Dr. Justin Allen Rose on North Korea, Christianity, and America

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): The Good Men Project

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2025/03/16

Dr. Justin Allen Rose, a political scientist and media analyst, discusses the intersection of religion, politics, and authoritarianism in the U.S. and abroad. He explores religious devotion and political allegiance, noting how dogma and punishment reinforce control in Christian nationalism and North Korea alike. Rose examines biblical literalism’s role in legislation, citing State Senator Dusty Deevers and Trump’s Christian bias initiatives as evidence of religion-driven policymaking. He warns of a post-constitutional America where free thought is suppressed, and laws increasingly reflect evangelical ideology. Ultimately, he underscores the danger of blind faith and its societal consequences.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: So today, we’re here with Dr. Justin Allen Rose, a political science researcher, lecturer, and media analyst in the United States. He earned his PhD in political science at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville, where he focused on social media’s influence on political polarization. Rose is greatly interested in the intersection of religion and politics, examining how faith shapes political behavior and opinions. He is currently a journalist living in Oklahoma. Contrary to what one might assume from Free Inquiry magazine, he was raised in a religious town. However, he comes from a nonreligious family and advocates for safeguarding civil liberties. 

Thank you for joining me today. I appreciate it on such short notice. Let’s dive into the first question: What are the key similarities between religious devotion and political allegiance in authoritarian regimes? The fundamental basis for both is religious or political dogma.

Dr. Justin Allen Rose: Yes. That is a very good question to start with.

And you’ll notice throughout this conversation that I’m not afraid of tackling these topics.

I know you—I’ve seen your work before. I don’t mean to backtrack or anything, but I love listening to and reading Christopher Hitchens and Richard Dawkins. They’re truly intellectual figures. And while I have a PhD, I didn’t grow up in an academic household. My dad dropped out of high school. My mom has a high school diploma.

So, in my language—you’re here, I’m here—I come from a blue-collar background.

I’m educated, but my language is still very blue-collar.

It really does seem like religion and political allegiance are one and the same, especially nowadays. In religion, people hold onto their beliefs no matter what. I love analyzing the logical processes that people go through to reach their opinions and allegiances.

That’s what led me to study political psychology.

And that is because anytime you see it, this whole religion topic is somewhat cyclical for me in terms of interest. I write about it and read about it, and then I step away from it.

At some point, you talk to a religious individual—let’s talk Christianity since we’re in America, and that’s the dominant religious framework here—you reach a situation where you ask them a question about a contradiction you’ve noticed, something that they logically cannot fully support.

Whether it’s a moral dilemma or a textual inconsistency, they’ll often respond with something like, “Well, you’re interpreting it wrong,” or, “God is mysterious.” It becomes a way to reinforce what they already believe.

We see the same phenomenon with political allegiances nowadays on both sides. Among Republicans and Democrats—though to different degrees—you often see partisans treating their political affiliation like a sports team. When a Democrat does something questionable, a hardcore Democrat will often try to justify it, even if it contradicts their previous opinions. The same happens with Republicans.

We see this pattern clearly in political science and public opinion research. When people consume information, they tend to read it in a way that reinforces their preexisting beliefs. If someone already has a strong opinion—whether it’s about God’s existence or their political party’s righteousness—they struggle to admit they might be wrong.

That cognitive dissonance people talk about? They don’t want to feel it. So, they’ll do anything to mentally flip the switch, convincing themselves that reality isn’t what it appears to be. Instead, they might say, “The liberal elites are manipulating the narrative,” or, “They’re trying to deceive me.” Their actual thoughts become their version of reality, and they reject any contradiction as a fabricated lie.

Jacobsen: Now, in a recent article, you argued that Kim Jong Un and the Christian God (I’m unsure whether you’re making a distinction between Catholicism and Protestantism here) share similar mechanisms of control over their followers.

