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John Frémont and a Banner for a Forgotten America
The scene in The Patriot where Mel Gibson rides across the early dawn horizon bearing the Betsy Ross flag has always stirred a latent fervour in me. I never felt the same patriotic twitch looking at the modern, 50 star flag. That flag flies in front of government buildings of a state that no longer stands for me.
In the Covid-era, we experienced a de facto coup of long brewing forces of tyranny. As we enter its aftermath, a true and full-hearted Americanism is the supreme counter culture. It is easy and tempting in times of such horrendous decay to see America as a corrupt empire, but behind its aggressive export of proto-Luciferian global progressivism is a nation of forgotten men with a great lust for life.
The true America is a nation of explorers. Exploration is the zenith of vibrant and vital youth. Curiosity and drive for mastery of self and surroundings bred a stock of men seeking God, wisdom and adventure. As the 50 star banner and the government it represents becomes more hostile to these values and the men who inspired them, I submit that our countercultural Americanism should rally behind the banner of a man who embodied our spirit with great zeal – John C. Frémont.
The Frémont flag looks much like the traditional American flag. In the place of stars, the blue field seats an eagle holding an olive branch in one claw and a fistful of arrows in the other. Frémont carried it on his expeditions so as not to provoke war in Indian territory while identifying himself as an American. The symbolism was clear; you can have peace or war with America, but regardless of your choice, it will be on our terms.
To be entirely honest, that message is one for another time, in which our Republic was very different. The intended meaning of the flag is less interesting than its namesake. John Frémont was one of the greatest Americans to ever live, and an exemplar of the spirit we must thrust upon this modern age. Frankly, it doesn’t hurt that it looks cool as hell.
An explorer, commander and politician, Frémont was born with nothing and never accepted a fatalistic life of destitution. He gained marginal status as a military officer and brilliant mathematician. After courting the daughter of politician Thomas Hart Benton, he was pushed away by the senator for his low status. Indignant, the young Frémont ran away with his beloved and eloped.
The senator’s outrage subsided in time and he sponsored the young couple’s expeditions into the untamed west. Frémont would lead five major expeditions, plant the American flag on the peaks of the Rockies, create maps and literature illuminating the romantic wonder of our frontier and inspire thousands to brave the Oregon Trail and settle new territory.
Frémont’s adventures as an explorer were put on pause by the Mexican-American War. The adventurer commanded the conquest of California and was appointed the military governor. He was such a beloved leader that when he was displaced as governor, he staged a mutiny with the fervent support of his regiment. He was court-martialed for the rebellion and stripped of rank. In recognition for his indispensable service in the conquest of the west, he was granted a presidential pardon.
The adventurer’s spirit was never broken. After the Mexican-American War he would find himself commanding new armies, governing new territories and taking on several other new ventures. While he died destitute, he fought at every point to thrust his vision upon the world. He was unwavering with power that was granted to him and he never ceased to chase adventure. The circumstances of his birth were never allowed to be a limiting factor in his drive for an unbridled and wildly whole life. He never pitied himself nor despaired of his misgivings, he was ever relentlessly free.
Frémont was a child born in sin. His mother, seed of the southern gentry, was arranged at the age of sixteen to be married to a wealthy landowner in his late sixties. She began an affair with her tutor, an educated man of French extraction. They conceived John and ran away together, living in poverty. Frémont was born of passion. A forbidden passion, the very nature of his conception was filled with that fiery force of life that possesses us in moments of ecstasy. His birth was by the work of Eros and it baptised him with a great fire and zeal for life that he carried through him into his final days.
This fire of passionate, ecstatic life is inseparable from the American spirit. We are of the great stock of the mighty Englishmen who created an empire upon which the sun never set – though we are a branch of that family filtered by possessing the daring to board wooden ships and cross the most treacherous of oceans, to a land of hostile natives and untamed lands. We arrived upon a continent with nothing but what we could carry and we made it our own. Nothing we have achieved would have been possible without this fiery spirit of passion for life! Frémont is among the greatest of Americans and a symbol of the American spirit manifest in its most uncompromising, violent and arrogant excellence. Under his banner, I see an America made new, cleansed by its own zealous, willful, vicious, wholly alive spirit.
Let us rally behind Frémont’s banner. It is now our time to embrace a heroic spirit of adventure, to be unwavering in our use of power. In times of national crisis, we cannot bind ourselves to convention. The great men of our era must be unforgiving and wield the power that they can acquire with absolute strength. The system is against you. You will face setbacks, perhaps situating you at square one. Embrace the spirit of adventure, and wander on.
Dostoevsky’s Answer to the Problem of Evil: A Lenten Reflection
Having tackled the growing hydra of socialist radicalism through his previous major novels, Fyodor Dostoevsky set out in The Brothers Karamazov to address what he saw as the fountainhead of the mid-century Russian ideological shifts: the loss of faith in the the gospel and in the Orthodox Church as the means established by Christ to display that gospel to the nations.
