There is a system at work in the current political invocation of Christian values, and it is worth describing precisely because its power depends on remaining undescribed. The system has two settings. In the first, Christian values means something warm and capacious: compassion, fairness, community, the protection of the weak. It is available to anyone, requires no particular belief, and can be defended by a Muslim home affairs spokesman without apparent irony. In the second, Christian values means something sharp and exclusionary: a specific civilisational inheritance, a border, a definition of who properly belongs. The movement between these two settings is not accidental. It is the argument. And the reason it works is that the phrase was never required to mean anything precise enough to be tested.
I have written recently about both settings in isolation. In “The God They Don’t Believe In” I argued that Christian values as a political claim is effectively content-free: the tradition cannot settle its own internal disputes about marriage, wealth, war, or the obligations of the state, so the phrase does no serious intellectual work. It is a label without a product. In “The Good Old Days” I looked at what happens when Christian institutional authority does become specific, when it takes operational control and produces documented outcomes. The Makin Review gave us those outcomes in detail: a cover-up sustained for decades, moralised by theology, in which the protection of God’s reputation was placed above the safety of children. The Archbishop of Canterbury resigned. The General Synod responded by retaining control of its own accountability process.
Taken separately, each argument has an available response. To the first, the defender says: yes, Christianity contains multitudes, but the core values are real even if contested at the margins. To the second, they say: the institution failed its own standards, which is a reason to reform it, not to indict the values themselves. These responses are familiar and I have addressed them in those posts. What neither response can survive is the two arguments presented together, because together they reveal something that each conceals on its own.
The system does not fail to specify Christian values through carelessness or theological humility. It refuses to specify them because specification is the one thing the political project cannot afford.
The cost of precision
Consider what would happen if Rupert Lowe, having declared Britain a Christian country that will remain so under a Restore Britain government, were required to say which Christianity. He cannot mean the Church of England, which ordains women as bishops and has moved toward blessing same-sex couples. He cannot mean the Catholic Church, which regards both developments as departures from revealed truth. He cannot mean the evangelical tradition without alienating the Anglo-Catholic wing, or the charismatic tradition without losing the contemplatives, or the liberation theology tradition without contradicting almost everything else his party stands for. The moment he chooses, he loses. So he does not choose. He says Christian values and allows every listener to fill the silence with whatever they find most congenial.
This is not a failure of political communication. It is a success. The vagueness is the policy.
Nigel Farage has performed the same manoeuvre with characteristic confidence, declaring that Britain has a Christian constitution and a Christian monarch and that he absolutely believes in the Christian values that made this country great, while simultaneously announcing that he stopped attending Church of England services because the institution had, in his view, gone woke. He is defending Christianity as cultural inheritance while rejecting the institution through which that inheritance is currently and officially expressed in this country. The label survives after the product has become inconvenient.
What neither Lowe nor Farage has been seriously pressed to explain is the mechanism. Not what Christian values are, but how Christianity specifically generates them. The values they name, compassion, fairness, honesty, care for the weak, appear in moral traditions that predate Christianity and exist independently of it across cultures that had no contact with the Gospels. If these values are available to anyone, then calling them Christian is not a description. It is a territorial claim. It is saying: these good things are ours. The rest of you are borrowing. That claim requires an argument. It has never been given one. What it has been given instead is assertion, repetition, and the social authority that accumulates over centuries of institutional dominance.
When precision arrives
The vagueness, however, has a limit. It ends precisely where the political work requires it to end.
Restore Britain has advocated restrictions on halal slaughter, bans on the burqa, and mass deportations. Reform UK has pledged automatic listed status to approximately 40,000 churches, explicitly to prevent them being converted into mosques, on the basis of a publicly editable online list citing 40 cases, a number used to justify a policy covering 40,000 buildings. Since 1968, two Church of England churches have been sold and converted into another place of worship. Both became Sikh gurdwaras. There are no confirmed records of any Anglican church in that period being converted into a mosque. The arithmetic of the panic does not survive contact with the facts.
But notice what has happened to Christian values at the moment these policies are announced. They are no longer warm and capacious. They are a border. They define, with sudden confidence, who belongs and who threatens. The tradition that cannot specify its position on marriage, or wealth, or the obligations of the state to the poor, discovers that it can specify, with great precision, its position on Islamic religious practice and the cultural habits of immigrant communities.
