The Church of England today (1958)

From the June 1958 issue of the Socialist Standard

According to the survey of social life and activities made in Derby by T. Cauter and J. S. Downham (The Communication of Ideas, 1954), about three million people in Britain are nominally members of the Church of England. Nearly as many are Roman Catholics, and a little under two millions belong on paper to the major free churches—Methodist, Congregationalist, Baptist and Presbyterian. If a million and a half are added for the Welsh and Scottish churches, plus half a million Jews and perhaps another half-million for all the sects and queeriosities, you have a total of about ten million people in Britain who claim (or are claimed as having) adherence to religious bodies. That is, one person in four: so that three-fourths of the population belong to no religion at all

Few people will admit to having no religion, however: in the Derby survey, only 2 per cent. Most people, asked the question, put themselves down as C. of E., even though, to quote Cauter and Downham. “for half or even two-thirds of the people church-going is so occasional an occurrence as to play an almost insignificant part in their daily life.” In fact, the membership figures themselves mean very little. Archdeacon Mayfield’s The Church of England (Oxford, 1958) estimates "just over two millions who as Easter communicants may be reckoned as the hard core of Church membership.”

About 65 per cent, of the population are baptized in the Church of England and 26 per cent, are confirmed, usually in adolescence. It is worth remembering that only in relatively recent years has church attendance been entirely voluntary. In the nineteenth century it was common for farm workers and domestics to have to attend church as a condition of employment, and in town and country there were all kinds of economic and social pressures. The nearest thing to formal adult membership today is enrolment in the parish electorate, and these rolls show a steady decline since the first world war.

The Church of England is the "established” church: that is, the State recognizes the laws of the Church and incorporates them into the national laws. Thus, the Sovereign must be a member of the Church of England, and the two archbishops and twenty-four diocesan bishops have privileged places in the House of Lords. The Church conducts all national religious observances, and is the official religious body in hospitals, prisons and the armed forces; certain academic posts in universities can be held only by Church of England clergy. The State appoints archbishops and bishops, and the measures of the Church Assembly—including the contents of the Prayer Book—must be sanctioned by Parliament.

The Church has two legislative systems. The first, the Convocations of Canterbury and York, is concerned with creed and faith. The other, the Church Assembly, is the central administrative and financial body. In addition, there are the Church Commissioners, whose task is to execute the business side of Church affairs. Their gross income in 1955 was £10 529,490 from investments and property. In recent years it has become their policy to replace gilt-edged investments with investment in commercial and industrial securities, to obtain a greater yield: an analysis of these investments is given in The Church Commissioners: A Short Review of Their Work (1955). The income from property in 1955 was £3.339.673, with outgoings of £744,926. The property includes over 1,000 farms and 50,000 buildings and, again, the Commissioners' aim now is to buy up—to quote Mayfield—"the best type of property investment, both agricultural and urban."

Most of the clergy's stipends are paid by the Church Commissioners, the remainder coming from "Easter offerings," fees for burials, marriages, and so on. Until 1936 tithes were a source of income in about 7,000 parishes, but the Tithe Act of that year took this away and gave instead £70,000,000 of government stock. A parson's minimum stipend today is £550-600 a year, plus a house free of rates and dilapidations. The minimum for a diocesan bishop is £2,500 a year, plus residence, plus such out-of-pocket expenses as secretary, chauffeur, postage, travel and the costs of hospitality. The numbers of the clergy have fallen and are still falling. In 1901, with a population of 32 millions, there were over 22,000 clergymen; today, there are 16,000 of them among 44 millions, and their average age has risen to 50.

The Church of England is a vast organization: what part does it play in the structure of capitalism in Britain? All religions serve the interests of ruling classes, and an established or State church is one which has frankly contracted to do that. The Church of England was the product of the sixteenth-century Reformation, fathered by new and emergent interests which needed a Catholic—i.e., universal—church, but must throw off the incubus of Rome. There was not only the question of the Catholic Church's ownership of land; there was the need for recognition of the new learning as against Papal fundamentalism, and the growing national consciousness on which, again, the claims of Rome were oppressive.

The Reformation, in fact, only developed the idea of establishment which had been implicit in the relations of Church and secular rulers all through feudal times. Even the modern Free Churches are by no means free in this respect, being regulated by trust deeds and special Parliamentary statutes. For the truth is that, even though religion is "the sigh of the hard-pressed creature," without the support of the ruling class religion as we know it would have very little influence in society. And conversely, of course, the ruling class needs the great religions to promulgate and make sacred principles of capitalist ideals.

