Tucker Carlson, Kirk Cameron, and the Bible in Foreign Policy

With the (temporary) winding down of the Israel–Iran conflict, the apocalyptic fervor of cable news prophecy experts has also taken a breath — just long enough to reload. For those of us raised in the 1970s and '80s, this is familiar terrain: tabloid headlines breathlessly announcing that the latest Iranian leader is the long-anticipated Antichrist. Apparently, the end is always near, just not near enough to cancel your weekend plans.

Now, however, the conversation has shifted. Tucker Carlson recently pressed Senator Ted Cruz with a rather pointed question: Should the Bible shape American foreign policy in the Middle East? And behind that question, we’re beginning to see fractures in what was once unwavering conservative support for Israel. Some of this has to do with what I call eschatology fatigue.

Ask the average churchgoing American what their “eschatological position” is and they may reply, “Is that like a chiropractic adjustment?” The word is perilously close to “scatological,” which has fueled no small amount of youth group humor. But once you clarify that you’re asking about their view of the end times, you’ll typically get one of three answers: pre-, mid-, or post-tribulation. In other words, American Christians tend to know one family of end-times views: premillennialism, with its internal debate over whether Jesus returns before, during, or after a future time of global tribulation.

To summarize: premillennialism teaches that history will spiral downward until a climactic appearance of the Antichrist, who unleashes widespread persecution against the Church. Then — depending on your view — Jesus returns to rescue Christians in the rapture, and later sets up a 1,000-year golden age on earth (the “millennium”), which ends with a final judgment.

If that sounds like more theology than you expected in a political op-ed, I’m afraid it gets worse. Or better, depending on your tolerance for theological flowcharts.

The dispensational version of premillennialism adds a dizzying array of charts, graphs, and prophetic timelines—usually involving numerological interpretations of Daniel and Revelation. This framework has given rise to a long line of failed predictions. Think Hal Lindsey and The Late Great Planet Earth, which confidently predicted the end of the world several times over—each time incorrectly, though his royalty checks seemed to arrive right on schedule. The only modern prophet with a worse track record may be Al Gore.

There’s some truth to the claim that dispensational premillennialism has influenced American foreign policy—specifically, a tendency to treat support for Israel as a prophetic necessity. Some organizations have even helped fund the relocation of Jews to Israel, believing this to be a prerequisite for the rapture. And of course, who could forget the Left Behind movie series starring Kirk Cameron, which gave us all a taste of what happens when theology meets Hollywood: lots of explosions, awkward romantic tension, and Nicolas Cage in the reboot.

But here’s a twist: Kirk Cameron no longer believes in premillennialism. He converted—eschatologically speaking—to postmillennialism.

Yes, that’s a real term. And no, it has nothing to do with Post Malone.

Postmillennialism is the view that the Great Commission will succeed. That is, the Church will preach the gospel to the nations, the Holy Spirit will work through that proclamation, and the knowledge of the Lord will cover the earth as the waters cover the sea (Isaiah 11:9). Rather than expecting history to worsen, postmillennialists expect the long arc of history to bend toward redemption—through Christ, not Congress.

According to this view, the "tribulation" describes the ongoing struggle between the City of God and the City of Man throughout the Church age. The “Antichrist” is not a single political figure in a European pantsuit but rather anyone who exalts themselves against Christ across the centuries. There is one resurrection, one final judgment, and the millennium is not a future earthly reign but the golden age brought about by gospel expansion after which Christ returns.

And here’s where the theological rubber meets the geopolitical road: postmillennialists do not treat the modern nation-state of Israel as eschatologically privileged. For them, Israel of the Old Testament and the Church of the New Testament are one people of God—those, in all ages, who trust in the Lamb for their salvation. Yes, postmillennialists believe that ethnic Jews, like all nations, will be evangelized and discipled. But they do not see the current State of Israel as playing a unique prophetic role. It is, theologically speaking, in the same category as Canada (though with better hummus and a more aggressive foreign policy).

So what’s the upshot?

It absolutely matters what theology is shaping our foreign policy. But it’s not as simple as asking whether our leaders read the Bible. The question is: which eschatology are they reading it through? One view sees history descending into chaos until Jesus returns to clean up the mess. The other sees the Church maturing and the world being gradually discipled by the gospel until Christ returns in glory.

We may support Israel as a strategic ally for any number of legitimate political reasons. But let’s be clear-eyed about it: our commitment should not be driven by bad theology, failed prophecy charts, or a desire to hurry along the rapture by funding a rebuilt Temple so it can be destroyed in the Tribulation.

Instead, we should ask the same foreign policy questions we ask of any nation: Is Israel a free society? Does it stand against neighboring regimes that chant "Death to America"? Is it a bulwark of stability in a volatile region?

Politics is always downstream from theology (whether good or bad or absent), and it is time we spent as much energy getting our Bible knowledge right as we do in fighting about the details of our foreign and domestic policies.