Jesus Christ and Other American Patriots: The Tea Party Art of Jon McNaughton
Thomas Jefferson, like so many men of history and single twenty-somethings of dating websites, is a complicated person with glaring contradictions. For example, the man who encoded American democracy with the concept of inherent liberty for all proved to be a limber mental gymnast when, in the crafting of our nation’s legal framework, allowed a liberty-exemption of sorts for the human slaves he owned.
In his legendary burn notice to the king of England—some call it the Declaration of Independence—he famously asserted that people have a right to “the pursuit of happiness.” But as an angsty young man, Jefferson once wrote, “Is there any such thing as happiness in this world? No: And as for admiration I am sure the man who powders most, parfumes most, embroiders most, and talks most nonsense, is most admired.”
And there’s another Jeffersonian contradiction: Thomas Jefferson is very well-admired—deified, even. His reputation as an American prophet, constructed over time by the disciples of liberty, makes him a valuable agent for modern-day rhetoric. Jefferson the Man may be complicated, but Jefferson the Symbol doesn’t have to be.
By that principle, Utah artist Jon McNaughton was able to paint this epic tableau without the slightest hint of irony.
With a little contextual knowledge (and McNaughton is more than happy to provide), it’s not hard to understand what’s happening here: Jesus Christ, surrounded by America’s most noble patriots, is presenting the United States Constitution. The aforementioned Jefferson (the Symbol, not the Man) can be seen standing to the left of Jesus and clutching a rolled-up copy of the Declaration of Independence, perhaps anxious to ensure that the Savior’s holy decree doesn’t abolish slavery outright.
Every character in McNaughton’s political paintings is a Symbol—just as Jefferson is—and they each live to make a singular, deliberate point about the artist’s worldview. If McNaughton’s paintings were plays, each character would get the spotlight for a few seconds and deliver their lines before stepping back into the scene:
“I am School Teacher. I represent the many educators in America that help teach our youth.”
Applause.
“I am American Soldier. I happen to have the last name of ‘King’ on my body armor. I could stand as a tribute to Martin Luther King, a great leader of American civil rights.”
Applause.
“I am Supreme Court Judge. I am hiding my face in shame as I consider some of the court decisions that have done great damage to our country. My watch says 11:59 because there is little time left.”
Jeers.
“I am Jesus.”
Standing ovation that never ends. Curtain.
Most artists are content to let their work speak for itself, save for maybe a brief statement of intent. Not Jon McNaughton. Not only is there an interactive, annotated version of the painting that explains the meaning of every Symbol, but there’s also a 900-word, nine-point response to “liberal criticisms.” Still need more commentary from the artist? Here’s a YouTube video about the painting. If you said McNaughton’s pictures were worth a thousand words, you’d be literally selling him short.
In spite of the criticisms, McNaughton claims to enjoy the chatter around his work. “They’re quite the conversation pieces,” he told The National Review in a 2010 interview. “People will have one hanging in their house, and people will come in and there’s so much to talk about.”
And if you happen to take issue with his paintings, that’s fine. It’s just that you’re wrong.
“The facts are the facts. The people who trash the painting say, ‘Oh, it’s just another right-wing Republican.’ But I don’t feel my position is very threatened. I feel that the truth is just behind me.”
Paintings are flat images. Those that aim to depict a scene, real or imagined, are limited to a single perspective. As observers, we can only see what the painter allows us to see. Through those constraints, the painter attempts to deliver a message. It is the painter’s hope that we receive that message—and if we don’t receive it, then the painter may consider his painting unsuccessful.
The first time I saw a Jon McNaughton painting, I laughed out loud. George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, John Adams, and Alexander Hamilton were posing as though they were performing a choreographed Broadway show tune for Jesus. I saw a guy in the corner who I thought was Brad Pitt, looking totally unimpressed by the Son of God. I kept imagining the man on his cell phone was attempting vainly to wrap up his call: “Yeah, look, I gotta get going. Christ is here. Everyone’s freaking out. What? Yeah, sure, I’ll pick it up on the way home. Sorry, I can’t hear you, this judge next to me is sobbing uncontrollably. What? A judge! I said judge! I don’t know. I gotta go.” And why is there an astronaut standing next to Benjamin Franklin?
In politics, we paint pictures all the time. Liberals and conservatives alike construct elaborate, comprehensive portraits of America, each side claiming to communicate the truth. They all use the same Symbols, but we give them different meanings based on our varied understandings of those Symbols—then politicos are baffled when not all the observers see the same thing.
Ben Franklin could be a Symbol of invention, industriousness, and science. McNaughton uses him as a “statesman” and “Champion of American Independence.”
