Article
Comment
Politics
4 min read

Why governments need to Do God

A new review has a positive answer to the question should governments ‘do God’. Bex Chapman assesses the Bloom Review and its recommendations.

Bex is a freelance journalist and consultant who writes about culture, the church, and both government and governance.

Prime minister Rishi Sunak leans forward out a lounge chair while the Archbishop of Canterbury talks and gestures while sitting on a sofa.
The Prime Minister Rishi Sunak meets with the Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby in 10 Downing Street.
Number 10, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

The former Downing Street spin doctor Alastair Campbell once notoriously interrupted a journalist interviewing his boss, the then-Prime Minister Tony Blair, to prevent him speaking about his faith, saying ‘We don’t do God’.   

But we know that many of our politicians do indeed ‘do God’; Gordon Brown was famously a son of the manse, who promised to lead a government with a ‘moral compass’. David Cameron declared that his Christianity existed, albeit that it ‘comes and goes’ like the Magic FM reception in the Chilterns, while Theresa May, also the child of a clergyman, described how her faith in God made her convinced she was ‘doing the right thing’ as Prime Minister.   

And Boris Johnson, originally baptised as a Roman Catholic as a baby, went Anglican while at Eton, and then re-crossed the Tiber to become Britain’s first Catholic Prime Minister. Before he left office, he commissioned an independent review to look at how the government should engage with faith groups. Four years later, based on conversations with over 20,000 people, ‘Does government do God?’ has been published. Has the government now admitted it does in fact do God? Or at least, that it would like to?   

The review is clear that faith makes a massive contribution to the life of our country. It examines the role of people of faith and places of worship in many areas of society - education, prisons and the probation service, the UK Armed Forces. It does not shy away from showing us that alongside those of real faith seeking to serve their communities there are those who abuse what they call ‘faith’ for their own ends; it looks at faith-based extremism, financial and social exploitation, and forced marriage. Review author Colin Bloom was clear that the issue of forced and coercive marriages should be a top priority for the government, calling it a ‘burning injustice’ that must not be consigned to what he called the government’s ‘too difficult box’.

Public servants currently receive training on the protected characteristics, but Bloom describes faith as ‘the Cinderella protected characteristic’. 

He recommends faith literacy in the public sector be improved as it is key to allowing the government to tackle these issues. Public servants currently receive training on the protected characteristics, but Bloom describes faith as ‘the Cinderella protected characteristic’. His report suggests that faith literacy is low across not just across the public sector, but across the country, including the media. Religious literacy training and a new Independent Faith Champion are just two of the 22 recommendations of the review, that go right across government, which government will consider and respond to in due course. At a briefing on the review, Bloom noted that there had been many previous reports with similar recommendations, but that these had not been followed through, adding ‘I just wish that either this Government, or whatever comes next, will be the Prince Charming that will take this Cinderella to the ball’.   

So why does government need to be more aware of, and more willing to engage with, people with faith? This report’s key message is that faith is an ‘overriding force for good’. One respondent told the review:  

‘Imagine if churches and other places of worship removed their time, money, creativity and energy from public life… What would happen to the army of volunteer chaplains in prisons, universities and hospitals?’.  

From over 21,000 responses, the majority of people who contributed to the review research were clear that faith and religion are beneficial for society. Over half of respondents gave faith and religion a 10 out of 10 rating for contribution to society, and over 84 per cent scored the social contribution as positive.   

The priest and psychologist Henri Nouwen spoke about how, for Christians, action is a grateful response that flows from our awareness of God’s presence in this world. Jesus’s whole ministry was a great act of thanksgiving to his heavenly Father. Nouwen observed that:  

‘Teresa of Avila built convents as if she would never get tired; Martin Luther King, Jr., preached, planned, and organized with an unquenchable zeal; and Mother Teresa of Calcutta is fearlessly hastening the coming of the Lord with her care for the poorest of the poor’.  

There are thousands of examples of how faith has motivated people to change the world around them for the better. The Bloom review cites the Mildmay Mission Hospital in London as just one example. Established as a Christian response to the cholera outbreak in the 1860s, it became one of the world’s leading centres in care for people living with HIV and AIDS and continues to be ‘an organisation that derives inspiration from its faith-based values’.   

Faith that changes lives is not just something from the past. The recent census showed us that there are still more people in the UK who have a faith than not. The religious landscape of the UK may have changed hugely since Alastair Campbell declared that ‘We don’t do God’. It is now far more diverse, arguably now even more exciting. Faith still makes a difference, changes lives, builds communities. Mr Bloom concludes that ‘without faith, places of worship and people of faith, this country would be poorer, blander, and less dynamic’. Faith, he says, is a force for good that government should do more to understand. The government should indeed do God. And this review and its recommendations suggest there is lots of room for improvement in just how they do it.

Article
Comment
Politics
Truth and Trust
5 min read

The ancients had the right words for Trump’s tussle with the BBC

Can the truth be concealed?

Hal is a theologian and writer based in London.

