A fishy business: Christian nationalism on trial in Ottawa

By David Warden

From warnings of an authoritarian threat at the World Humanist Congress in Ottawa to a lively discussion at Dorset Humanists, David Warden investigates Christian nationalism in America and Britain. Is it a growing danger to secular democracy, or are different political movements being gathered under one alarming label? And what might a factfulness approach reveal?

David is Editor of Humanistically Speaking magazine and Chair of Dorset Humanists, which has been experimenting with a “Humanist Café” meeting style.

A warning from Ottawa

There was something rather fishy about one of the sessions at the World Humanist Congress in Ottawa. On the platform were Fish Stark, Executive Director of the American Humanist Association, and Nick Fish, President of American Atheists. The coincidence of names was not lost on the chair, Louis O’Reilly, who had prepared an entire school of fish jokes before discovering that Stark was himself an accomplished comedian! Louis, Vice-President of Humanist Canada, is a former Christian evangelist. But the subject was deadly serious. The session, entitled Resisting Authoritarianism: How Americans Are Fighting the Spread of Religious Nationalism, was part of a congress whose overarching theme was Humanism as Resistance. What, precisely, were humanists being called upon to resist?

From left: Louis O’Reilly, Vice-President of Humanist Canada; Nick Fish, President of American Atheists, and Fish Stark, Executive Director of the American Humanist Association, discussing the rise of Christian nationalism at the World Humanist Congress in Ottawa, August 2026. Photo: David Warden

According to the two speakers, one of the greatest threats facing American democracy was the rise of Christian nationalism, particularly its white nationalist manifestations. Nick Fish described a movement seeking to undermine civil rights, public education, reproductive freedom and the separation of church and state. Fish Stark went further, suggesting that Christian nationalism represented an alliance between religious conservatives and wealthy business interests. Their shared objectives, he argued, included weakening civil rights legislation, reducing publicly funded services and establishing greater control over American society. The speakers identified influential figures associated with these developments, including conservative pastor Doug Wilson and political theorist Curtis Yarvin. Stark drew attention to Wilson's opposition to women's suffrage and Yarvin's authoritarian political ideas. Their central message was unmistakable: Christian nationalism was an organised, well-funded political movement that humanists needed to confront.

The speakers also offered some practical advice. Christian conservatives, they argued, had been remarkably successful at building organisations, cultivating political relationships, creating communities and mobilising supporters. Humanists should learn from those achievements. Stark outlined how he would spend a hypothetical $100 million: approximately one-third on reaching young people through new media, one-third on developing local humanist communities, and one-third on lawyers, lobbyists and political organisation. I found this particularly interesting. The emphasis on community-building resonated strongly with what we have been developing at Dorset Humanists. Indeed, there is much to admire in a movement that seeks to translate shared values into friendship, service and active citizenship.

Nevertheless, I left the session with questions. The speakers had presented a powerful indictment of Christian nationalism, but we had heard little from Christian nationalists themselves. Nor had we explored whether the term described a coherent political ideology or a broader collection of religious and conservative movements. And was Christian nationalism really a growing threat to Britain, as some humanist organisations were warning? I decided to investigate.

Putting on our factfulness hats

A few weeks later, Christian nationalism became the subject of our September Humanist Café at Dorset Humanists, where participants gather around small tables for group discussions. I began by introducing what I called our factfulness approach. Inspired partly by Hans Rosling's work on factfulness, it involved starting with a question, consulting primary sources, giving different perspectives a fair hearing, assessing the evidence and arriving at conclusions that remained open to revision. I contrasted this with a less admirable method: start with your conclusion, find evidence to support it, dismiss anything inconvenient, double down when challenged and unfriend anyone who disagrees. To reinforce the distinction, I introduced two imaginary hats: a factfulness hat and a confirmation-bias hat. The audience seemed happy to wear the former.

Our central question was straightforward: what is Christian nationalism, and is it a threat to the UK? We began in America.