This selectivity is diagnostic. A genuine theological tradition applied consistently would produce obligations in all directions, including obligations that are politically uncomfortable. Catholic social teaching on the dignity of the migrant directly contradicts the deportation agenda being advanced in Christianity’s name. That tradition is not invoked. The tradition is searched for whatever confirms the prior position and the rest is quietly set aside.
That is not theology. It is a reading list with a conclusion already written.
The epistemological structure of the problem
This is where the political argument and the epistemological one converge, and it is worth being precise about the junction, because it is the point the critics of this kind of analysis most often miss.
The core objection to religious authority on this blog is not that religious people are insincere, or that institutions are corrupt, or that the history is ugly, though all of these things are variously true. The core objection is that religious claims are unfalsifiable. They cannot, even in principle, be publicly tested. And a claim that cannot even in principle be publicly tested cannot function as a final authority in democratic political argument, because there is no agreed mechanism by which the answer could be checked by anyone outside the tradition making the claim. The objection that secular normative frameworks share this property is one worth taking seriously, and I will come to it.
What the political deployment of Christian values reveals is that this unfalsifiability is not merely a philosophical inconvenience. It is the system’s most important operational feature. A framework whose truth claims cannot be independently examined can never be held responsible for its outcomes. When Christian institutional authority produces the Makin Review, the response is: the institution failed the values. When Christian values are invoked to exclude, the response is: this is what the tradition requires. The framework is insulated from accountability in both directions. It cannot be indicted by its failures, because the failures are always attributed to human imperfection. And it cannot be tested by its applications, because the applications are always negotiable.
This is not a coincidence. It is what an unfalsifiable framework looks like when it enters politics. The vagueness and the precision are both expressions of the same underlying property: a claim that can mean whatever is needed at any given moment, because there is no external standard by which it could be shown to mean something wrong.
David Fletcher, the cleric who knew about John Smyth’s abuse and said nothing, was not an aberration from Christian values. He was, in his own mind, their expression. The politicians invoking Christian heritage to draw a border around belonging are not departing from the tradition. They are using it exactly as an unfalsifiable framework gets used: to place moral language around a conclusion that was reached on entirely different grounds.
What is being offered
What is being offered to the British public by Reform UK and Restore Britain is not a theological argument. It is not even a serious cultural argument. It is a permission structure, and the permission it grants is exactly what an unfalsifiable framework was always best suited to provide: moral language for conclusions reached on entirely other grounds.
But the deeper point is not about dishonesty. It is about mechanism. Democratic argument requires, at minimum, that the claims made within it can be tested by people who did not already accept them. You cannot hold a vote on a revelation. You cannot submit a divine mandate to cross-examination. You cannot appeal to a tradition, and then use that tradition’s internal incoherence as a shield whenever it produces an inconvenient result. The flexibility is not a feature of Christian values as a concept. It is what every unfalsifiable claim looks like when it enters the political arena, because there is no external standard by which it can be shown to mean something wrong.
The secular normative traditions that Christian politicians claim to be defending against, liberalism, humanism, Enlightenment ethics, are not falsifiable in the scientific sense either. But they are accountable in a way that revelation-based authority is not. They can be tested for internal consistency. Their consequences can be audited. Their premises can be revised through public argument without requiring access to a text, a tradition, or a priestly class. The mechanism of accountability exists even when the foundations are contested. That is the distinction that matters, and it is the one the political invocation of Christian values is designed to obscure.
David Fletcher, the cleric who knew about John Smyth’s abuse and said nothing, did not lack compassion. He lacked accountability to anything outside his own framework. The framework told him that silence was virtue. There was no external standard he was required to answer to, and no mechanism by which it could be demonstrated, within the terms he accepted, that he was wrong. That is not a personality failure. That is what an unfalsifiable authority structure looks like in operation.
The politicians now invoking Christian heritage are using the same structure for smaller stakes. The values expand when they need to recruit and contract when they need to exclude, and at no point is there a mechanism by which this movement can be shown to be wrong. That is not a foundation. It is the precise opposite of one.
A foundation holds the same shape regardless of what you are trying to build on it.