To be sure, Dostoevsky saw this loss of faith primarily in the upper-class intelligentsia and the later populist youth. The former, the Westernizers of the 1940s-60s whom Dostoevsky pilloried in everything from Notes from Underground to The Devils, had intended to enlighten the peasant class—part of which involved relieving them of their superstitious belief in Christ’s divinity and Christian morality. The latter generation of 1870s Populists broke from the amoral nihilism of that generation (in no small part due to Crime and Punishment and The Devils) and instead venerated the peasants’ simple way of life and native morality; however, refusing to acknowledge their source in Christ and the Russian Orthodox Church, the populists still maintaining secular aims.
Dostoevsky’s response to both groups was to advocate a return to the fullness of the faith in Orthodoxy, which could satisfy all needs of the human individual, both physical and transcendent. However, having previously been a radical himself, Dostoevsky was ever willing to pursue this goal through a conciliatory approach, especially if he might thereby rescue some readers from the contradictions and potential disasters of radicalism. He does this in The Brothers Karamazov by taking seriously a primary objection to Christianity: the problem of evil.
Ivan Karamazov: The Problem of Evil
He articulates the problem of evil through Ivan Karamazov. In Book Five, Chapter V, “The Grand Inquisitor,” Ivan follows up his description in the previous chapter of the senseless abuse of children (all gathered by Dostoevsky from real-life newspaper stories) to his little brother Alyosha, a would-be priest, with the one of the most famous stories-within-a-story in world literature. These chapters, according to Dostoevsky’s letters, are among the most important in the novel. They lay out the problem of evil and its refutation—through a parallel story-within-a-story: Book VI, The Russian Monk, which presents the life and sayings of the local monastery elder Fr. Zosima, compiled by Alyosha long after the novel’s events.
Acknowledging himself as no philosopher—to say nothing of his being an Eastern Orthodox Christian, who generally eschew Western theory-forward approaches in favor of ascetical practice and theosis as proof of the faith—Dostoevsky does not merely present logical arguments for or against Ivan’s atheism. (Indeed, one of the greatest aspects of this self-proclaimed atheist is that it is debatable whether Ivan believes his own professed atheism. He often waffles in, and at times regrets, his stance and, like Dostoevsky’s previous protagonists, is horrified upon seeing his stated beliefs actually lived out by Smerdyakov. Furthermore, Ivan often fits less the title of Enlightenment philosophe and more that of Romantic hero in protest against an unjust God whom he nonetheless believes in.) Rather, Dostoevsky addresses Ivan’s problem with evil not with a matching argument and polemical story, but with the life of a saint.
Fr. Zosima: A Holy Life
In Book VI, The Russian Monk, Dostoevsky breaks from the novelistic form and uses, instead, the mystical, timeless mode of hagiography. Because it is ordered by a moral message rather than causal events or their concomitant psychological elements, such a mode has struck many critics as dismissable, being unrealistic or simply jinned up. Dostoevsky acknowledges this in a letter to Konstantin Pobedonostsev, the Russian Orthodox Church’s representative in the Tsar’s cabinet: “Something completely opposite to the world view expressed earlier appears in this part, but again it appears not point by point but so to speak in artistic form. And that is what worries me, that is, will I be understood and will I achieve anything of my aim?”
Nonetheless, by answering the problem of evil with a holy life lived in spite of evil, he tells his assistant editor, Dostoevsky intends to show “that a pure, ideal Christian is not something abstract, but graphically real, possible, standing before our eyes, and that Christianity is the only refuge from all its ills for the Russian land,” and, presumably, for those of the rest. In short, Dostoevsky answers the world’s evil with holiness—with the saints alive in every generation of Orthodoxy that allow the Church to call itself “Holy” in the Nicene Creed and by whose theotic prayers and actions it redeems a fallen world.
The Russian Monk, however, goes beyond merely presenting one exception to evil. Contrary to the atheist-materialist-socialist arguments (then and now) that people and their actions are merely effects of environment, Dostoevsky maintains that part of the image of God in man is an inalienable individual moral agency. Thus, the redemption shown in Fr. Zosima’s story is available to all. Far from presenting merely one anecdote, The Russian Monk transforms all characters in The Brothers Karamazov into potential likenesses of Christ and His redemption of the world.
As Nathan Rosen argues, this opposite pole of “The Grand Inquisitor” defends the faith not through rational argument but through aesthetic fullness—by presenting a man who embodies in his own life the story and truth of Job. According to Rosen and other sympathetic critics, Zosima’s story, “is the literary equivalent of a precious hallowed old church icon,” and as such it renders the rest of the novel, broadly, and Alyosha’s path, specifically, into the realm of iconography—the tradition that, following Christ’s being the first Icon of God the Father, reveals the truth of the gospel through aesthetic incarnation.