The major social function of the Church of England is this: to explicitize and lay down the body of morality that is held to govern personal behaviour and social relationships in our world. Thus, the Church's teachings concerning marriage, which have caused much argument in recent years, are simply the doctrine of the ideal monogamous family in property-based society. Indeed, the division of opinion about this within the Church itself reflects clearly the disintegration of that family and the consequent search for a modified morality suited to changed circumstances. 

Because the Church hold this position as the apparent arbiter of morality and conduct, the pronouncements of the archbishops and the Convocations do attract attention and carry weight The effect of an archepiscopal statement on, for example, the hydrogen bomb, is to lay down a line of "Christian" judgement of the issue; that is, to give moral sanction to what the ruling interest requires. And even the opinions of the small-fry clergy, often as ignorant and foolish as can be, are supported by the prestige of the Church of England (during two world wars, some of the most bloodthirsty incitements to "wipe Germany off the map ” came from civilian clergymen).

It is all too easy to close one's eyes and say it doesn't matter because, after all, religion is dying out Though religious observances have fallen off perceptibly, the Church of England has regrouped its forces in recent years. No longer able to preach the property gospel to enough people in church, it has made its aim to penetrate the various spheres of national life instead. It has, for example, secured a firm foothold in radio and television. The B.B.C.'s Annual Report and Accounts for 1951-52 showed 3 per cent. of the total broadcasting time—about eight hours a week—given to religious matter, and estimated that "about one-third of the total adult population heard at least one religious broadcast" on Sundays: Cauter and Downham's survey also found that the majority of people listen to religious services on the radio.

There has been considerable extension of Church influence in education under the 1944 Education Act: a development "undreamed of only twenty-five years ago,” says Mayfield, which has "broadened the Church's constituency in the national life.” Other movements include the Industrial Christian Fellowship, an attempt (scarcely successful so far) to obtain a footing in factories and the trade unions, and towards ends like this it has increasingly joined forces with other churches and denominations, as in the "Christian Crusader" campaign of 1947. In 1923 talks with the Catholic Church were initiated with a view to some rapprochement, but they quickly broke down; today, the Church of England is pressed into extra militancy by the Catholics' campaign to gain converts who would be most likely to come from the Anglican ranks.

The appeal of the Church of England has always been to the "middle class"—that is, to the section of the working class which, through real or imagined (and always slight) superior status, sees itself as having an interest in this capitalist society. Its hold upon people as actual churchgoers has been weakened by social developments (including the gradual spread of knowledge, and including also the emergence of other opiates): it has, however, largely compensated for this by pushing farther forward in schools, in the mass communication media, and everywhere else it can.

In the hands of the established church, the supernatural is a tool in the teaching of submissiveness and acquiescence before the interests of the owning class. Its growth and identification with the capitalist State; its teaching of reverence for property (itself a great property-owner) and all the institutions of property society; its support and blessing for every war for capitalism (prayers for victory for the British ruling class)—all make clear where the Church of England stands.

It stands, that is, four-square against the working class.

Robert Barltrop

Words and Men. — Part 2 (1933)

From the November 1933 issue of the Socialist Standard

Link to Part 1

Here it is necessary to deviate from the path of literature proper to recall certain landmarks of this revolutionary epoch.

In England the feudal barons were engaged in the internecine squabbles called Wars of the Roses (1455-1485), which represent the death agony of the feudal aristocracy and ended by exterminating or impoverishing all the leading barons and establishing, with the Tudor Henry VII, a dynasty embodying the alliance between the central monarchy and the burgher guilds.

Gutenberg in 1445 had perfected his printing press, a copy of which was introduced into England by Caxton in 1477. This invention was of inestimable value to literature; it meant that books became comparatively cheap and ceased to be an aristocratic or priestly monopoly; the spread of knowledge to all classes was now possible.

