How Modern Powers Use Theology and Ideology to Create Cohesion and Justify Expansion

Geopolitics is often explained through material variables — military capability, economic leverage, institutional alignment, demographic weight. Yet beneath these measurable factors lies something older and less quantifiable: the human tendency to believe that one’s own community is uniquely chosen, historically destined, or morally superior. This belief — whether expressed through theology, civil religion, revolutionary ideology, or civilizational myth — performs two enduring functions. It binds societies internally, and it legitimizes their projection of power externally.

Exceptionalism is not confined to any one religion, culture, or political system. It is an anthropological constant. Societies across history have told stories that elevate the in-group and define a moral boundary separating it from outsiders. These narratives do not automatically produce aggression, but they normalize hierarchy and make expansion, influence, or resistance feel not merely strategic but justified. Modern states, despite their bureaucratic and secular facades, continue to operate within this ancient pattern.

The United States offers one of the clearest examples of exceptionalism evolving over time. Early American identity was shaped by covenant theology — the idea of a people set apart for a divine purpose, a “city upon a hill.” In the nineteenth century, this framing took territorial form in Manifest Destiny, the belief that continental expansion was historically ordained. After the Second World War, American exceptionalism secularized into liberal internationalism. The United States cast itself as architect of a rules-based order grounded in democracy, open markets, and human rights. This universalist posture was missionary in structure: American values were not merely national preferences but global goods.

Today, however, that post-1945 liberal consensus is visibly under strain. A rising current of America First nationalism — often intertwined with Christian nationalism — challenges secular humanism and global institutionalism. The debate is not whether the United States is exceptional; it is what that exceptionalism requires. Should it lead a universal order, or defend a distinct civilizational identity at home? The underlying structure of chosenness remains, but its policy implications are contested.

European exceptionalism has long combined sacral authority, civilizational mission, and political expansion, a pattern visible from the Greek and Roman Empires, the papal endorsement of the Crusades through the theological and legal justifications that underwrote early modern colonialism; in the twentieth century those same currents mutated into secular, racial, and nationalist doctrines that fed fascist and Nazi claims to historical destiny, and the catastrophic consequences of that fusion prompted a postwar retreat toward a more secular, supranational European project that sought to neutralize claims of moral chosenness in favor of legal integration and shared institutions.

China’s exceptionalism differs in tone and ambition. Rooted in the ancient conception of the “Middle Kingdom,” China has long understood itself as the civilizational center of its region. Historically, legitimacy flowed from the Mandate of Heaven — a cosmological endorsement of orderly rule. The modern Chinese Communist Party does not invoke divine authority, but it presents itself as heir to civilizational continuity and as restorer of national dignity after a “century of humiliation.” China’s exceptionalism is civilizational and hierarchical rather than missionary. It does not seek ideological conversion abroad. Instead, it seeks recognition of status and deference to influence. The narrative of restoration — returning China to its rightful place — strengthens domestic cohesion and justifies expanding economic and strategic reach.

Russia’s exceptionalism is both sacred and restorative. The idea of Moscow as the “Third Rome” positioned Russia as guardian of authentic Christianity after the fall of earlier centers. In contemporary form, this merges with Eurasian identity and imperial memory. Russian political rhetoric often frames the state as a distinct civilization resisting Western encroachment and moral decay. Expansion or intervention is described not as conquest but as protection of historical space and cultural kin. Here, exceptionalism is restorative-imperial: a reclaiming of status and sphere rather than a universal ideological mission.

Israel’s exceptionalism draws on one of the oldest theological narratives in recorded history: the concept of a covenant between God and a chosen people bound to a particular land. Jewish chosenness is covenantal — tied to obligation as well as privilege — but it has also shaped collective identity across millennia of dispersion. The modern State of Israel fused biblical memory with modern nationalism, framing sovereignty as both self-determination and historical return. Israeli exceptionalism is sacral-territorial and survivalist. Holocaust memory reinforces existential awareness, and security doctrine reflects the conviction that permanence in ancestral land is both historical rectification and strategic necessity. Unlike missionary models, Israel’s exceptionalism does not seek global ideological transformation; it centers on continuity, security, and sacred geography. Israel’s global projection is more related to economics, science, intelligence, and military technology, rather than a global military presence.