Grushenka: Dostoevsky’s Magdalene
And, yet, at the time of the novel’s events, Alyosha is not as sanguine as the later Alyosha who recorded Fr. Zosima’s life. Indeed, between his conversation with Ivan (and the discovery of his own unsuspected resentment of God it revealed) and Fr. Zosima’s non-miraculous death*, his faith is quite shaken. He is, thus, primed for either a full loss of faith or a restoration in the chapters preceding “Cana of Galilee,” which Dostoevsky describes to his assistant editor as “the most significant [chapter] in the whole book.”
Having felt his faith shaken by Ivan’s “poem” and the circumstances of Fr. Zosima’s death, Alyosha reverts to the way of life he knows to be native to himself as a Karamazov: sensual degradation. Agreeing to go with the atheist student Rakitin (who’s just been wishing to trip up Alyosha so he might gloat) to the home of his father and eldest brother’s paramour, Agrafena “Grushenka” Svetlova, Alyosha intends to…do whatever Dostoevsky’s readers might infer from the author’s 19th-century understatement.
Grushenka immediately catches the mood and starts to flirt with the boy. Any other time she would have been more than willing to get her claws in yet another Karamazov male—especially the one who, by his purity, represents the moral opposite of her supposed fallenness. Although she conceals some secret joy altogether different from her vengeful persona of seduction, Grushenka begins to play the harlot she knows Alyosha considers her to be. “She suddenly skipped forward and jumped, laughing, on his knee, like a nestling kitten, with her right arm around his neck. ‘I’ll cheer you up, my pious boy.’”
And, yet, far from falling to her ways, Alyosha discovers that Fr. Zosima’s teaching was not altogether without fruit. “This woman, this ‘dreadful’ woman, had no terror for him now, none of that terror that had stirred in his soul at any passing thought of woman.” Furthermore, he soon learns that the joy hidden beneath her flirtation springs from the recent discovery that the man who had seduced and abandoned her as a teenager is returning, and that she is willing to forgive him.
This turn of events has emptied her impulse to reduce Alyosha to her fallen position. “It’s true, Alyosha, I had sly designs on you before, for I am horrid, violent, but at other times I’ve looked upon you, Alyosha, as my conscience…I sometimes look at you and feel ashamed, utterly ashamed of myself.” No doubt this shame had driven her late desire to cause Alyosha’s fall.
However, just as Ivan’s description of the suffering of children primed the way for the denial of Christ in “The Grand Inquisitor,” Grushenka’s act of forgiveness for being seduced as a young girl is the prelude to her—and Alyosha’s—redemption. For, after overthrowing nearly a decade of resentment in the name of forgiveness and reconciliation, Grushenka finally learns of the death of Fr. Zosima. “She crossed herself devoutly. ‘Goodness, what have I been doing, sitting on his knee like this at such a moment!’ She started up as though in dismay, instantly slipped off his knee and sat down on the sofa.”
Witnessing such an immediate response of reverence begins the restoration of Alyosha’s faith. To Rakitin, who is still proud of having delivered Alyosha to Grushenka, Judas-like, for 25 rubles, Alyosha says, “look at her—do you see how she has pity on me? I came here to find a wicked soul—I felt drawn to evil because I was base and evil myself, and I’ve found a true sister, I have found a treasure—a loving heart. She had pity on me just now…Agrafena Alexandrovna, I am speaking of you. You’ve raised my soul from the depths.”
The paired forgiveness and reverence of Grushenka, the person Alyosha least expected to show such things, provides the miracle he was waiting for: the manifestation of Fr. Zosima after death. For, besides her forgiveness of the officer, in fearing what effect her own seductiveness might have had on Alyosha Grushenka displays Zosima’s core message. Assuming one’s own moral responsibility—not merely for one’s actions, but, according to Fr. Zosima, for all men’s actions—is the whole means of acquiring the likeness of Christ, and Alyosha sees Grushenka, of all people, practice it.
From the Orthodox perspective, in thus fulfilling her innate human image of God with behavior according with His likeness, Grushenka has become a living icon, as Christ, the first Icon, had been. Grushenka’s is the miracle of a Magdalene conversion, manifested before Alyosha’s eyes, and it primes him for his own symbolic incarnation of Fr. Zosima’s—and the unnamed Christ’s—message, spirit, and way of life in the climactic next chapter.
Alyosha: A Living Icon
Ultimately, each reader must decide for him or herself whether Dostoevsky’s answer to the problem of evil, indeed, answers it. Many critics have considered Ivan’s objection to Christianity insurmountable. Leaving aside possible confirmation bias in such academic interpretation, things are, admittedly, not helped by the response’s seeming so obscure—even arguably interrupting—especially to Western audiences that have generally foregone monasticism, iconography, and veneration of saints since the Reformation and subsequent Enlightenment.