Following a period of keen competition among the various Mediterranean traders came the siege and capture of Constantinople by the Turks in 1453. This finally blocked the most important route to India and the Far East, whence came not merely luxury silks and ornaments, but the gold and silver required by commercial society and the condiments and spices vitally necessary at a time when there was no efficient means of preserving meat. Supreme incentive was thus given to the attempts at finding a new route to the East; Prince Henry in 1460, Diaz in 1486 and Da Gama in 1498 coasted round Africa until the way to India lay open; Columbus in 1492 and the Cabots in 1497 attempted a westward passage and came across America; Amerigo Vespucci crossed the South Atlantic in 1500 and in 1520 Magellan followed him, rounded Cape Horn and ended by circumnavigating the globe. Gold and silver were at first obtained by robbing or taxing the natives; later rich deposits were discovered in Bolivia and Mexico in the first quarter of the sixteenth century. The increase in navigation led to far-reaching astronomical investigation, and soon all ideas of the nature of the universe had been entirely revolutionised.

This vigorous stir and bustle of adventuring after new worlds immeasurably extended the bounds of literature, enriching its vocabulary and multiplying its subjects. Moreover, Constantinople had for centuries been the cultural descendant of classical antiquity, the centre of European learning. The invasion of their city by the “infidel” Turks sent hundreds of scholars with their scientific instruments' and ancient manuscripts into Western Europe, particularly Italy and France, where their command of philosophy, literature, art and science received unstinted appreciation from an expanding society athirst for every aspect of knowledge.

In England the Renaissance was assisted by the closing of the monasteries, which left numbers of men with no ideas of living but the sale of their ability to read and write.

By the opening of the sixteenth century merchant capitalism had taken root all over Western Europe ; it brought a period of strong monarchies, increased leisure, comparative peace, and enormous intellectual activity of every kind, and notably a rapid growth of diverse and elaborate forms of art: painting, engraving, sculpture, gold and silver work, wood-carving, architecture, poetry, philosophical works, satire, essays, “Utopias," stories of adventure real and imagined. This time of prolific expression is called the Re-Birth or Renaissance. In it we see the enterprise, vitality and optimism of the new and lively ruling class finding an immediate and abundant echo in every art form as yet known to man.

The Renaissance in literature is represented in England by poets like Thomas Wyatt and, later, Spenser and Philip Sidney, essayists or philosophers like Thomas More, Bacon and Thomas Browne, and playwrights like Marlowe, Jonson and Shakespeare. In France it early found complete and peerless expression in Francois Rabelais, who more than any other one man is the prototype of the fresh order of society. His first work, Gargantua, appeared in 1532, twelve years after the first journey round the world; he produced three others before his death in 1552. The key-note of them all is an ardent devotion to “universal science” and a boundless love of life. Life is good; the world is good; mankind must have every freedom to develop fully in all directions; original sin is absurd, metaphysical speculation of any kind is absurd; let us collect concrete facts about this amazing universe and approach its most diverse aspects with unquenchable curiosity. The bourgeois class, as it gathered its strength to throw off the shackles of feudalism, was grasping at the whole world, not at mere abstractions and forms, but at life itself; and that is what Rabelais offers. He cares nothing for beauty or morality, and hardship and suffering are but further manifestations of the abundant variety of life. This was, of course, a highly convenient philosophy for a society engaged in establishing a new form of the slave trade. His terrific command of words reflects the fertility of his brain, his gigantic optimism the vision of a new world both physical and intellectual.

He was followed in France by the sceptical individualist Montaigne, whose use of the essay-form was coincident with the growth of the physical sciences, especially astronomy, mechanics and hydrostatics, whose insistence on personal liberty was typical of a society desirous of unlimited free competition, but whose pessimism showed that the high hopes of limitless expansion for mankind held at the time of Rabelais were not being fulfilled. This streak of pessimism is to run through all French literature so long as the anachronisms of feudal organisation remain to dam the tide of social change.

Some seventy years after Rabelais comes Shakespeare (1564-1616). The bourgeois class in England had been able to develop fairly freely, and English buccaneers were supreme on the high seas; the landowners and merchants had achieved a temporary compromise, and society as a whole presented a stable aspect. Individualism by now was taken for granted, and literature was becoming more and more subjective. Moreover, the anti-Catholic feeling had its effect on literature; men studied languages in order to criticise Church texts, and history in order to score off Church legends. Shakespeare is always subjective, even in natural description; his vocabulary is much influenced by foreign words and his histories formed part of a complete cycle of English and ancient history; Marlowe’s Edward II belonged to the same cycle. Shakespeare’s subject matter is generally trivial or melodramatic; he is invariably concerned with emotion rather than thought; such moralising as he offers is complacent, never stimulating. But he is the most brilliant master of language yet seen: and there lies his chief importance. His fluent, supple, incisive metaphors and startlingly virile similes rendered an incalculable service to English speech.

