One Nation Under God: How Corporate America Invented Christian America (22 page)

Even as the motto was added to currency, its supporters looked to increase its presence in other ways. Bennett sought to clear up the popular confusion over whether the phrase—or any phrase—was the official national motto. He asked the Legislative Reference Service at the Library of Congress for insight. “Four mottoes have been adopted by law for various purposes,” its researchers reported. “The earliest well-known motto is
E Pluribus Unum,
‘One out of many,' on the obverse of the seal of the United States.” Next, there were the two mottoes that were “adopted for the reverse of the seal:
Annuit Coeptis,
‘God has favored our undertakings' and
Novus Ordo Seclorum,
‘a new order of the ages.'” However, because the reverse of the seal had never been cut or used publicly, the researchers noted, “these two mottoes could hardly compete with
E Pluribus Unum,
which has been in use since 1782. They do, however, appear on our current one dollar bills.” The fourth and final motto, of course, was “In God We Trust,” which through its usage on coins and now currency had emerged as the strongest rival. Still, the report concluded, “if one motto were to be designated as being more clearly ‘the' motto than any other, it would seem to be
E Pluribus Unum.
This has priority in time, having been officially chosen in 1782 and confirmed by the new Government under the Constitution in 1789; and it is the only motto on the obverse of the Seal of the United States, the seal that has been used throughout our history as a nation. The motto on the seal of a government is generally considered to be the motto of that government.”
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Bennett nevertheless believed that “In God We Trust” should be the official motto. In July 1955, just days after Eisenhower signed into law the currency change, Bennett barraged his colleagues with letters announcing plans for another congressional resolution: that “the national motto of the United States is hereby declared to be ‘In God We Trust.'” He noted his recent findings, with a slight interpretative twist that placed his preferred motto on an even plane with the one on the seal. “The Library of Congress, after research, has stated that there is no officially recognized motto of the United States,” he reported, “although ‘E Pluribus Unum'
and ‘In God We Trust' have been at various times and places used where a national motto would be appropriate.” The latter, he added, had a distinct advantage: it “would keep us constantly reminded of the spiritual and moral values upon which our Country was founded and upon which it depends for survival.” On July 21, he introduced the measure on the floor of the House, where it was referred to the Judiciary Committee.
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The measure languished for a short while before picking up speed the following winter. In February 1956, a House Judiciary subcommittee held hearings with Bennett as its sole witness. “In sponsoring this legislation,” he told his colleagues, “it is my position that it would be valuable to our country to have a clearly designated national motto of inspirational quality and in plain popularly accepted English.” The members of the subcommittee agreed, passing the proposal along to the full Judiciary Committee. Hoping to enlist the support of its powerful chairman, Representative Emanuel Celler of New York, Bennett resorted to flattery. The inspiration for the motto proposal, he wrote Celler, “comes from your own leadership in the 71st Congress in the congressional adoption of ‘The Star Spangled Banner' as our national anthem, which contains the phrase, ‘And this be our motto, In God is our trust.'” He referenced Celler's argument for the anthem in 1930. “It is my belief that similarly legalizing ‘In God We Trust' as our national motto is”—and here he cited the chairman's own words—“a ‘method of further increasing the patriotism of the people of our country.'” The approach worked. Celler brought the bill before the full committee in a matter of days and quickly secured its approval. After a few weeks, the House passed the resolution on April 17 and sent it on to the Senate.
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Only after the House vote did civil libertarians raise objections, and even then halfheartedly. As in the campaign to add “under God” to the pledge, the ACLU was largely preoccupied with other matters and unable to devote any sustained attention to matters of church and state. When Democratic senator Thomas Hennings held major hearings on the state of civil liberties in fall 1955, for instance, the organization's officials noted in internal memos that “the ACLU should not testify in the religion area because we will be making an appearance on other more important matters.” The organization paid so little attention to the motto developments, in fact, that its leaders apparently only heard about the bill three weeks