So, how do you conceptually distinguish these forms of control? And how does this play out when one authority figure is a living person—like Kim Jong Un—while the other, like the Christian God, is believed to be real but remains intangible? Or, in the case of North Korea, how does the “dead dad and granddad” system function in what Hitchens might call a “necrocracy”? A tripartite comparison—Kim Jong Un, and the deceased leaders of North Korea.

Rose: For me, the mechanisms of control all center on getting people to believe in something unquestioningly. And in religion, the Christian God is God himself. In North Korea, Kim Jong Un is the absolute authority. The mechanism of control is always punishment. The question becomes: what is the consequence of not believing in this being?

This ties back to religion. Even within Christianity, different sects hold different beliefs about hell. Some believe in eternal damnation, while others think nonbelievers exist apart from God. Regardless, in their minds, separation from God is still a form of punishment—whether it’s eternal torment or spiritual exile.

Punishment is always central. In Christianity, punishment means being sent to hell. In North Korea, under Kim Jong Un, punishment means death or being sent to a concentration camp. That’s the core mechanism I focus on—punishment—because that ultimately compels people to conform.

Beyond punishment, there is also the element of solidarity. I can’t claim to know exactly what North Korean subjects truly believe in their hearts. But based on past research, historical patterns, and my reflections on belief systems, I see a recurring theme.

Even in oppressive groups—whether it’s a theocracy, a dictatorship, or a cult—people often remain loyal despite the harm they suffer. There’s a psychological benefit to group belonging. We see this in political interest groups as well. The same dynamic applies to Christianity:

It enforces belief through fear of punishment.

It fosters a sense of solidarity, even when the belief system may harm the individual or society.

Now, I don’t separate the two very much when we compare devotion to a living leader versus a deity. As I wrote in my article, let’s hypothetically assume, for argument’s sake, that God exists—setting aside any controversy.

Even if God is not a person but an entity, belief in him shapes society. It influences laws, behaviours, and human interactions, just as belief in Kim Jong Un dictates life in North Korea.

So, whether we view God as imaginary or real, the comparison holds. It’s all about effect—how belief in a real-life dictator versus a deity influences human beings. If you ever want me to elaborate on a specific point, just ask. I know my thoughts can sometimes branch off in multiple directions.

Jacobsen: But you have something that many Americans have—much more than many Canadians—something that may be more familiar to older generations who left religion in North America than younger generations who never had religion.

In a way, you are culturally bilingual regarding religion and nonreligion. You understand what religious people mean when they say certain things. It can be as simple as “God bless you,” essentially the secular equivalent of “Good luck.”

I don’t have any personal attachment to that phrase, but I understand the sentiment behind it. You grew up in a religious environment so that you can navigate both perspectives. So, how do you distinguish between faith and blind faith?

From the perspective of religious people in the United States—Christians in particular—how do they differentiate the two? 

Because often in religious debates—or what are called debates—you’ll see people pivot to “By faith, I mean trust. I trust that God is good.” It’s clever rhetoric but doesn’t add anything substantive to the conversation.

Rose: I totally see where you’re coming from. And yeah, that’s exactly why I lose interest in the battle between religion and nonreligion—it always comes down to semantics. One minute, someone claims to mean one thing, and then suddenly, “Oh, I didn’t mean that I meant this.”

Or you get the argument that “Everyone has some kind of religion.” It might not be believing in God, but they’ll insist it’s still a religion.

That’s when words start to lose meaning. What are we even doing if you redefine terms to justify your position? We’re not getting any closer to the truth.

And that’s what I’m after—the truth of what is actually real.

So, in terms of faith versus blind faith—Yes, I did grow up in a nonreligious household. For the first sixteen years of my life, I was born and raised in Virginia, which is a completely different environment from small-town Oklahoma, where we moved when I turned 16.