Contemporary with Shakespeare were a number of lyric poets such as Fletcher, Drummond, Campion and Drayton, most of whose verse celebrates the ups and downs of romantic love. This form of literature is frequent in leisured society. But the Elizabethan lyrics are distinguished by their diversity of form and metaphor, their elegant language. At this time also began the steady intrusion of introspective religion into poetry. The merchant capitalists were not altogether satisfied with the Elizabethan compromise, and their dissatisfaction found some outlet, prior to open revolt under Cromwell, in an ever sterner and more uncompromising Protestantism. The current interest in the problem of religion and the State was bound to influence poetry as well as philosophy; some of John Donne’s and all George Herbert’s work exemplified the tendency, but its political aspect is most greatly voiced by Milton. His deep impatience of authority and vast self- confidence (“to justify the ways of God to man”), together with his bold experiments in metre and rhythm (Lycidas is written in free-verse) are all clearly symptomatic of a rebellious and arrogant movement in society. It is impossible to read Paradise Lost or Samson Agonistes without envisaging the old rebel, undaunted in spite of defeat and difficulty.

Stella Stewart.

Link to Part 3

Can Science Benefit Mankind? (1975)

From the October 1975 issue of the Socialist Standard

When the modern capitalist class began its struggle against feudal rule, it was compelled to enlist the aid of empirical science and materialist philosophy. As feudal rule and the mediaeval church were historically connected, any struggle had to begin with the discrediting of existing religious ideas or religious practices.

The Reformation, sparked off by Luther in Germany in 1520, was the first major revolt against the Roman Catholic Church, then the centre of feudalism. The second was the advent of Calvinism in Holland and England (Cromwell). The French Revolution of 1789, and the German revolution of 1848, finally established the supremacy of the capitalist class over the political power and property of the church. From then on, religious institutions had to conform to the laws that were devised mainly for the commercial and industrial advancement of developing capitalism.

The church had previously “saved men’s souls” by suppressing their intellectual development, and any philosophy or science was only allowed strictly on the oppressive terms dictated by the church. For example, no anatomical research of corpses was allowed up to the 15th century; physicians had to take up metaphysics if they wanted to continue research. Astronomy was astrology; chemistry was alchemy; science, such as it was, was in the hands of the priests. The language of science was the dead Latin of the church which had the effect of holding back the publication of new discoveries. The church itself had adopted many of the myths of Greek mythology, and the old Buddhist and Norse legends. They also accepted the Mosaic law that the earth was 5,000 years old and was based on spontaneous universal creation by a God. The church made sure that men would not be in a position to explain their environment, and what they did not understand they would worship with superstition.

The capitalist class needed science more than religion; you cannot base modern wealth production on the myths of the book of Genesis or Buddhist legends. The process of wealth production and distribution needs a full scientific understanding of the working of the laws of nature and the harnessing of those laws to the needs of the capitalist social system. One of the drawbacks of teaching several generations to think scientifically is the impossibility of arbitrarily shutting off the process. Where do you draw the line? How can you restrict thinking and the spread of ideas? The simple answer is that you cannot. The capitalist class, as with the church before it, wants the spread of knowledge to be under the control of the ruling body, but unlike the church which required ignorance, capitalism requires scientific knowledge in order to survive. So they try to square the circle by channelling the enquiring mind along the lines of new myths, or old myths refurbished. One of the ancient myths of capitalist society is that the production of wealth and its distribution is due to the energy and activity of the capitalist class.

It is to the discredit of international scientific bodies that they do little to refute this fantastic claim on the most elementary scientific basis. The reason is not difficult to find — they have become respectable. Their institutions are concerned with perpetuating the commonplaces of accepted practices. The Royal Institution and its international counterparts are castrated organizations, always looking over their shoulders to see if they are in harmony with their masters’ desires. No criticism is made of the disorder and anarchy surrounding the social order. They think that “realism”, as they describe it, should always have priority. This “realism” is nothing other than a servile acquiescence to the social relations of capital, and is a prostitution of the scientific method. It must be apparent to any group of scientists, particularly those engaged in medical science, that facilities for research are limited by the deliberate withholding of grants by governments and others. It must be frustrating to know the solution to a medical problem and be effectively debarred from carrying it out. Yet very few voices are raised in protest. In short, science has become bourgeois and is dependent upon capitalism for its operation and expansion.

