White Evangelicals and Donald Trump: A Twofold Tragedy

Like many people (within my own echo chamber at least), I greeted the news of Trump’s triumph with horrified incredulity. Although, given the rather toxic combination of his populist bravado and the anti-establishment sentiment bubbling away in many quarters, perhaps it should have come as no surprise that he beat his eminently more qualified opponent.

Of course, his victory was not merely the result of support amongst disaffected communities in the de-industrialised rust belt. Across the country, he gained strong support amongst male voters and white voters, winning by a margin of 12% and 21% amongst each group respectively.^[1] However, there was one demographic with whom Trump proved particularly popular: white evangelicals.

Reportedly, Trump commanded the support of more than 80% of white evangelicals, of whom only 16% backed Clinton.^[2] Given the size of this voting bloc, it seems hard to deny that white evangelicals played their part in putting Trump into the white house. 

As an Anglican ordinand who identifies both as an evangelical and as a social democrat, I found this statistic sobering but sadly unsurprising. After all, whilst political affiliation amongst British evangelicals is varied,^[3] the marriage between white American evangelical christendom and the Republican party is well established. Previous Republican presidential candidates have all enjoyed similar levels of support, with Mitt Romney attracting the support of 79% of white evangelical voters in 2012. Before that in 2004 and 2008, George W. Bush and John McCain had received 79% and 73% support respectively.^[4] Evidently, white evangelicals voting for Republican candidates is hardly a new or novel phenomenon. 

And yet, despite this trend, I had hoped that faced with an option like Donald Trump, white evangelical voters might have had cause to pause before continuing their Republican affiliation.

Even if white evangelicals did retain their single-minded focus on abortion at the expense of any other issue, I had imagined that the extent of his explicitly racist rhetoric or misogynistic ramblings might have been a reason to think twice before voting for him. Likewise, I had wondered if they might have stopped and considered with skepticism the speed with which he had recently, and some might say cynically, embraced his pro-life position or decided that the Bible was (alongside ‘The Art of the Deal’) his favourite book. Indeed I had hoped that they might have asked themselves whether Trump’s bravado or ruthless pursuit of worldly success was reflective of the kingdom virtues taught or embodied by our crucified Lord? 

Such hopes were sadly in vain. Trump not only retained the Republican share of white evangelical support, he increased it. This has caused no small degree of anger and hurt from christian commentators who identify as outside^[5] or on the fringes^[6] of American evangelicalism. Meanwhile, as an evangelical on this side of the Atlantic, I am left questioning how and why this happened?

Dave Magill, a friend and church leader in the UK has written a thoughtful blog in which he explores this question, suggesting several potentially key factors behind Trump’s white evangelical support. These include the prevalence of complementarian teaching and thinking in evangelical circles, support for Trump’s adopted positions on abortion and gay marriage, and a siege mentality developed on account of perceived persecution and fear that the culture war is being lost.^[7] 

Alongside these factors, it seems to me that many have not only voted according to their own inclinations, but in response to the stated inclinations of their evangelical leaders. Although support from evangelical leaders was by no means unanimous, some key figures proved loyal advocates for Trump even when faced with scandal.^[8]

Uncomfortably for UK evangelicals, said support did not merely come from the far corners of the religious right. It also came from some well known and more mainstream figures whose influence upon British churches is unmistakable. In July, Wayne Grudem left many (including myself) feeling rather awkward about the copy of his Systematic Theology textbook lying at the back of our bookcase, when he boldly proclaimed that voting for Trump was the moral obligation of evangelicals.^[9] Meanwhile, in recent days, Bill Johnson’s Facebook post outlining why he had voted Trump^[10] has left many wondering whether they should delete all the Bethel tracks contained on their Spotify worship playlist. 

I’m not going to stop singing Lion and the Lamb, nor will I throw away my ESV. But I do believe that the way both Grudem and Johnson articulated their support for Trump demands scrutiny from evangelicals and others. 

Notably, the two hail from different realms and inhabit different roles within evangelicalism: one is a reformed theologian and biblical translator, and the other a church leader and charismatic figurehead (in both senses of the word). Furthermore, each chose a different forum and format with which to engage their respective audiences: one penned a lengthy op-ed for a conservative magazine whilst the other posted on social media, in between sharing motivational posters. Nevertheless, their author’s obvious differences in style and substance notwithstanding, it seems to me that both declarations are left open to two key critiques that might be labelled at white evangelical support more broadly. 

