Instead, Trump's success among evangelical voters may be rooted in the fact that, more than any other GOP candidate, Trump is able to speak to their sense of being under siege. Trump somehow conveys that he understands on a gut level that both Christianity and the country at large are under siege, and what's more, he is not constrained by politically correct niceties from saying so and proposing drastic measures to reverse this slide into chaos and godlessness. I recently talked to Robert Jones, the CEO of the Public Religion Research Institute, who has been studying evangelical opinion for many years. His research has led him to believe that Trump is very good at speaking to evangelicals' sense of a lost, mythical golden age in America that predates the political and cultural turmoil of the 1960s.
On the surface, the political dynamic is baffling. Jerry Falwell Jr., the son of a legendary right-wing TV preacher and the head of one of the nation's largest evangelical universities, threw his official political support behind Donald Trump -- a secular, thrice-married casino owner who's never really demonstrated any interest in, or knowledge of, matters of faith.
And yet, here we are. Falwell has not only offered a spirited (no pun intended) endorsement to the Republican frontrunner, he's even gone so far as to say Trump "reminds me so much of my father."
There's a fair amount to a story like this one, but let's start with a blast from the recent past.
In November 2007, another thrice-married New York Republican was running for president, who also had a secular track record of supporting abortion rights and gay rights. And yet, a high-profile televangelist -- Christian Coalition president and Christian Broadcasting Network founder Pat Robertson -- nevertheless threw his support to that GOP candidate, Rudy Giuliani.
Social conservative activists and leading religious right groups howled, for reasons that are probably obvious. Giuliani was the antithesis of everything evangelicals were looking for in a Republican presidential candidate, and yet, Robertson ignored his allies and threw in his lot with the secular, Catholic adulterer.
Why? Because Robertson's priorities weren't (and aren't) at all similar to those of many other evangelical leaders: the "700 Club" host saw a Republican leading in the polls; he wanted a seat at the table with a man he perceived as a future president; and so Robertson followed the prevailing political winds.
With the benefit of hindsight, we know this was a poor bet -- Giuliani failed spectacularly as a candidate, earning exactly zero delegates -- but it was a reminder that Robertson is a partisan first and a culture-war ideologue second, while other prominent social conservatives reverse the two.
And Robertson isn't the only social conservative who thinks this way.
In the current GOP race, prominent political evangelical leaders effectively limited their top choices to five Republican presidential hopefuls: Ted Cruz, Marco Rubio, Mike Huckabee, Rick Santorum, and Ben Carson. Trump was an afterthought.
Cruz emerged as the religious right movement's standard bearer, but like Robertson eight years ago, that didn't stop Jerry Falwell Jr. from going his own way.
Of course, there's also the larger question of why Falwell's fellow evangelicals would even consider Trump in the first place. We can't say with certainty whether the Liberty University president has partisan or electoral motivations, but that's a separate question from what other social conservatives are thinking as they, too, rally behind Trump.
The Washington Post's Greg Sargent published a good piece on this last week.
In other words, we're talking about a group of voters -- largely white, older, social conservatives -- who hear Trump vowing to "make America great again," and believe him, without much regard for his ignorance about religion, his messy personal life, or his previous policy positions.
If a secular, thrice-married casino owner who uses phrases like "Two Corinthians" is eager to champion a vision of a bygone era, these evangelicals appear to care more about the message than the messenger.