In Virginia, we never really talked about religion at home. Occasionally, it would come up on TV, but that was about it. Religion wasn’t present in schools. Then I moved to small-town Oklahoma, and it was a completely different world. The high school I graduated from was in a town one mile wide; within that one mile, there were six churches.

Religion and God were talked about constantly in that environment. I don’t think negatively about that experience because I had a good time at that school, but it was a strange experience. As you mentioned, I got to immerse myself in a completely different culture.

Take politics, for example. My parents always watched the news when I was growing up, so I heard their opinions. But never once did I hear religion as the justification for their views. It was never, “I believe this because of my faith.”

Politics came up in school as well—whether in conversations among students or even when teachers discussed it. But again, religion wasn’t a factor. Then, in Oklahoma, it was completely different. Almost every political opinion seemed to be tied directly back to religion, which was wild to experience.

That sparked my curiosity. I wanted to understand how religion could shape someone’s worldview, even though for me, that wasn’t the case at all.

I don’t have that religious framework in my head. So why does this one belief influence every other belief they hold? Now, getting into faith versus blind faith— I don’t think they see it as blind faith. Even though you and I might classify it that way, they don’t consider it faith.

You see this all the time on TikTok or other platforms. People ask, “How can you believe in something you haven’t seen?”Or, “You’re just reading words off a page—how do you believe in it without evidence?” But they genuinely think they do have evidence.

I saw a video of a woman claiming that God appeared in her house, in her room, and that she was able to hug God or Jesus—whichever entity she was referring to that day.

And honestly, how do you argue against that? You can’t. If they truly believe it, there’s nothing you can say to combat that. You have two possibilities:

They’re lying to themselves or others because they desperately want to convince people (and themselves) that this is real.

They truly believe it, which raises the question: Which is worse?

Is it scarier that they’ve lost their grip on reality to that degree? Or that they don’t believe it—but are deliberately lying and will do whatever it takes to get others to believe? Lately, I think it’s more of the latter—a calculated effort to push belief no matter what. And we see that happening through Christian nationalism. Oklahoma is the premier testing ground for that experiment.

Jacobsen: So, how do they use biblical literalism— through a fully literal reading or a selective literalist approach—to consolidate power and enforce obedience?

Rose: I’m not sure how familiar you are with Oklahoma politics, but judging by the topic, I’ll go ahead and name names—I don’t care.

Take Senator Dusty Deevers from Elgin, Oklahoma. If you scroll through his X (formerly Twitter) account, you’ll see biblical literalism on full display in the bills he’s trying to pass through the Oklahoma legislature.

For example, he has proposed legislation related to abortion—I believe he refers to it as chemical abortion, though not chemical castration. He’s also pushing bills targeting same-sex marriage and other issues in line with Christian nationalist ideology.

Now, you’d expect a deeply religious person—especially a pastor-turned-politician—to legislate based on his beliefs. And that’s exactly what he’s doing. This all ties back to punishment, whether in Christianity or North Korea.

When Christian nationalists like Deevers draft legislation, they often frame it in terms of God’s will. The underlying idea is that laws should punish those deviating from their Christian interpretation.

Deevers is an open Christian nationalist—he wrote a manifesto on the subject before he was even elected. So, he’s not just pandering when he pushes these laws—he genuinely believes in his actions.

And I can say this with some certainty because I’ve spoken to Senator Deevers in his office before. When we were discussing policy—purely political issues—you wouldn’t have guessed he was a pastor. But the moment he mentioned God, his entire demeanor changed. You could see it in his eyes.

Now, some people argue that politicians like Deevers are just using religion as a tool for power. That’s a fair argument. But there’s another possibility—some of these people truly believe everything they’re saying and genuinely want to implement it—not just in Oklahoma but nationwide.

And that’s a powerful thing to witness—the shift in his eyes, his energy—when he speaks about religion. If someone like Deevers truly believes in biblical literalism, then he will do everything in his power to enforce what he thinks the Bible demands.