Firstly, despite talk of morality, they both seem to be willing to overlook some serious concerns about Trump’s character for the sake of their own political ends. Grudem acknowledged that Trump was egotistical, vindictive and a serial adulterer, but seemed to find such flaws forgivable in the face of his disdain for Clinton’s liberalism. And whilst his support did waiver briefly in October in the wake of footage released of Trump’s predatory bragging, he eventually resolved to vote for him nonetheless due to the apparent strength of his policies. Similarly, Johnson decided that though his words ‘were inexcusable, they were not unforgivable’. Like Grudem, he suggested that Trump’s children’s affection for him offered evidence of his true character. (For whatever reason, neither man seemed particularly concerned with or influenced by Chelsea Clinton’s strong support for her mother.)

On one level, I accept that one’s private life might well have little or no bearing on one’s suitability for public office. The problem, as frustrated conservative evangelical Alan Noble pointed out in his pre-election piece for Vox, is that prior to Trump’s candidacy this was not a distinction made readily by evangelical leaders.^[11] As Southern Baptist leader Al Mohler candidly conceded, to support Trump would undermine his criticism of Bill Clinton in the wake of his infidelity.^[12] Furthermore, as Noble goes on to express, Trump’s words and actions in the past, and on the campaign trail, go beyond offending the sensibilities of social conservatism. More than that, they raise serious alarm bells about his propensity for abusing power, which in turn begs serious questions about his suitability for any public office, let alone the presidency. 

My second critique, is that their use of Scripture is superficial and/or suspect. The premise of Johnson’s self-justification for voting Trump is that it was a result of what he found in Holy Scripture. It is curious therefore that his post contains barely any direct scriptural citations. Frustratingly, I am left wondering about the nature of his exegetical journey from scripture to a denouncement of open borders or complaints about a culture of dependency. 

Of course, given that he is addressing issues such as immigration policy and welfare provision in a western liberal democracy (hardly the concern of any biblical passage), I am not expecting him to provide specific and comprehensive proof texts. However, if one is going to publicly assert one's political preferences as rooted in biblical principles, then it would seem appropriate to provide some kind of textual evidence to support such an assertion. In fairness, Johnson does refer loosely to the parable of the talents in his claim that Jesus’ teachings contradict socialism. However, his interpretation of this parable as pertaining to wealth distribution might be considered eccentric at best. Indeed, his bizarre suggestion that Jesus somehow reveals his capitalist leanings by telling a story featuring a man who had little giving to another who had much hardly inspires confidence in the exegetical process that led to his previously stated positions. 

Moreover, to make matters worse, the one uncontentious biblical principle that he does offer is used in a blatantly biased fashion. Johnson rightly points out that honesty can be conceived as a kingdom value, but this is used as a stick to beat Clinton with, whilst Trump (a man who has just settled a fraud case) gets a free pass. Again, this reflects a poorly veiled bias, not only in how Johnson is interpreting scripture, but in the way he's applying it as well. 

The problem, as Martin Saunders articulated in his own critique of Johnson’s post, is not so much the positions he holds (even if I they clash with his or indeed my own political outlook), but rather his claim that they’re scripturally sourced.^[13] Such a claim should be carefully expressed based on thoughtful exegesis. Instead, Johnson’s post offers little more than an articulation of a conservative capitalist worldview, prefaced in such a way as to suggest that what is being offered is a biblical exposition of kingdom politics. 

For his part, Grudem cannot be accused of such scriptural misuse. The argument he offers is based on purely political, rather than exegetical grounds. In fact, his only use of scripture is as a means of justifying christian engagement in politics. His advocacy of Trump is on account of his desire for a pro-life supreme court appointment and a lower rate of tax for small businesses. On one level, a case made unambiguously on the grounds of social and fiscal conservatism does seem eminently preferable to Johnson’s offering. 

And yet, I remain somewhat troubled by the way in which Grudem does, or indeed doesn’t engage with scripture. After all, despite having a degree in economics, Grudem has not been offered column inches based on his fiscal expertise. Instead, he is writing as an evangelical theologian and directed his article at evangelical voters. Evangelical leaders owe the church and the world so much more than their own opinion. Indeed, considering the supposed centrality of scripture to evangelical theological method, it would seem to me that the role of evangelical theologians, pastors and leaders is to sensibly and sensitively bring scripture to bear on all issues, including presidential elections. 

In their respective ways, both Grudem and Johnson have fallen short of doing this. Whilst Grudem simply offered secular analysis, Johnson offered threadbare theological reflection based on shallow exegesis. With so many people taking note, and with so much at stake, it strikes me that such approaches simply will not do. 

Whatever the next few years holds for the US, the role of white evangelicals in electing Trump may continue to be scrutinised. It is something that many outside of white evangelicalism (including evangelicals of colour) may struggle to come to terms with. 

Meanwhile, as an evangelical across the Atlantic, I am left mourning a twofold tragedy. Because not only did white evangelicals play a huge role in electing Trump, but they appeared to do so for reasons that have nothing to do with evangelicalism. In doing so, they may well have done themselves, their tradition and their country a disservice. My only prayer is that this is not the case. 