In an article entitled “Science and the Quest for Human Purpose” (Times, 21st June 1975) Sir George Porter, Director of the Royal Institution, discusses the future of man in relation to science. He states that most of our worries and anxieties stem from a “lack of purpose which was rare 100 years ago”. He is referring to the large number of scientific discoveries made during the last century when capitalism was progressing and expanding. The purpose of science then, as now, is to serve the financial interests of the ruling class. Sir George also regrets the absence of a new philosophy and purpose. We wonder where Sir George has been these last hundred years.

There is a new philosophy and purpose — it is called Scientific Socialism. Its scientific basis was laid by Karl Marx and Frederick Engels over 100 years ago. Broadly speaking its purpose, to quote a phrase of Sir George, is to provide the greatest happiness for the greatest number. This cannot be done by bourgeois science, but only by the application of a progressive proletarian science. We can well understand Sir George’s rather uncertain thoughts on the future of man. Capitalism is certainly in need of some kind of “spiritual revival” in the sense that they long for the good old days. What with no comfort from the theologians, and an uncertain economic future, it will have to find some mystic source of support.

Sir George ventured the opinion that the future of man rests with science, and thinks that the proper study of man may be through physics, chemistry and biology. We do not agree. The study of man must be concerned with his social being, his social relations and social organization, and the development of his productive forces. Physics, chemistry and biology are ancillary to man’s social organization, as are all branches of learning. What men need is the science of society — an investigation into the phenomenon of wealth production and distribution, the arrangement of social classes and the reason why social changes occur. In other words, what man needs is information about society, and bourgeois science will not provide that kind of information. We know about physics, chemistry and biology, etc.; what is now required is a form of social organization, Socialism, where we can benefit from existing knowledge. The benefits of science today accrue to the ruling class not to society generally — that is why it has become respectable. Far from serving mankind, it serves one kind of man — the capitalist.

Most scientists, like other workers, are socially and politically ignorant about the state of society. Some are religious, spiritualists, reformers, etc., but they are trained thinkers and should recognize the existence of social science which is fundamental to a true understanding of the scientific method. Darwin was able to solve the problem of how there originated vegetable and animal species in the struggle for existence. Marx succeeded in solving the problem of how there arise different types of social organization in the struggle of men for their existence. The spirit of research was the same in both thinkers despite the different fields. The capitalist has enjoyed the fruits of Darwinism; let us move quickly to the application of the science of Marx. The introduction of scientific Socialism will mean the freedom of all science to develop and fulfill its true social function — as a practical tool for society’s benefit.

Jim D'Arcy

Ideology and Revolution pt.1 (2017)

From the October 2017 issue of the Socialist Standard

We begin a three-part series on the link between revolutionary social changes and the ideology of those who carried them out.

A series of discussions with friends of both leftist and liberal persuasions recently uncovered two classic objections to the Marxist perspective. They are essentially derived from the same misunderstanding of the nature of a socialist revolution.

The first objection was in the idealist tradition and centred on the connection between the Enlightenment and the Soviet gulags. It is more common to hear the terror of the French revolution being associated with Enlightenment ideals but not - via Karl Marx - with the Bolshevik concentration camps. The other accusation was that it was naive to expect a socialist revolution to be any different than those that preceded it historically.

To deal with these closely associated criticisms we have to unravel the relationship between the ideologies proclaimed by those involved and the historical context of their actions. As Marx would say – we have to cut away the ideological overgrowth to get to the political reality. Socialists have long believed that to view history as primarily a progression of ideas (idealism) is misleading and politically dangerous. However, it is of significance why certain ideals were used during periods of political upheaval rather than others; not just in terms of propaganda but also culturally and linguistically. Why was the memory and traditions associated with an obscure Jewish prophet of some 2,000 years ago invoked by the Puritans of the English revolution; why did the emperor Napoleon defend his dictatorship with reference to the Enlightenment and why did the Bolsheviks believe they could claim Marxist credentials? These three revolutions were successful partly because of the motivation that these ideologies provided for those who did the fighting and dying; or rather, the specific interpretation of those ideologies at the time. It might be informative to analyse these ideologies in terms of their origins, their cultural and linguistic reinterpretation and their use as propaganda. All of this can be done in the context of the similarities and differences they represent with the proposed model of a socialist revolution. We begin with the English Revolution of 1642.