Saudi Arabia’s exceptionalism is rooted in sacred geography of a different kind. The kingdom is custodian of Islam’s holiest sites in Mecca and Medina and guardian of the land where the Prophet Muhammad was born and first received revelation. This dual identity — custodianship and birthplace — confers unique religious authority within the Muslim world. Islamic theology positions itself as the final revelation, completing and superseding earlier monotheistic traditions. While Saudi Arabia does not claim universal political dominion, its stewardship of Islam’s origins and sacred spaces embeds a powerful sense of centrality. In recent years, modernization and nationalism have tempered overtly missionary rhetoric, but the underlying spiritual exceptionalism remains a latent source of legitimacy. The Arabian Peninsula is widely regarded as the historical heartland of Arab civilization, a deep-rooted identity that adds an Arab–Persian dimension to the contemporary Iran–Saudi strategic rivalry alongside its theological Sunni–Shia component.

Iran presents a more layered form of exceptionalism. At the theological level, the Islamic Republic grounds authority in Shi’i doctrine. Shi’ism locates rightful leadership in the lineage of the Prophet through his daughter Fatima and son-in-law Ali, creating a conception of sacred descent and historical injustice. The doctrine of Velayat-e Faqih embeds clerical guardianship within the state, framing Iran as defender of authentic Islamic governance. Yet Iranian exceptionalism is not solely sectarian or revolutionary. It also draws upon a deep Persian civilizational identity that predates Islam by centuries. Iran sees itself as heir to an ancient cultural and imperial tradition whose language, art, and intellectual life shaped the broader region. The fusion of Shi’i sacred lineage and Persian civilizational continuity produces a dual exceptionalism: Iran as guardian of true Islamic authority and as enduring cultural core of West Asia. This combination lends both theological intensity and historical depth to its regional posture.

Turkish exceptionalism draws on a civilizational memory that predates Islam and outlives the Ottoman collapse. It frames the Turks as a people forged on the Eurasian steppe—warrior‑administrators who built states across continents—and later as custodians of an imperial order that governed Muslims, Christians, and Jews under a single political canopy. That long arc creates a sense of historical centrality rather than contingency. Erdoğan’s Islamicist turn repurposes this inheritance: Ottoman legitimacy is recast not as a dynastic artifact but as a moral and religious mandate interrupted by Western intrusion and Kemalist secularism. The project is less about restoring borders than restoring hierarchy—placing Turkey at the apex of a Sunni political sphere, reviving Ottoman-era networks, and positioning Ankara as the natural voice of Muslim grievance and aspiration. This blend of ancient lineage, imperial nostalgia, and Islamicist mission produces a form of exceptionalism that is assertive, restorative, and civilizational: Turkey is imagined not as one state among many, but as a historical actor returning to its rightful scale.

India’s contemporary exceptionalism, particularly under the influence of Hindutva, is civilizational and restorative. It presents India as an ancient sacred civilization disrupted by foreign conquest and now undergoing renewal. The narrative emphasizes cultural continuity, sacred geography, and historical redress. It does not seek global religious conversion, but it asserts civilizational primacy within its region and strengthens majority cohesion domestically. Like other restorative models, it frames political consolidation as cultural revival.

Across these diverse cases, several patterns emerge. Some exceptionalist narratives are universal and missionary, seeking normative spread beyond borders. Others are civilizational and hierarchical, seeking recognition of status rather than conversion. Some are restorative, oriented toward reclaiming lost greatness. Others are sacral-territorial or custodial, centered on sacred geography and historical continuity. The content differs; the function remains similar.

Exceptionalism stabilizes societies by providing meaning, cohesion, and moral orientation. It helps populations endure hardship and interpret adversity as part of a larger story. But it also narrows the space for compromise. When national identity is intertwined with sacred destiny, policy disputes acquire existential weight. Concessions can be interpreted not merely as strategic adjustments but as betrayals of historical purpose.

In a multipolar world in which many of these powers are nuclear-armed, the interaction of exceptionalist narratives carries structural risk. Rational cost-benefit analysis alone cannot fully predict state behavior when leaders and publics perceive themselves as guardians of destiny, covenant, civilization, or sacred lineage. These narratives cannot be negotiated away because they are embedded in collective identity. They can be moderated, reframed, or instrumentalized, but they cannot be eliminated.

Beneath institutions and treaties lies story. And stories of chosenness, restoration, sacred space, and civilizational continuity remain among the most powerful drivers of geopolitical behavior. Understanding the anthropology of exceptionalism does not resolve international conflict. But without understanding it, material analysis alone will always be incomplete.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)