However, the true answer to evil, according to The Brothers Karamazov, is not a simple one-and-done response provoking a change of mind (though Alyosha’s realization in “Cana of Galilee” of the Orthodox sacramental view of creation involves just that). Rather, it is a disposition and way of life depicted first through Fr. Zosima, then the redeemed Grushenka, and finally through a not much older but very much wiser Alyosha, who through the rest of the book follows his Elder’s direction in living out the gospel in the real world, amidst but not stifled by its temptations and evils.
And, indeed, when Alyosha meets the fourteen-year-old self-described radical, Kolya, who both parodies Ivan and represents a serious ideological influence on his younger friends, he is unperturbed. Doing what Dostoevsky hoped, himself, to do with The Brothers Karamazov, Alyosha redirects the good-hearted youth’s radicalism into a simple and more impactful Christlike love of the least of these—specifically, the smallest, Ilyusha—and he manifests the humble confidence and tranquility not merely of his former elder, but of Christ and His sacramental life.
*It was considered a proof of a holy man’s life that his body did not decompose post mortem; the lack of such incorruptibility in Fr. Zosima leads Alyosha to doubt whether, as Ivan has lately denied, a God of justice exists. Ironically, by expecting a grandiose miracle to meet his spiritual crisis, Alyosha discovers that he is little better than those described by Ivan in “The Grand Inquisitor” who are too weak for the moral freedom (and responsibility) inherent in Christianity. It also reveals Alyosha’s desire to defer his moral responsibility (an antiChristian impulse in Dostoevsky) to the holy man’s direction.
His Royal Mistress
We may think of our ancestors as prudes when it comes to sex, but that’s not the case. A decent percentage of women were pregnant on their wedding day. People like Benjamin Franklin wrote guides on the best ways to have sex. Lewd ballads and jokes spread around the court.
The most prominent example of this is the royal mistress. Often young and beautiful, these women would service the king in ways he may not get from his wife. They would provide wit, charm and companionship. In France, a mistress could become Maîtresse-en-titre, an official appointment that would bring her her own apartments. It’s less official in other countries but these women were the most prominent ladies of the court after the official royals.
Let’s dive into the world of royal mistresses.
Why a mistress?
Royal marriages were alliances. As a rule, love would come after the wedding, if it all. Factors of a match included wealth, geography, religion, security and chances of children. Compatibility rarely factored into it. The brides were often in their early teens, sometimes younger, with their husbands sometimes a lot older. You met at the aisle or just before. It didn’t matter if they weren’t attractive or the right age- you married them.
With love out of the question, a king would turn to a mistress in order to have companionship. They’d be able to enjoy the sex they had with them as well as just being around someone they’re on good terms with.
A lot of the time, it was expected that a king would have a mistress and would be regarded as odd as he didn’t. A king could love and care for his wife but take a mistress either out of lust or obligation. For most of their marriage, Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon were pretty happy, yet he had mistresses. George II cared for his wife Caroline of Ansbach but still took lovers. On her deathbed Caroline asked him to remarry, but George replied that he’d only have mistresses. To love one’s wife was seen as unfashionable and having a mistress was seen as a sign of masculinity. George III being a loving, faithful husband to Queen Charlotte and spending time with his children was seen as rather odd.
Who were the mistresses?
Mistresses could come from all walks of life, from working-class girls to the highest nobility, though the latter was much more common. It tended to be easier to meet women of their own social standing. They were sometimes already known to the king or perhaps caught his eye at court. A particularly ambitious family might introduce their daughter in hopes of reaping the awards.
Beauty was almost always universal, but looks aren’t always the key factor. It was said that James II’s mistresses Arabella Churchill and the Countess of Dorchester were not beautiful. Instead these women were lively, intelligent, witty and charming. They were there not just to sleep with the king but to be companions. They’d attend parties together and have a drink after dinners. These women tended to be well educated and from political families which meant that they could hold their own. The most powerful mistresses would have political influences.
Marital status and virginity would not matter. Kings chose virgins, unmarried women, married women and widows. The husband of a mistress may well have been paid off and given handsome positions, sometimes they were sent away from court. Some were happy, others ambivalent or even angry. Either way, there wasn’t much they could do. They were the husband, but the king was the king.
Despite the strict sexual norms of the era, families of mistresses were often delighted that their daughters and sisters were chosen. The families of mistresses received new titles, positions and land. Thomas Boleyn, already a competent courtier, was showered with responsibilities as Henry VIII fell for Anne. Arabella Churchill’s family was thrilled for her, as she was considered extremely plain and even ugly.
What were the benefits of being a mistress?
In France, the Maîtresse-en-titre was an official title and position. The mistress would have her own apartments. She would often substitute for the queen if she was pregnant or ill.
Mistresses who weren’t Maîtresse-en-titre or even French would also be kept in luxury. They would receive money along with jewels, clothes and other luxurious gifts. Their families would also not be the only ones to receive titles and responsibilities. The mistresses themselves would receive new titles. Barbara Villiers, one of Charles II’s many, many mistresses, was made Duchess of Cleveland in her own right. Another was made Duchess of Portsmouth. Both also had other titles along with pensions and allowances.