A composite images shows the entrance to the BBC on one side and Donald Trump on the other
BBC.

The recent controversies surrounding the BBC's leadership and the lawsuit brought by Donald Trump may appear, at first glance, to be merely another chapter in the ongoing drama of contemporary politics and media. Yet for those with eyes to see, something far older and more profound lies beneath the surface turbulence—a perennial struggle concerning the very nature of truth itself, one that reaches back to the dawn of Western thought and touches the deepest springs of our common life. 

The sequence of events is itself instructive. The disturbances at the Capitol occurred on January 6, 2021. More than three years thereafter, the BBC's Panorama programme broadcast an investigation examining the relationship between Mr Trump's rhetoric—his exhortation to "fight like hell"—and the violence that ensued. The programme did not fabricate a narrative but rather sought to interpret one, attempting to hold words and their consequences together within a coherent moral framework. This work was, in its essence, what the pre-Socratic philosopher Parmenides termed Aletheia: truth understood as 'unconcealment', the patient labour of bringing into public view that which has been hidden or obscured. 

A vocation 

When the crisis deepened, the BBC's then Director of News, Deborah Turness, reaffirmed the Corporation's mission as the pursuit of truth "with no agenda". It was a well-intentioned defence, though perhaps insufficiently bold. For the BBC's founding vision was never a pursuit of neutrality as an end in itself, but rather the pursuit of truth in service of the common good—a vision given permanent expression in the inscription carved into the very walls of Broadcasting House: 

"This Temple of the Arts and Muses is dedicated to Almighty God... It is their prayer that good seed sown may bring forth a good harvest... that the people, inclining their ear to whatsoever things are beautiful and honest and of good report, may tread the path of wisdom and uprightness." 

This inscription is no mere ornament. It constitutes a theological statement concerning the vocation of public speech. The call to sow "good seed"—echoing Jesus’ parable of the sower in St Matthew's Gospel—the summons to attend to whatsoever things are "honest and of good report" as St Paul exhorts in his letter to the Philippians, and the call to walk "in wisdom and uprightness" from the book of Proverbs—all these speak to a moral order in which words are meant to bear fruit. Panorama's investigation may be understood as a contemporary attempt to fulfil this sacred charge: an inevitably human and imperfect effort to unconceal the connection between language and its consequences in the world. 

The ancient force of oblivion 

Mr Trump's response, however, embodies a different and equally ancient force: Lethe—the personification of oblivion and forgetfulness in Greek thought. His lawsuit is not simply a defence against an allegation he finds unwelcome. It represents, rather, a strategic campaign to enforce forgetfulness. What Trump has chosen to bring into the light is not his own intent or action, but rather the BBC's editorial process. By directing all attention toward the matter of editing, he seeks to bury and render forgotten the original and far more consequential question: the demonstrable connection between his words on the sixth of January and the violent response of his supporters. The strategy is to employ a minor unconcealment—the technical matter of the edit—in order to accomplish a major concealment: the causal chain linking rhetoric to riot. 

This, then, is the quiet heart of the matter. The lawsuit functions as a modern political instrument deployed within an ancient philosophical conflict. It represents a deliberate choice for Lethe over Aletheia, aiming to dissolve the connection between word and reality, and to immerse the most uncomfortable truths in the waters of oblivion. 

For Christians, this struggle occupies familiar ground. To stand for truth is not to claim infallibility—a pretension that belongs to God alone—but rather to participate in the slow, difficult work of revelation: to bring things into the light for the sake of healing and restoration. Whether in journalism, the Church, or the wider public square, truth remains first a vocation before it becomes a verdict. 

The crisis at the BBC, therefore, is not merely about institutional governance or corporate reputation. It serves as a reminder that the pursuit of truth is always a contested act of unconcealment, perpetually threatened by the seductive pull of forgetfulness. In an age tempted by distraction and denial, even imperfect truth-telling becomes an act of faith—a wager that reality is trustworthy, that words have weight, that consequences follow causes. 

A reason to persevere 

This ancient struggle between unconcealment and oblivion offers perspective on our present moment. For those who hold religious faith, it recalls St John's testimony that "the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not"—a conviction that truth ultimately prevails. For those who do not share such faith, the argument stands on its own philosophical ground: that truth-telling, however costly and imperfect, serves something greater than partisan advantage or institutional survival. 

The inscription at Broadcasting House speaks to both believer and non-believer alike. Its prayer for "good seed" and "good harvest", its call to attend to things beautiful, honest, and of good report, articulates a civic ideal that transcends particular creeds. It suggests that public institutions bear a responsibility—not to be infallible, but to resist the gravitational pull of forgetfulness, to maintain the connection between words and their consequences, to choose unconcealment over oblivion. 

Whether one grounds this commitment in theological conviction or in secular principle, the work remains the same: the slow, difficult labour of bringing uncomfortable truths into the light, trusting that a society capable of facing reality is stronger than one that retreats into comfortable fictions. In an age tempted by distraction and denial, this may be reason enough to persevere. 

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