What do Christian nationalists actually believe?

Rather than relying entirely on their critics, I wanted to examine what Christian nationalists said about themselves. One particularly useful source is The Statement on Christian Nationalism & the Gospel, associated with American Christian nationalist writers James Silberman and Dusty Deevers, who is an Oklahoma Republican state senator and Baptist pastor. Another is Stephen Wolfe's 2022 book, The Case for Christian Nationalism. The Statement proposes a political order in which Jesus Christ is recognised as sovereign, governments are accountable to God, and biblical moral law provides the ultimate standard of justice. It rejects the idea that government can be religiously neutral. Instead, it argues that every political system necessarily embodies moral commitments and that these should be explicitly Christian.

The implications are substantial. Christianity would enjoy official recognition, biblical principles would inform legislation, and civil authority would ultimately be subordinate to divine authority. The Statement also envisages restrictions on abortion and pornography, the recognition of heterosexual marriage only, and a reduced role for government in education and welfare, with greater responsibility resting on families and churches. There is little doubt that this represents a challenge to secular liberal democracy. Yet some qualifications are important. The Statement explicitly rejects ethnic supremacy, distinguishes the institutional roles of church and state, opposes spreading Christianity through war, and maintains that religious conversion should not be coerced. These provisions do not eliminate concerns about the position of non-Christians in such a society. But they complicate the suggestion that every expression of Christian nationalism necessarily entails racial supremacy or direct rule by religious officials.

I suggested that the political system envisaged by the Statement might be more accurately described as a confessional Christian state than a theocracy, if by theocracy we mean direct government by religious authorities, as in Iran. The distinction matters. It allows us to describe the proposals more precisely without diminishing their significance.

Who should have the final say?

Perhaps the most fundamental issue concerns political sovereignty. The American Constitution begins with the words We the People. Political authority is grounded in the people and expressed through constitutional government. Article VI prohibits religious tests for federal office, while the First Amendment prohibits laws establishing religion. Christian nationalism, as articulated in the Statement, offers a different account of ultimate authority:

Christ → Scripture → Government → Law

This is not simply a dispute about whether Christianity has contributed positively to American culture. It concerns the foundations of political legitimacy. What happens when citizens disagree about God's law? Who determines its meaning? And what protection exists for people who reject the religious premises upon which legislation is based? These questions prompted a lively discussion.

One participant pointed out that Christians themselves disagree profoundly about biblical interpretation. Another questioned whether moral injunctions could sensibly be converted into enforceable legislation. To explore this, I challenged the tables to recall all Ten Commandments. There was considerable competition, with an ex-Muslim participant giving an impressive performance at the front of the room.

We then considered the suggestion that commandments five to ten might provide a foundation for civil law. Most people were comfortable with prohibitions against murder, theft and bearing false witness. But other commandments proved more problematic. Should adultery be a criminal offence? What would it mean to legislate against coveting? And might a legal obligation to honour one's parents become oppressive in some circumstances? The exercise illustrated the distance between accepting a moral principle and translating it into law.

Is secularism really neutral?

One of the most intellectually challenging moments came when we considered the Christian nationalist claim that no political system is morally neutral. This deserves serious consideration.

Secular democracies do not operate without moral commitments. They typically embody principles such as equality before the law, individual liberty, freedom of conscience and democratic accountability. Why, then, should those commitments take precedence over Christian moral principles?

Several participants argued that secularism provides a framework within which people holding different religious and philosophical beliefs can coexist. Others maintained that secular values can be justified through reason without appealing to supernatural authority. I pressed the question. If a Christian nationalist insists that Christian morality should underpin government, while a humanist insists that secular principles should prevail, how is the disagreement to be resolved?

The strongest answer, it seems to me, lies in distinguishing a state that imposes a comprehensive worldview from one that establishes common political rules under which competing worldviews can flourish. Secular government need not require citizens to adopt secular humanism. Its purpose is to protect freedom of belief and equal citizenship, including for religious people. Nevertheless, this is an argument that humanists should be prepared to make rather than merely assume.