The Bible suggests that if a land does not follow God’s will, it will be punished. Conversely, if a nation embraces God, it will prosper. If Deevers believes that literally, then his legislative efforts—banning gay marriage, outlawing abortion, and enforcing Christian moral codes—are all part of his mission.

Never mind the contradictions in the Bible itself—like God wiping out entire populations in the Great Flood—because biblical literalists rarely address those inconsistencies. However, the key takeaway is that we are witnessing real-life biblical literalism in action.

Some people, yes, are using Christian nationalism for power. But again, I truly believe that some people genuinely believe every word of the Bible and are acting on it. Dusty Deevers is one of them. And that brings us right back to the question—which is worse?

Is it more dangerous when someone doesn’t believe in biblical literalism but still tries to enforce it for political gain? Or is it worse when someone truly believes every word of the Bible and tries to legislate it into reality? Either way, this ideology affects more than just Oklahoma—we now see it at the federal level.

Take Trump’s recent initiatives, for example. His administration has been forming committees and groups dedicated to rooting out so-called ‘anti-Christian bias’ within the federal government. 

Jacobsen: But we know that’s not happening. If anything, we’ve seen the opposite—for a long time, there has been a pro-Christian bias in American politics.

Rose: All of these efforts fly in the face of reality. They contradict all the available evidence. So, what’s the purpose? It’s signalling about letting the so-called “good Christian people” know they’re on their side.

And if we set aside the courts and the power of Congress for a moment, we seem to be creeping toward a post-constitutional stage—where checks and balances are losing effectiveness. Yes, technically, we still have checks and balances. That’s the go-to response when someone points out that a president—whether Trump or anyone else—is overreaching. People say, “Don’t worry, we have the courts, we have Congress—they’ll push back.”

But we’re not seeing that. For decades, Congress has willingly handed more and more power over to the executive branch, and now, it’s on full display. So, when we talk about a post-constitutional era and what that means for Christian nationalism, it doesn’t bode well for those who don’t subscribe to their religious ideology.

And what does that mean for my family? My wife is an atheist, just like me. My daughter is only two years old, but what will life look like when she grows up if we’re still in Oklahoma? Because, in my view, the Bible—and Christianity in general—is deeply anti-woman. That’s clear as day to me.

So, if literal biblical interpretations start shaping our laws—whether at the state level in Oklahoma or at the federal level—what does that mean? What does that mean for women? What does that mean for nonbelievers?

And this is something I think many people fail to understand. Being an atheist isn’t a choice—it’s not about wanting to be an atheist or wanting to reject religion. No. It’s about reading the Bible, listening to the arguments, and saying: “I don’t buy it.”

It’s not as if I can wake up tomorrow and say, “You know what?”  I could say, “I believe in God.” It is all day long. But would that make it true?

Because I would always have that doubt, and I truly believe—probably always, though I won’t say always with absolute certainty—that it’s not true. That belief is outside of my control.

And that ties right back into the argument: If God created everyone and made them the way they are, then He made me this way—to send me to hell?

Jacobsen: What are the biggest parallels between the desired Christian nation of many Protestants—particularly white evangelical Christians in the United States—and authoritarian North Korea?

Rose: Uniform thought. It all goes back to the First Amendment—freedom of speech, freedom of thought, and the ability to reason freely in this country.

To truly control whether someone believes in God or anything—a political party, a social ideology—you have to control the flow of information. The more this country moves toward what they call a Christian nation or a Christian nationalist state, the greater the push will be to suppress dissenting voices.

We’ll see increased efforts to ban articles, shut down media companies, and restrict books from libraries because that’s how you control people. I’m sure—I’ve never been to North Korea—but I highly doubt they have vast, uncensored libraries on every corner.

Jacobsen: Dr. Rose, thank you very much for your time today. It was lovely to meet you.

Rose: Let me know anytime you want to talk. Bye.

Jacobsen: Thank you. Bye-bye.

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