Unmarried mistresses would often be given advantageous marriages, either as a gift or a parting present. Bessie Blount, Henry VIII’s mistress and the mother of his illegitimate son, was married to an Earl after her service. Anne de Pisseleu d’Heilly, mistress of Francis I of France, was married to a man whom the king created a Duke.
The politically-minded mistress might seek to influence. A close mistress who had the ear and the bed of the king would be their most powerful counsel. Those seeking to speak to the king often went to the mistress in order to get their foot in the door. A mistress could close or open the door to anyone, a gatekeeper in a way only a queen could match. Madame de Pompadour, famous mistress of Louis XV, was extraordinarily powerful. She would appoint and fire ministers along with other responsibilities. Barbara Villiers, lover of Charles II, and Diana de Poitiers, lover of Henry II of France, both used their influence politically.
If a mistress had a child that was acknowledged by the king as his, then there was a chance that child would be given titles and good marriages. Some illegitimate children even married royalty. They would be given prominent positions in the military and clergy.
What were the drawbacks of being a mistress?
Being a mistress wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows. A mistress was dependent upon the whims of the king. On tiring of her, he could cast her aside without giving her a husband or monetary assets. Plenty of mistresses, even the popular ones, would be cast aside at a moment’s notice.
You also had the reputation of being either a fornicating or adulterous woman. Many noblemen and royals had mistresses, but it was the women who were blamed. There were also reasons for the mistress to be concerned. They would become unpopular if they were seen as taking advantage of the king or supporting the wrong causes. Alice Perrers, mistress of Edward III, was a young woman accused of manipulating an older king still mourning his beloved wife. Jane Shore, lover of Edward IV, was forced to do public penance.
There was also little choice. Some mistresses tried to attract kings from the very beginning whilst others were pursued. Louis XV’s lover Louise de La Vallière was an extremely pious Catholic who felt awful for having unmarried sex with a married king. She felt so terrible that she entered a convent after she’d had their fifth child. Louise was reportedly an extremely kind and naive woman who never asked for special treatment.
If you had a child with the king and he did not recognise the baby, then you had a bastard child on your hands. If you were married then the husband would automatically assume fatherhood, whether he was the actual father or not. If you were unwed then there was a chance you were seen as damaged goods, ruining marital prospects.
What did the queen think?
Unfortunately for the king’s wife, she had basically no choice. He would have mistresses whether she liked it or not. She would likely have been raised with the understanding of mistresses and if she didn’t then she would soon learn. The queen, of course, would not be allowed to take a lover of her own. Queens who did or were accused of having lovers were exiled, or even executed in the cases of Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard.
Kings were expected not to flaunt their mistresses too openly around their wives, but they would definitely be aware of their existence. Queens would often have them as ladies-in-waiting, either by choice or by the command of their husband. Catherine of Braganza, the tragic and unfortunate wife of Charles II, was forced to accept Barbara Villiers in her court. Catherine tried to protest but Charles put his foot down. She was so angry that she threatened to return to Portugal, to which Charles responded by sending her courtiers home. He did eventually soften and treated Catherine with much more respect in their marriage, mistresses aside. Charles would side with her over mistresses.
Madame de Pompadour was always friendly and respectful of Queen Marie, who in turn liked her. This was a sharp contrast from previous mistresses who had been openly hostile to their queen. George II’s wife, Caroline of Ansbach, cleared his mistresses before he took up with them. Interestingly, George was close to Caroline and likely only took mistresses because it was expected of him.
At the end of the day, queens tended to have one security- they were the legitimate wives under law. Their sons-or daughters- would be the monarch one day. Even the most libertine of kings knew they had to spend time with their wives.
That is not to say all queens were so tolerant. Eleanor of Aquitaine got so sick of her husband’s adultery that it was part of the reason she tried to remove him from the throne. Anne Boleyn flew into a rage when she saw Henry VIII and Jane Seymour together, despite the fact that it was how she’d managed to become Queen.
Probably the most notable rebellious Queen was Isabella of France, wife to Edward II. Isabella was only a child of twelve when she landed on English shores to marry the twenty-four year old Edward. At their wedding feast, Edward sat with his likely lover Piers Gaveston. He also gave Gaveston jewellery that was meant to be Isabella’s. Isabella was furious and complained to her father, who interceded on her behalf.
While Isabella would come to accept Gaveston, Edward’s next favourite would become her enemy. Hugh le Despenser was initially exiled after becoming too powerful, but soon returned. He effectively ruled England with Edward and was a tyrannical man. Isabella returned to France and raised an army with her lover Roger Mortimer. They were supported by the barons, who despised the Despenser family. Hugh le Despenser the Younger and his father were executed. Edward was forced to abdicate and locked in a castle; he soon died under mysterious circumstances. His and Isabella’s son Edward took over, with the Queen as his regent. Three years later, Edward III had Mortimer executed and Isabella was imprisoned for two years.