How much support does Christian nationalism have?

Another important distinction is between the existence of an ideology and its actual political influence. Christian nationalism has identifiable advocates, publications and political networks in the United States. But how widely are its more demanding proposals supported?

Survey findings depend heavily on how Christian nationalism is defined and measured. Some studies identify substantial numbers of Americans who express sympathy with Christian nationalist ideas. Others, using different questions and classifications, produce considerably smaller estimates. Support for statements about America's Christian heritage is not necessarily equivalent to support for replacing constitutional government with biblical law. Nor does support for Donald Trump or the wider MAGA movement automatically establish agreement with the programme advanced by Silberman, Deevers or Wolfe. There are certainly overlapping constituencies and political relationships. But overlap should not be confused with identity.

It was also significant that the Statement was not an official declaration of any major American Christian denomination. Indeed, Christian churches and organisations have themselves been among the critics of Christian nationalism. This is an important reminder that Christianity is not a single political movement.

I concluded that the American Humanist Association had understandable reasons for concern. But establishing how much political traction a particular Christian nationalist programme might gain requires more than identifying its most outspoken advocates.

Is Britain following America?

We then turned to Britain, where Humanists UK had recently issued a strongly worded warning about Christian nationalism, citing anti-immigration demonstrations at Dover and Portsmouth, the use of Christian slogans by protest groups, and incidents involving religious campaigners in London's Soho. In an appeal to supporters on September 10, chief executive Andrew Copson described these developments as an “imported, organised political project that uses Christianity to decide who belongs in this country”. But is there evidence of a coherent Christian nationalist ideology taking root in Britain, comparable to that advocated by its American proponents, or are Christian symbols being adopted by movements whose principal concerns lie elsewhere?

Some of the imagery we viewed is certainly disturbing. Masked protesters blocking roads and chanting religious slogans can appear intimidating, particularly when associated with hostility towards immigrants or minority groups. But what precisely did these incidents demonstrate?

We examined a number of political and campaigning figures, including Nigel Farage MP, Rupert Lowe MP, James Orr and Tommy Robinson. Farage, leader of the political party Reform UK, has spoken about Britain's Christian heritage and values. Lowe has advocated restoring Christian principles and defending Britain's historically Christian culture. Orr, a Cambridge philosopher associated with national conservatism, has challenged the capacity of secular liberalism to provide an adequate moral foundation for society. Robinson and other activists have employed Christian language and symbolism in connection with questions of national identity and immigration.

These positions differ significantly, and none should be treated as interchangeable with the others.

More importantly, invoking Christian heritage or defending a Christian cultural identity does not, by itself, establish support for the particular constitutional programme advanced by American Christian nationalists.

There's a distinction between saying that Christianity has shaped a nation's history, arguing that its moral inheritance should continue to influence public life, and demanding that biblical law should take precedence over democratic legislation. All three positions deserve examination, but they are not identical.

“Christianity itself is part of the argument against the phenomenon of Christian nationalism.”

The British situation also contains an obvious complication: we already have an established church, with the monarch serving as its Supreme Governor. Does that make Britain a Christian nationalist state? Not in the sense explored in our American investigation. Constitutional arrangements, historical establishments and contemporary political movements cannot simply be collapsed into one category. Indeed, the Church of England and other Christian voices have expressed opposition to contemporary Christian nationalism. Once again, Christianity itself is part of the argument against the phenomenon.

Protest, intimidation and freedom of expression

We also looked more closely at the protests that had prompted Humanists UK's warnings. At Dover in early September, demonstrators blockaded roads and caused disruption. According to the police account considered during our investigation, the gathering passed without reported violence, although criminal damage was investigated. At Portsmouth the following day, the situation was more serious. Vehicles were damaged, officers suffered minor injuries, and police investigated assaults and criminal damage.