after
its passage in the House, even though it had been widely reported in the press. On May 6, 1956, ACLU associate director Alan Reitman issued a memorandum noting that the head of their Philadelphia chapter had “heard that a bill has passed the House of Representatives to change the U.S. motto from ‘E Pluribus Unum' to ‘In God We Trust'” and asking for additional information. Even after learning more, though, Reitman remained largely ambivalent. “I know that we are pressed on all fronts with crises, but we do not have many separation of church-state cases, and this appears to be an important one,” he wrote. “I do not suggest that we drop all other project[s], but perhaps we can place a few stumbling blocks in the way of the bill, even by talking with some other organizations.” As they looked around, however, ACLU officials found that other organizations had also ignored the measure. “The P.O.A.U. is taking no stand on the bill,” an aide reported. The American Humanist Association complained about it in a press release, he added, but that was about it.
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The ACLU did draft a polite letter of protest to members of the Senate. “In our opinion, this change would be at the very least an approach toward the infringement upon the Constitutional guarantee that there shall be no establishment of religion in this country,” it read. “It would also, through the implicit authority of the national motto, constitute a religious test for government employees.” The organization acknowledged that most Americans were religious, “but the place for that act of devotion is to be found in their house of worship or in their hearts. They should not, through their Congress, require one other person who is a non-believer to link his civic loyalty with their doctrinal belief.” The letter concluded by requesting a public hearing on the matter and asking for an invitation to testify if one was held. The organization mailed the protest to members of the Senate Judiciary subcommittee when it first considered the bill in May 1956. When they ignored the request, the ACLU sent the same letter to members of the full committee in June.
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These actions were, in the end, both timid and tardy. Months earlier, when the first hints of opposition had emerged, supporters of the proposal rushed to action. In late April, Bennett wrote Senator Spessard L. Holland, a fellow Floridian, to warn that “there have recently been received some letters which apparently come from atheists or agnostic organizations.” He suggested that “it would seem to be a good thing to have this
bill passed before the mail creates any problems. As I understand it, the members of the Committee are favorably disposed toward the legislation, and a prompt disposal of it would eliminate a lot of unnecessary correspondence.” Despite Bennett's best efforts, however, the Senate took its time. These fears were unfounded, though; no significant opposition ever materialized. The Judiciary Committee reported favorably on the House resolution on July 20, and the full Senate voted it into law three days later. The White House political office checked to see if any departments had objections, but found none, and so the president signed the measure into law on July 30, 1956.
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In little more than two years' time, “In God We Trust” had surged to public notice, first taking a place of prominence on stamps and currency, and then edging its way past “E Pluribus Unum” to become the nation's first official motto. The concept of unity from diversity could not compete with that of unity from divinity. “In God We Trust,” along with its counterpart in the Pledge of Allegiance, “one nation under God,” quickly emerged as the twin pillars of the ceremonial deism sweeping through the Capitol. The Eisenhower administration had already done a great deal to put religion into politics, ranging from the religious elements in the inauguration ceremonies and cabinet meetings to more formal events such as the “Back to God” broadcasts and the National Prayer Breakfasts. As important as those developments were, however, such initiatives were tied closely to the president and, like any administration's policy, might not have lasted longer than his term. In contrast, the changes to the Pledge of Allegiance and the national motto, initiated and authorized by Congress, could claim a much broader parentage. Protestants, Catholics, and Jews had all played a part in their creation, and so had members of both political parties from across the ideological spectrum.