Thomas Paine could be a Symbol of the French Revolution or repudiation of organized religion (watch your back, Jesus). McNaughton, though, feels that “it is not important that he is not a Christian. God often uses good men to fulfill His purposes.” He credits Paine for writing Common Sense and being an abolitionist.
McNaughton says that Samuel Adams was the “leader of the fight against British colonial rule and a signor [sic] of the Declaration of Independence.” Not a word about his terrific seasonal ales, however.
And then Jesus could be a Symbol of [finish this part for me]. McNaughton has made him the single most important figure in American history.
Choose your Symbols. Then choose your facts. It’s the McNaughton Way. It’s the American Way.
Americans frequently debate the religiosity of the Founding Fathers, and whether or not their Christian faith was a guiding force in crafting America’s character. Truthfully, you could argue that Thomas Jefferson was a bit of a Jesus freak. He thought very highly of Jesus’s moral teachings, and he once wrote, “I am a real Christian, that is to say, a disciple of the doctrines of Jesus.”
But don’t equate Jefferson’s appreciation for Christian morality with obedience to a Christian church. In fact, he was very skeptical of latter-day charlatans who had “perverted” Christian philosophy.
In a letter to best frenemy John Adams, Jefferson explained his fastidious treatment of Christ’s wisdom:
We must reduce our volume to the simple evangelists, select, even from them, the very words only of Jesus, paring off the Amphibologisms into which they have been led by forgetting often, or not understanding, what had fallen from him, by giving their own misconceptions as his dicta, and expressing unintelligibly for others what they had not understood themselves. There will be found remaining the most sublime and benevolent code of morals which has ever been offered to man. I have performed this operation for my own use, by cutting verse by verse out of the printed book, and arranging the matter which is evidently, his, and which is as easily distinguishable as diamonds in a dunghill. the result is an 8vo of 46 pages of pure and unsophisticated doctrines, such as were professed & acted on by the unlettered apostles, the Apostolic fathers, and the Christians of the 1st century.
In other words, Jefferson had his own unique solution for extricating Jesus from misappropriation: come as close as possible to the original, verbatim Jesus, and disregard anything else. He encourages others to do the same.
Jon McNaughton takes a different approach. This is his vivid description of the scene depicted in the above painting:
I envisioned Jesus speaking to this joint session where all the leaders of our country are gathered. He looks at them from the pulpit; He pauses, and then begins to address the assembly.
He reminds them of the covenant which was made with the Founders of our Nation that He would protect and bless us if we would remember Him; and then Jesus opens the Holy Bible to Psalms 33: 12, and reads the verse:
“Blessed is the nation whose God is the LORD.”
At this moment the Chamber erupts into shouts of anger and disgust, as the body of the joint session turns into a hostile mob — reminiscent of the mob that shouted out to Pilate, “Crucify him!”
Jesus, with a countenance of gentle peace, although saddened by the rejection of his offer, looks across the assembly at the angry mob. He turns and begins to exit the pulpit. The large American flag rips from top to bottom, like the veil of the temple ripped as He hung on the cross and said, “It is finished!”
A woman, unable to bear His glance holds her face in shame. Words of mockery, angry shouts and venomous threats fill the hall.
Above the torn flag, engraved in the marble stone of the Congressional Chamber of Congress are the words, “In God We Trust.” Oh, the irony! A shaft of light from the Courts of Heaven shines upon the word “God” as a reminder of whom they have rejected. O, America — why have you abandoned the rock from whence you were hewn!
As Jesus exits this unholy chamber he turns to gaze at you, the viewer of this painting, and asks the question, “What will YOU do now?”
Jefferson was only interested in distilling the words of Christ into their purest, most unambiguous essence. McNaughton, on the other hand, takes it upon himself to write Jesus’s speech to a joint session of Congress for him. You can take issue with either approach, but they’re both guilty of choosing facts for their chosen Symbol.
Jefferson chooses the Symbol of his personal 46-page abridgment, then declares, “I am a real Christian.” (Then proceeds to own slaves and commit adultery with a woman he claims as property.)
McNaughton chooses the Symbol most amenable to his sensibilities, too: the Jesus who would rather quote the Old Testament to Congress than delve into his own half of the Bible.
It is a comforting exercise to envision our departed heroes as our personal champions, able to perceive and willing to articulate our inherent ethicality while our opponents refuse to grant such dignity. But being comfortable in one’s own steadfastness to an individualized sense of the truth does little to help one understand how everybody else can live with being so damn wrong all the time. If we want to reach a collective agreement about the way things ought to be, we should reach out to the living before we resurrect the deceased.
It’s a useless skill to earn the consensus of dead men—and no one’s better at it than Jon McNaughton.
