The campaign to make MPs declare their religious beliefs is about one thing — flushing out the heretics.
Chris Coghlan MP and others have suggested that MPs should publish their spiritual CVs. Did you go to church last week? Ever pray? Believe in life after death? Declare it. List it. Let the public inspect it. Preferably with a scarlet letter attached.
This is an escalation of the pressure Tim Farron faced over his private Christian convictions. On the surface, it’s all framed as accountability. But scratch beneath it, and you find something closer to 17th-century Salem than 21st-century Westminster.
Because let’s be honest about what’s going on here: this is about outing religious MPs as the Enemy of Progress.
The logic is simple. If you believe in God, you’ll probably vote the wrong way. You’ll oppose assisted dying. You’ll hesitate on abortion reform. You might even, brace yourself, believe in moral complexity.
That can’t be allowed. So, the plan is to shame the believers into declaring themselves, so the rest of us can keep a helpful list of the likely troublemakers.
Of course, it’s nonsense. Plenty of MPs who vote cautiously on moral issues aren’t religious at all. They’ve just lived complicated lives. Some have held a loved one’s hand through their last breath. Others have watched the dark side of healthcare. Some have navigated trauma or loss. All of that shapes conscience just as much as Sunday worship does.
We should note too the dogmatic assumption that disbelief isn’t a belief
But no one’s demanding a public register of who’s held a hospice vigil or who’s been to a funeral this month. There’s no call for MPs to wear badges saying, “Voted No Because of Personal Grief.”
It’s only religion that gets treated like a virus that needs contact tracing.
We should note too the dogmatic assumption that disbelief isn’t a belief. That the anti-religious actors aren’t themselves operating under the influence of a set of ideas (in this case, atheism). That’s just “the absence of belief” — a sort of “factory settings” state of “neutrality”. But never, ever dare question whether this is so, as you’ll soon learn quite how rigidly these views are held by their adherents.
The real giveaway here is the assumption that it’s religious faith which is uniquely dangerous. Apparently, going to evensong at St Margaret’s scrambles your moral compass, but watching a Netflix documentary about death makes you a wise legislator.
We’ve been here before, by the way.
For centuries, Britain had official religious tests for public office. Catholics were banned. Jews were banned. Nonconformists were banned. Eventually, we realised this was not a great look for a democracy. So, we scrapped it.
Now, we’re being offered a shiny new version. No formal bans. Just polite lists of MPs who need “special scrutiny.”
It’s sectarianism in a cardigan.
Of course, there are people who support this idea. Some sincerely think we’ll get better decisions if we know exactly what’s going on inside MPs’ heads. They imagine Parliament as a kind of moral airport security. Place your beliefs in the tray, step through the scanner, let the public check for any hidden rosaries.
Perhaps they are right. Maybe next time we’ll do a full conscience audit. We could publish MPs’ spiritual credit scores. Imagine the Hansard notes:
Member for Surrey South declared one Anglican baptism, two Christmas carols sung under duress, and a lingering fear of eternal damnation.
That will definitely improve the standard of debate.
Britain doesn’t need a Parliament of spiritually neutered robots. It needs a Parliament of humans, complete with doubts, beliefs, griefs, and experiences.
If we want better politics, let’s stop trying to X-ray MPs’ souls, and start judging the substance of what they do.
