of evangelical conspiracy thinking with white Christian nationalism marks the point at which theological worldview turns into political threat. Christian nationalism is not simply the belief that Christianity influenced American history; it is the belief that the United States is divinely chosen, that political authority is legitimate only when it reflects a particular Christian identity, and that pluralistic democracy is at best a temporary concession and at worst a betrayal of God’s will.
Within this framework, conspiracy theories perform an essential function. They explain why a supposedly Christian nation repeatedly produces electoral outcomes, court rulings, and cultural shifts that evangelicals oppose. Democracy itself becomes suspect. If America belongs to God, then outcomes that contradict evangelical priorities cannot be legitimate; they must be the result of fraud, infiltration, or satanic manipulation.
The church is no longer merely a spiritual remnant; it becomes the “real America.” Political opponents are not just wrong but evil and ungodly. Elections are not neutral procedures but spiritual contests whose outcomes must align with God’s presumed will. When they do not, as was true in 2020, conspiracy theories provide the explanatory bridge between divine promise and political failure.
This is where democratic backsliding begins. Faith in elections erodes when losing is redefined as theft. Respect for courts collapses when judges are cast as false prophets. The free press becomes an enemy when it contradicts the righteous narrative. Violence becomes imaginable when politics is framed as spiritual warfare rather than civic disagreement.
The January 6 attack on the U.S. Capitol illustrated this worldview vividly. Christian symbols, prayers, and slogans were fused with election conspiracy narratives. Participants did not see themselves as undermining democracy, but as defending a higher, divinely ordained order against corrupt human systems. That is the essence of democratic backsliding: when citizens no longer recognize democratic legitimacy apart from their own moral and religious identity.
Evangelical belief in conspiracy theories is not the result of biblical illiteracy, but of a particular way of reading the Bible: selective, literal, and oriented toward power, grievance, and identity. In isolation, these interpretive methods produce suspicion and certainty. When fused with Christian nationalism, they produce something more dangerous: a theology that cannot tolerate democratic loss or opposition.
Democracy survives on shared reality and procedural trust; Christian nationalist conspiracy thinking erodes both. The danger is not that millions of Americans hold strong religious beliefs. It is that a growing number have come to believe that democracy is legitimate only when it confirms those beliefs.
For many evangelicals, abandoning conspiracy narratives would require relinquishing not just false claims, but the belief that their political dominance is divinely guaranteed. Until that assumption is confronted, democratic backsliding will continue not as an accident of misinformation, but as a theologically rationalized choice.
