Deconstructing the American Dream

Myth, Meaning, and a Nation in an Existential Crisis

Every society builds its identity around foundational myths. These are the stories that tell us who we are, who the heroes and villains are, and what progress or failure looks like. These myths provide comfort, reinforcing the idea that the world is structured, predictable, and, in some cases, just. They explain why things are the way they are—and often, why they must stay that way.

But myths are not just arbitrary stories imposed from above. They are the stories that survive the test of time. Much like biological evolution, myths undergo a natural selection process—only the stories and characters that resonate deeply enough with human experience get passed down. These stories endure because they offer meaning, shaping cultures and guiding people through the fundamental struggles of existence. They are maps of meaning, helping us make sense of chaos, suffering, and the unknown. But what happens when those myths start to unravel?

When our myths are called into question, it is not merely an intellectual shift— it is an existential crisis. The world no longer makes sense in the same way it once did. What was once stable and unquestioned becomes fragile and uncertain. The unraveling of a myth is not just the loss of a story; it is the deconstruction of a framework that structured reality itself. This crisis forces individuals and societies alike to grapple with profound disorientation, asking: What remains when the old stories no longer hold?

The Myths That Shape America

America, like any great civilization, has been shaped by its myths. Some are old, others are new, but all have helped define what it means to be American. From the founding ideals of freedom and democracy to the belief in rugged individualism and self-made success, these stories provide a shared identity. Some of the most enduring myths include:

• The American Dream – The belief that anyone, regardless of background, can achieve success through hard work and perseverance.

• The Melting Pot – The notion that America is a land of immigrants where diverse cultures blend into a unified national identity.

• The Myth of the Good War (WWII) – The belief that the U.S. led the world in defeating evil, ushering in an era of peace and democracy.

• The Civil Rights Myth – The narrative that America, once divided by race, overcame its injustices through the nonviolent efforts of Martin Luther King Jr. and others, leading to the fulfillment of racial equality.

These myths have structured American identity, shaping its role on the world stage and reinforcing ideals of progress, justice, and national purpose. But every myth is subject to scrutiny, and as history unfolds, cracks begin to appear in the stories we tell ourselves.

How Wokeism and MAGA Revise These Myths

In recent years, two major movements—Wokeism and MAGA—have emerged as revisionist forces, each challenging and rewriting these dominant myths in different ways.

• Wokeism argues that the myths of American greatness and racial progress obscure deeper realities of systemic oppression. It critiques the Civil Rights myth, asserting that racism did not end but evolved, hidden in economic and legal structures. The American Dream, in this view, is not equally accessible to all, and the melting pot idea ignores the need for cultural preservation and recognition of historical injustices.

• MAGA, on the other hand, seeks to restore a version of America that it believes was lost. It revises the post-WWII myth by arguing that globalism and liberal policies have weakened the nation. The Civil Rights movement, in some MAGA narratives, is viewed as having been co-opted to serve elite interests rather than uplifting ordinary Americans. MAGA emphasizes a return to traditional values, national sovereignty, and economic protectionism, rejecting the idea that American identity must be reshaped to accommodate new cultural forces.

Both movements, in their own ways, engage in deconstruction—stripping away layers of mythology to reveal alternative versions of history. But deconstruction does not happen in a vacuum. When old myths collapse, societies seek new ones to replace them.

Who Shapes the New Myths?

Walter Brueggemann suggests that myths are always influenced by two primary forces: the powerful and the prophets. Both shape societal myths, but their goals are vastly different.

The powerful—those with wealth, political influence, and institutional control—craft myths that justify and sustain their authority. Their stories do not simply defend history; they rewrite the present to maintain power. These myths diminish the role of the ordinary person, erasing the power of grassroots movements and framing the elite as the necessary stewards of civilization. When these myths are challenged, those in power do not seek new truth—they seek to reinforce their rule by controlling the stories that are told.

The prophets, on the other hand, disrupt these myths. Rather than reinforcing the status quo, they tell alternative stories—ones that expose injustice, elevate the voices of the marginalized, and call people toward transformation. The prophets of Israel did not just condemn the ruling class; they offered alternative narratives—stories that redefined who truly had power. The Exodus myth, for example, shattered Pharaoh’s authority by telling the Israelites a different story: that they were not slaves destined to serve an empire but a chosen people meant to serve God.

This dynamic is always present in history. When old myths unravel, the powerful work to preserve their control, while the prophets imagine something new. The tension between these two forces is what shapes the next era’s mythology.

But myths do not simply shift without consequence. They are often forged in conflict. This is where René Girard’s mimetic theory helps us understand what happens next. When myths collapse, societies don’t peacefully embrace a new story—they search for scapegoats to explain the crisis. We see this happening now as competing narratives assign blame for the unraveling of America’s identity.

What This Means for Christians as Truth-Tellers

This is why the deconstruction of our national myths is not just a political or cultural moment—it is an existential crisis. When the foundational stories of a people are challenged, it leads to uncertainty, division, and, ultimately, an apocalypse—not in the sense of destruction, but in its original Greek meaning: an unveiling.

I understand deconstruction as an existential crisis because I’ve lived it.

For years, my faith was built on a foundation I never questioned. It was a story of certainty—one where God’s will was clear, the church was the guardian of truth, and life followed a predictable moral order. But then, cracks began to form. I started asking questions I wasn’t supposed to ask. I wrestled with scripture in ways that made others uncomfortable. I saw suffering and injustice that my neat theological framework couldn’t explain. The story I had relied on to make sense of the world was no longer holding together.

But deconstruction doesn’t just disrupt belief—it disrupts relationships. As I deconstructed my faith, I also found myself deconstructing my marriage, my friendships, and my understanding of the past. Suddenly, my wife and I found it difficult to communicate. The stories we had built our marriage on were now skewed, remembered and interpreted differently. It was disorienting.

Sometimes, we would ask each other, “Did we experience the same events, the same marriage, the same two decades together?” It felt like mass confusion, as if we were inhabiting two entirely different histories—two separate realities.

I see a lot of that happening in America today. It’s almost as if we, as a nation, are looking at each other in disbelief, asking, “Did we grow up in the same country? Did we live through the same history?”

And that’s the nature of deconstruction—it doesn’t just change how we see the present. It rewrites the past.

But here is where the Gospel offers something radically different.

Girard saw the crucifixion as the ultimate interruption of the scapegoating cycle. Throughout history, societies have resolved crises by finding someone to blame, sacrificing them, and rewriting the story to justify their actions. But the cross exposes this mechanism.

Unlike every other scapegoat in history, Jesus does not stay silent—his resurrection unmasks scapegoating for what it is: a lie, a tool of power, a means of maintaining control. The Gospels do not justify his death as necessary for maintaining order; they expose it as an unjust act of power. In doing so, the Christian story is not just another myth—it reveals the truth about all myths.

If Girard is right, then Christians are called to resist the myths that demand new scapegoats. The world is caught in a cycle of competing stories—each side constructing its own narrative, its own heroes and villains. But the church is not called to pick a side in this ideological war. We are called to bear witness to a truth that transcends all of these myths.

The world is searching for new myths to believe in. The question is: will the church rise above the ideological battles of our time and proclaim a truth that transcends these myths? Or will it merely adopt another version of the competing narratives, reinforcing the divisions rather than offering a redemptive and unifying vision?