As central expressions of patriotism, these changes guaranteed that religious sentiment would be not just a theme pressed by a transitory administration but rather a lasting trait of the nation. The addition of “one nation under God” to the Pledge of Allegiance ensured that the new fusion of piety and patriotism that conservatives had crafted over the past two decades would be instilled in the next generation of children and beyond. From then on, their interpretation of America's fundamental nature would have a seemingly permanent place in the national imagination.
And with “In God We Trust” appearing on postage stamps and paper currency, the daily interactions citizens made through the state—sending mail, swapping money—were similarly sacralized. The addition of the religious motto to paper currency was particularly important, as it formally confirmed a role for capitalism in that larger love of God and country. Since then, every act of buying and selling in America has occurred through a currency that proudly praises God.

CHAPTER 5

Pitchmen for Piety

O
N THE AFTERNOON OF
J
ULY
17, 1955, ABC television broadcast a live special event called
Dateline Disneyland.
For more than a year, the famed entertainer Walt Disney had made weekly appearances on the network to promote a colossal theme park he was building on roughly 168 acres of former farmland in Anaheim, California. Now that it was ready, ABC marked its opening with considerable pomp and pageantry. Its hour-and-a-half program began in the spacious pressroom at Disneyland, which, an announcer noted, was “equipped to service over one thousand members of the worldwide press here to cover this truly great event.” Host Art Linkletter told the audience that the network had twenty-nine cameras installed across the park, along with “dozens of crews and literally miles and miles of cables,” to capture the magic. Thanks to ABC's efforts, Linkletter claimed, millions watching at home would share the experience of the thirty thousand who had the fortune to be there in person to witness the grand opening of “the eighth wonder of the world.”
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The amiable Linkletter quickly turned things over to “Ronnie”—his cohost, Ronald Reagan, who had the honor of introducing the dedication ceremonies from a perch above Main Street, U.S.A., the park's idyllic reproduction of a nineteenth-century town. Wearing an oversized white sports coat, starched dress shirt, and thin black bow tie, the actor flashed a beaming smile and pointed viewers to a clutch of political and religious figures in the town square. “Walt Disney, Governor Knight, the mayor of Anaheim, and other dignitaries,” he said, “are talking to three chaplains
representing the Protestant, Catholic and Jewish faiths.” Disney then strode to the microphone to read the inscription from the dedicatory plaque: “Disneyland is dedicated to the ideals, the dreams, and the hard facts that have created America, with the hope that it will be a source of joy and inspiration to the world.” His nephew, Reverend Glen D. Puder, offered an opening prayer that stressed the religious motivations behind the theme park. “I have known Walt Disney for many years, and have long been aware of the spiritual motivation in the heart of this man who has dreamed Disneyland into being,” the Presbyterian pastor said. “Beyond the creeds that would divide us, let us unite in a silent prayer, that this and every worthy endeavor may prosper at God's hand.” Governor Goodwin Knight followed with similar thoughts on the godly nature of both Disneyland and the nation it would entertain. “This is a wonderful place,” the Republican said, “just like your hometown, all built by American labor and American capital under the belief that this is a God-fearing and a God-loving country. And as we dedicate this flag now, we do it with the knowledge that we are the fortunate ones to be Americans, and that we extend to everyone everywhere the great ideals of Americanism: brotherhood, and peace on earth, goodwill towards men.” A drumroll began, and the US Marine Corps Band played “The Star Spangled Banner” as four uniformed servicemen raised the flag. Disney peered up to the clear blue sky, where a formation of fighter jets from the California Air National Guard soared past in salute.
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Disneyland's dedication testified to how deeply piety and patriotism were intertwined in its creator's worldview. Disney, a Congregationalist, relied on Christianity as a constant guide. His faith in his country was equally strong, though his political beliefs changed considerably over the course of his life. During the 1930s, he had been a strong supporter of Franklin Roosevelt and the New Deal. His cartoons during the Depression helped establish the so-called “sentimental populism” of the era's popular culture, always championing “little guys”—Mickey Mouse, the Three Little Pigs, the Seven Dwarves—in their struggles against stronger foes. But in the 1940s, Disney's politics took a sharp turn to the right. In 1941, a bitter strike at his company led him to denounce “Communist agitation” in a full-page ad in
Variety.
The day after Pearl Harbor, Disney was stunned when the US Army abruptly commandeered his studio for
seven months' use as a supply base. During the war, the government never paid him for some propaganda shorts he made, and his overseas profits dwindled to a trickle. Disney emerged from the conflict a staunch conservative. He helped bring the House Un-American Activities Committee to Hollywood in October 1947 and, in his appearance as a friendly witness, condemned communist influence in labor unions, pointedly naming names. When fellow Congregationalist James Fifield organized the Committee to Proclaim Liberty a few years later, Disney readily signed on to support its “Freedom Under God” festivities.
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