These distinctions matter. A disruptive but largely peaceful protest and a confrontation involving violence should not be described as though they were identical. Nor should wearing black clothing or displaying a Christian slogan, however unsettling some people may find it, automatically establish that participants are fascists. On the other hand, a movement's declaration that it is non-violent does not establish that its supporters invariably behave peacefully.

Our task is to examine conduct, objectives and evidence rather than rely on appearances alone. This led to the final discussion at our Café. I asked participants whether they thought it acceptable for Christians to criticise secular humanism, fly flags proclaiming that Jesus is King, demonstrate against immigration, or preach against sexual immorality in Soho. Surely humanists committed to freedom of expression must accept that religious people enjoy the same liberties as everyone else? But where should the boundaries lie?

One table considered whether all flags should be treated alike. The discussion moved from Christian flags to extremist symbols and anti-abortion demonstrations outside clinics. Participants recognised that context and proximity could alter the significance of an apparently simple act of expression. The Soho example was especially challenging. A participant suggested that a young gay person, perhaps already experiencing hostility at home, might find a group of religious demonstrators condemning homosexuality deeply intimidating. That concern deserves to be taken seriously. Yet the distinction between expressing a belief that others find offensive and engaging in threatening or harassing behaviour remains important. Protecting freedom of expression does not mean tolerating intimidation, but neither should the experience of offence alone determine what others may say.

The discussion did not produce an easy answer.

A threat now, or a threat in the future?

My provisional conclusion is that I had not found persuasive evidence that the particular American programme of establishing a confessional Christian state represented a significant immediate threat in Britain. What I had found was a rather different phenomenon: a renewed emphasis on Christian identity and cultural inheritance within sections of British nationalism, often associated with opposition to immigration and Islam. This phenomenon raises legitimate questions about pluralism, minority rights, national identity, and the boundaries of political protest. But I was reluctant to describe everything under the single heading of Christian nationalism without distinguishing its different manifestations.

Not everyone agreed. One of our members offered an important qualification. Political movements can grow unexpectedly quickly. Ideas that appear marginal today may acquire much greater influence tomorrow. He was right to remind us that an assessment of the present is not a guarantee about the future. Our conclusions must remain revisable.

And there is another reason for caution. Even where a movement lacks a realistic prospect of transforming the constitutional order, some of its supporters may still engage in behaviour that threatens or intimidates individuals. Those concerns should not be dismissed simply because a larger political project appears unlikely to succeed.

What should humanists resist?

I returned from Ottawa impressed by the determination of American humanists to defend secular democracy and civil rights. I also admired their commitment to building stronger communities and becoming more effective participants in public life. But the Dorset discussion reinforced another conviction. Humanism as resistance must include resistance to our own intellectual temptations. We should resist the temptation to turn political opponents into caricatures, to select only the evidence that confirms our suspicions, or to use alarmist or loaded labels without defining them carefully.

This does not mean treating all political ideas as equally persuasive or refusing to reach conclusions. Nor does it mean overlooking genuine threats to freedom and equality. It means that our opposition should be informed, proportionate, and open to correction.

Christian nationalism, in its more developed American ideological form, poses serious questions about religious liberty, equal citizenship and democratic sovereignty. Humanists have good reasons to examine and challenge its proposals. But we should also distinguish that programme from other expressions of Christian identity, patriotism and conservatism, especially when interpreting events in Britain.

We may find ourselves defending the right of Christians to express views with which we profoundly disagree, while opposing attempts to impose those views through coercive state power. This is not a contradiction. It's part of what commitment to a pluralist society requires.

At the end of our Café discussion, after considering the complexities of religious expression, public protest and intimidation, we found ourselves agreeing on at least one thing: the issues are complicated. Good. Perhaps that is exactly where a serious humanist investigation should sometimes leave us: not paralysed by uncertainty, but better informed, more discriminating in our judgements and willing to continue the conversation.

If humanism is to stand for reason, freedom and human dignity, our methods of resistance must reflect those values as faithfully as our objectives.