The history of the royal mistress is a fascinating one. These women (and men) have attained glory and privilege as well as despair and derision. Some would provide their king with more children than the queen did. Others were fleeting. Some would become Queen themselves. All in all, there were more to royal mistresses than sex and lust.
Richard Dawkins’ Reticence
Never be afraid of stridency. This was the title of the last ever interview with Christopher Hitchens. It came from advice he gave to Richard Dawkins, his interviewer and guest editor of the New Statesman where it was published in December 2011.
CH: You must never be afraid of that charge [of being a bore], any more than stridency.
RD: I will remember that.
CH: If I was strident, it doesn’t matter – I was a jobbing hack, I bang my drum. You have a discipline in which you are very distinguished. You’ve educated a lot of people; nobody denies that, not even your worst enemies. You see your discipline being attacked and defamed and attempts made to drive it out. Stridency is the least you should muster . . .
In the following eleven years or so, Dawkins certainly lived up to Hitchens’ challenge. That is, until recently, in his own interview with Piers Morgan, where he appeared decidedly more reticent than strident.
This is not to say he has become agnostic, or anything of the sort, but rather that he seemed strangely unwilling to display the full strength of his arguments against bad logic, or even sometimes to express an argument at all.
At the start of the interview, for example, when Morgan pressed him on the Big Bang theory, asserting that a ‘super-being-power’ must have preceded it, the strongest response from Dawkins was to defer to physicists who would say that it was naive, or that ‘science starts with simplicity’.
Of course this was partly humility of discipline, but far more than we’re used to. The overall effect was to make Morgan’s contention seem plausible and Dawkins happily resigned. Only a few years ago one would have expected him to incisively dismantle, as he did in his bestselling book The God Delusion, this notion of infinite regress. (If God created the universe, who created God?)
It was as if, after being introduced with the usual sensational epithets: firebrand, controversialist, incendiary, offensive – and later according to Morgan, vehement – he was doing his best to disprove them by being overly passive. Or perhaps he really had changed.
Sensing this possibility, Morgan eventually asked: ‘Have you got milder about this as you’ve got older?’
‘Yes’, replied Dawkins.
To anyone who has followed his work long enough, this is a surprising enough admittance. He was already 65 when he published The God Delusion in 2006. And even those who came to him late will know that one of his hallmarks is to make bald statements of fact on sensitive subjects, if just to inspire debate. Many would inevitably get him wrong in the process, but to Dawkins free speech was always a theory to be defended through practice.
This is what made it so shocking when he point-blank refused to comment on the case of Shamima Begum.
Morgan: ‘There’s been a big debate about this ISIS bride, Shamima Begum – whether she should be allowed to come back to this country. Do you have a view about that?’
Dawkins: ‘I’d rather not say.’
His reluctance to discuss the issue is difficult to comprehend given his erstwhile tireless opposition to theocratic statism, of which ISIS was by its own definition the exemplar.
It is even more difficult when one remembers that he was outspoken on the Begum question specifically, as far back as 2019. In response to a BBC article which referenced a previous interview with her, he tweeted:
This, one might say, is quite strident. In which case, why did he feel unable to be similar with Morgan, to robustly convey his thoughts and afterwards qualify them according to the nuances of the case? He is surely more informed than most people on the matter, many of whom are less willing to make concessions than even he was four years ago. And yet instead he further excused himself from the debate saying he ‘hasn’t studied it enough’.
‘There are areas which you would prefer not to discuss?’ Morgan went on to ask.
‘Yes. I should have said that before we started.’
This was another troubling statement. But what made the moment more so in general was Dawkins’ demeanour, which had shifted from playful to withdrawn, to the point where he barely voiced his monosyllabic demurrals. Eventually, even Piers Morgan, clearly nonplussed at having avoided the fireworks promised by his intro, felt it appropriate to move to another line of questioning.
As a great admirer of Dawkins, it is disappointing to see that he no longer feels comfortable expressing an opinion on certain topics, especially when it is called upon and in a conducive environment. Indeed, at the very start of the interview on Piers Morgan Uncensored, the host put the programme’s premise direct to the interviewee:
‘I assume you will be uncensored?’ To which Dawkins replied, ‘Of course.’
Overriding this disappointment, however, is uncondescending sympathy. It cannot have been easy to be ‘the face’ of New Atheism in the age of new extremism and the incessant threat that comes with it. Nor to have survived long enough to see the actuation of this threat against friends no less, as in the case of Salman Rushdie (as far as someone in hiding across thirty years can have friends).
Further still, he has been let down immensely by those who should have stood by him, most notably the American Humanist Association who, in 2021, withdrew the award they had given him after he pointed out inconsistencies between transgender and transracial rhetoric.