The Reformation

Europe had witnessed the persecution of Jan Huss and John Wycliffe for their opposition to the widespread corruption within the Catholic Church but it was not until the time of their Protestant progeny Martin Luther that the Reformation became politically important. Many European potentates were tired of the political interference and high taxes that emanated from Rome. One of these, German Prince Frederick III, saw in Luther’s protest a way to weaken the political power of the Holy Roman Empire. Thus Luther’s protection by the powerful, in contrast with Huss and Wycliffe, made it possible to promote the Reformation which in turn eventually enabled a political formulation of the nation state that was independent of Rome.  All of this was accelerated by the new technology of the printing press which made possible the first dissemination of mass political/religious propaganda in the vernacular.

One of the consequences of the importation of the Reformation in England was the dissolution of the monasteries. As a result great swathes of land were acquired by the nouveau riche of the merchant class who had become wealthy courtesy of international trade in wool, slaves and coal. They sought to achieve the same levels of profit from their new land by becoming capitalist farmers. This contrasted with the great aristocratic landowners’ approach which was still in the feudal tradition; consequently they became increasingly concerned about the wealth of their new neighbours and pressed the king to try to curtail their profits, or at the very least give them a share. To achieve this the King claimed monopoly rights on production which he then proceeded to give to aristocratic cronies at his court together with the infamous ‘ship tax’ which gave him a share of trading profits. The new ‘landed gentry’ (capitalist farmers) together with other progressive elements in society were outraged by this and campaigned through parliament for a ‘free market’. They saw the feudal lands as being unproductive and the aristocracy as a political barrier to their further enrichment. The scene was set for this class struggle to erupt into the English revolution. This is the Marxist or ‘materialist’ version of the events of the 1640s. Now let us turn to the ideological explanation.

Religious ideology

When Constantine adopted Christianity as the state religion of Rome he attempted to make the diverse legends (gospels) into a coherent ideology that would serve his political needs. Although there continues to be some controversy the gospels we have now in the ‘New Testament’ date from that time. The religion has obvious attractions to an autocrat in that it represents the ultimate authoritarian social structure with God at the top and his representatives (the Pope, Emperor, Kings and the priesthood) in a descending coalition of oppression.

It also  has revolutionary elements in terms of its defiance of Roman hegemony and Jesus being a messiah or deliverer from tyranny. This is the element taken up by the Puritans who were profoundly dissatisfied with the English Reformation and perceived the Anglican church to be still Papist and politically reactionary. This together with the Protestant emphasis on hard work, obedience, thrift and the idea that worldly wealth and success meant belonging to God’s ‘elect’ made them obvious allies for the emerging bourgeoisie. For hundreds of years the priest in the pulpit had been the major political propagandist for the ruling class so it is not surprising that the political debate in the 17th century centred on Christian doctrine and the perceived importance of controlling the church.

The pulpit now had a propaganda rival in the printing press and within this revolutionary environment a variety of dissension was expressed. There were some who saw the revolution as a culmination of class antagonisms but the majority understood it in terms of Catholic oppression of their natural political rights with Charles I's claim to Divine Right being an obvious expression of this. Once the revolutionary war started both sides believed that victory on the battlefield was the sign of divine approval.

We can be certain that Jesus of Nazareth (if he existed as an historical individual) would be more than a little surprised by the killing that has been done in his name. It is difficult to find any justification for war in the gospels (with the exception of the book of revelation which  seems to be a diatribe of revenge). What Christianity does offer ruling elites, and would-be ruling elites, is an authoritarian universe with everything and everyone in his place. Many, if not most, religions offer this reactionary supernatural scenario and it wouldn’t take much imagination to replace it with any other similar religion and, given the same political and historical context of England in 1642, the result would be the same – revolution.

In other words, the ideology that expressed the fears and ambitions of those who made the revolution were relatively unimportant compared with the economic and political forces that compelled them into violent opposition. It may be said that this represents an unprovable hypothesis because you can never impose retrospective ideological alternatives onto history; what we can do, however, is compare this revolution with others that have also transformed their society from monarchical absolutism to bourgeois rule without the aid of Christian ideology.

In the second part of this article we attempt to do that with an analysis of the French revolution where not only was Christianity absent within the ideology of the victors, it was replaced by a philosophical approach we call ‘the Enlightenment’ which possessed an atheist trajectory.

(Next month: the French Revolution) 

Wez. 

Part 2