That he, at 82, is still engaged in such debates at all is testament to his enduring commitment to truth and reason. But by the same measure, he is an increasingly lonely voice, among the last of a generation of rigorous thinkers who have either fallen away around him or been forcibly removed from public life. It is only natural that his thoughts would turn to the legacy of his prolific output, which, as he reminds us, contains only two books about religion. He has much more left to defend.
As Hitchens went on to say in 2011: ‘It’s the shame of your colleagues that they don’t form ranks and say, “Listen, we’re going to defend our colleagues from these appalling and obfuscating elements.”’
More than a decade on, Professor Dawkins is still waiting.
England needs a Second Reformation
It’s over; pack it up, return to Rome or Constantinople, there is literally nothing you can do now. The Church of England General Synod’s has expressed the desire to move away from true doctrine and embrace worldliness.
To a large extent this is nothing new; liberalism within the Church has existed since the latter half of the 20th Century. Many orthodox Anglicans reading this likely disagree with the ordination of women to bishops, let alone as priests; we have had the former for years, and the latter for decades. Those of us still here now did not leave over that – though mind you, many did – so what has changed, really?
Perhaps I am being too dismissive of the problems Anglicans face. After all, the Liturgical Commission (the people who gave us the watered-down liturgy named Common Worship) have revealed they are launching a new project to explore whether our Father should be referred to as such. The Archbishop of York, who I am under the jurisdiction of while I study at the University of Hull, has stated that he will personally conduct blessings for same-sex couples, while the Archbishop of Canterbury has stated he will not – division amongst the church leadership is never a good sign. Those who adhere to orthodox Anglican doctrine, such as myself, face a tough battle.
Not acknowledging small victories would be foolish. The Telegraph reported:
Traditionalists secured a victory by inserting a clause into the approved blessings motion “not to propose any change to the doctrine of marriage”, and “should not be contrary to or indicative of a departure” from this doctrine, that marriage is between a man and a woman.
This foot in the door is crucial, and lumps on more obstacles to changing core church doctrine that the liberals do not have the time to tackle. Indeed, there is a silver lining, which is the focus of this article; a study reported on by the Anglican Journal in 2017 found that churches that hold to orthodox teaching maintain growth, while liberal churches “dwindle away”. This is not merely a phenomenon confined to North America, where the study originates. A recent study from Christian Concern found that most congregations within the Church of England that have the largest attendance by under-16s have conservative views on sexuality. It seems that the future of the Church of England, despite how dire it seems right now, may very well be more orthodox.
Most Anglicans, laity or clergy, are not these nutty w-word communist atheists that many would have you think they are. From my own experience, granted this is not verifiable data, a solid chunk of Anglicans are moderate and often do not hold strong views – but will listen to charismatic and authoritative leaders. On abortion, despite silence on the overturning of Roe vs Wade, the Church of England maintains a rather impressive record for a church so riddled with liberalism – with good rhetoric as recent as 2020. With all of this in mind, what now?
The simple fact is that the universal church of Christ still exists – a ruling by men will not change what our great God teaches. I imagine that the orthodox Anglicans reading this already attend a traditionally-minded church which will not perform same-sex blessings, so not much will change in regards to those parishes that already heed to the Word of God. Furthermore, it is important to consider this; why are we Anglicans in the first place?
I should hope that people have become Anglican because they agree with traditional Anglican doctrine, and that said doctrine is closest, if not exactly, to what Jesus Christ, the Apostles and the Church Fathers taught. Just because the Church of England edges away from Anglican doctrine does not mean that Roman Catholicism or Eastern Orthodoxy suddenly becomes correct; truth is eternal. We must not make rash decisions – if your local parish church adheres to orthodox doctrine, how would it advance the cause of Anglican orthodoxy to abandon it? Would this not further punish true doctrine when the war is still raging on?
It is easy for those of us with good churches to remain, and it is our duty to remain with them to keep Anglican orthodoxy alive to wait out the deaths of liberal parishes. To wait, though, is not enough; we must be active in activism for true Christian doctrine. Take note of what the church of St Helen’s Bishopsgate and All Souls Church Langham Palace have done as they suspend payments to the liberal Bishop of London. Pursue alternative structures within the Church of England; if your bishop has violated his oath to uphold Christ’s teachings, your church would not be alone if it pursued the system of Alternative Episcopal Oversight to be placed under a bishop who affirms true doctrine, and still remain within the Church of England. Such systems may become very popular soon, with cases of churches rejecting liberal bishops emerging, especially as new traditionalist bishops have been ordained. You as a lay member can help push for this, as I am alongside other laymen (some of whom are converts that I brought into the Church) in my parish church in Hull.
Advocate, push and pursue – on your own if need be, but this should not be so. We are of course called to make disciples of nations, and the best way to spread doctrinal orthodoxy in the Church of England is to convert people yourselves – adding more conservative Anglicans to the flock, solidifying or even changing the doctrine of your parish. Enthusiasm for evangelism is key for growing the Church of Christ on earth, and also preserving that which is true. With all of this, there is still more to do if we are serious as Christians about fixing our beloved Church.
I for one, alongside other Anglicans in Hull, will be pursuing lay ministry to enable us to have the authority to preach and further orthodox Anglican influence within the church. The role itself is not demanding – it is perfectly possible to hold down a job and also be a preacher within the church. Likewise, more important than this is getting elected to the General Synod of the Church of England. After all, it is here where key decisions are made, and it is where we will need to go if we are to win the long-term battle. But who will be our allies?
There are primarily two camps within the Church of England that hold to conservative theology; Anglo-Catholics, most often represented by The Society, and Evangelicals, represented by both the Church Society and the Church of England Evangelical Council (CEEC). Both the Church Society and the CEEC have been consistent in their affirmation of biblical teaching, and their strong opposition to the Bishops’ response to Living in Love and Faith. The Society, on the other hand, seem to be less opposed, with them going so far as to state:
We will study this material carefully when it is published and, in due course, we anticipate issuing pastoral guidance to the clergy who look to us for oversight as to how best these prayers might be used locally.
The lack of a clear rejection of the so-called blessings is stunning, and may upset many orthodox Anglo-Catholics reading this. The simple fact is that it is the conservative evangelicals who are our allies. This may be easier for me to say this, as I am a conservative, reformed evangelical, but we have no time to mourn.
It is time for the Second Reformation to begin, and it will begin with organising opposition to church liberalism. This Reformation, as with the first, must be grounded in the teachings of Jesus Christ, the Apostles and the Church Fathers – and this time with the added help of the Reformers of the 16th Century. Faithful Anglicans, and those who wish to support the Church of England, must rely upon the rock – the true rock upon which the Church is built – that is our faith in Jesus Christ, and the core doctrine of Anglicanism, the Formularies; the Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion, the 1662 Book of Common Prayer, the Two Books of Homilies and the 1662 Ordinal. We must become more knowledgeable in orthodox Anglican apologetics, and I would strongly recommend the apologetics channel New Kingdom Media for our learning in Anglican doctrine. Stand firm, hold to true Christian doctrine as summarised by the Anglican Formularies, pray and work.
Much like the Reformers of the 16th Century, we face a tough battle. Let us take comfort in the fact that the English Reformers won, despite setbacks from a still quite catholic King Henry VIII and years of oppression under Queen Mary. We have behind us what those who do not follow our great God Jesus Christ do not have; the Grace of God, with which we may work wonders and revitalise Christ’s Church, militant here in England – that once again true Christian doctrine – protestant, reformed and liturgical – may flourish and revive England.
There is work to be done.
Populism and a Sense of Betrayal (Magazine Excerpt)
Leading up to December 2022, when I was preparing for my PhD viva, I was told by colleagues – quite consistently – that populism was back on the academic agenda. Clearly, I had timed my PhD well, the covid pandemic aside.
Now, at the conclusion of the process, I have people ask me what my core conclusions are. The truth is, I say, populism is going to remain a permanent feature of our political system for a long time, to such an extent that I think, for all his mistakes and poor insights, Cas Mudde was right to describe our era as the ‘populist zeitgeist.’ I am not alone in making this prediction: in his farewell speech to the European Parliament, Nigel Farage said populism ‘was very popular’; and there abound many different academic attempts at explaining the likely enduring appeal of populism.
Among them I find particular value in Nadia Urbinati’s Democracy Disfigured (2014) and Me, The People (2019): the former is particularly focused on how democracy can be transformed, though populism is only part of that story. In that book, Urbinati attempts to analyse the role of what she calls the doxa in democracy, emphasising the linguistic and dialogical elements of democracy as methods of identifying conflict and resolving them; in response to this, says Urbinati, populism attempts to ‘fix’ the inevitability of conflict. It can do this because democracy (and politics in general) is actually about never attempting to remove conflict, merely attempting to ‘win’ the immediate conflict, whilst accepting that you may ‘lose’ the next one. The underlying unity is, as a result, quite thin, and little more than a general agreement on the process of conflict and resolution, rather than an agreement on the resolution of conflict specifically.
Populism, says Urbinati, works from within the logic of democracy to recognise the inherently conflictual nature of politics and democracy, and then seeks to deny it. Instead of attempting to win now, and accept the possibility of losing in the future, populism attempts to win forever, and deny the possibility of future conflict. In doing so, populism becomes anti-politics.
In the latter book, Urbinati delves deeper into populism specifically, and considers the internal mechanisms of populism, rather than just the impact it has on democracy. In doing so, Urbinati looks at the role of ‘antiestablishmentarianism,’ ‘antielitism’ and, crucially, the messianic leader, in the emergence of populism.
This is an excerpt from “Ides”. To continue reading, visit The Mallard’s Shopify.