^[1] http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2016/11/09/behind-trumps-victory-divisions-by-race-gender-education/

^[2] http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2016/11/09/how-the-faithful-voted-a-preliminary-2016-analysis/

^[3] http://www.eauk.org/current-affairs/media/press-releases/evangelical-votes-are-up-for-grabs.cfm

^[4] http://www.pewforum.org/2012/12/07/election-2012-post-mortem-white-evangelicals-and-support-for-romney/

^[5] http://rachelheldevans.com/blog/life-after-evangelicalism?utm_content=buffer9b736&utm_medium=social&utm_source=twitter.com&utm_campaign=buffer

^[6] https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/nov/16/white-evangelical-christians-vote-trump

^[7] https://davemagill.com/2016/11/09/why-did-evangelicals-vote-for-trump/

^[8] http://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2016/11/the-evangelical-reckoning-on-trump/507161/

^[9] http://townhall.com/columnists/waynegrudem/2016/07/28/why-voting-for-donald-trump-is-a-morally-good-choice-n2199564

^[10] https://www.facebook.com/billbjohnson/posts/10209824391540968?comment_id=10209826884203283&notif_t=comment_mention&notif_id=1478776207368079

^[11] http://www.vox.com/first-person/2016/10/24/13361582/trump-religious-right

^[12] https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/acts-of-faith/wp/2016/10/09/donald-trump-has-created-an-excruciating-moment-for-evangelicals/

^[13] http://www.christiantoday.com/article/why.bill.johnsons.defence.of.trump.is.a.masterclass.in.missing.the.point/100326.htm

Mothering Sunday - A Bittersweet Blessing

Every year, on the fourth Sunday of Lent, the Western Church celebrates Mothering Sunday. Irrespective of your own tradition (or lack thereof), if you have attended a church on this day, the likelihood is it will have shaped the service in some way or another. Perhaps you will have heard messages thanking and honouring mothers, poetry about motherhood or Biblical readings chosen to reflect this theme. If nothing else, you might have witnessed children wandering around the church, giving out daffodils to all the adult women present. 

Whilst the notion of celebrating mothers may seem uncontroversial, it has oft been noted that Mothering Sunday is a pastoral nightmare. Within any given congregation, there will be a whole host of people for whom the theme of motherhood might be problematic.  There will be those whose mothers may be frail or unwell, those who have or have had complex or difficult relations with their mothers or children, as well as those longing to be mothers for whom having children has not been a possibility. As one training for ordained ministry, I know that these are the people I need to lovingly honour on such a potentially delicate day. 

Meanwhile, as an individual, and as a son, I must admit I find Mothering Sunday to be bittersweet at best.

Just under three years ago, my mother died after a short but brave battle with Pancreatic Cancer. She was an incredible woman. I think I can speak for my siblings in saying that she was not only an amazing mother, but a wonderful friend. She was faithful, loving, kind, selfless and fun. She was and remains a true inspiration to me and I owe her so much. In saying all this, I am acutely aware that I was and am truly blessed and in many ways I have more cause for gratitude than I do for lament.

And yet, for the time being at least, Mothering Sunday seems to serve as a reminder of that which has been lost, and that which I miss so dearly. As we celebrate motherhood, it can almost feel as if that which I lack and that which I’ve lost is being rubbed in my face. I suspect I am far from alone in feeling this. 

Of course, this is not simply a liturgical issue, but one that is connected to the commercial behemoth that ‘Mother’s Day’ has become. Last year, a member of the church where I was on placement asked (innocently and earnestly) whether I had been a dutiful son and sent home a Mother’s Day card. An awkward pause ensued. Suddenly, what had started as post-service small talk over tea and a biscuit was in real danger of becoming an unexpectedly sombre conversation. Being painfully British, I elected to come across as a forgetful and neglectful son, rather than simply lie or subject either of us to the kind of melancholy musings that might have taken place had I shared my story.

Although I chuckle at my own Britishness during such an exchange, I was actually left feeling emotionally exposed. It illustrates how Mothering Sunday or Mother’s Day has the potential to be not merely awkward, but to pick at the raw wounds of our grief and grievances. I want to honour mothers. I want to celebrate motherhood. But Mothering Sunday is becoming a day I actively dread.

However, as I’ve pondered this in recent days, I’ve been alerted to the actual origins of Mothering Sunday. Indeed, dating back centuries, prior to the commercialisation of recent decades, Mothering Sunday was a festival that was not about individual mothers, but the ‘Mother Church’. In fact, it was a day in which people were encouraged to go back home to their Mother Church, be it in their local parish or even the place in which they were Baptised. 

For me, this resonates powerfully with what I think the Church is and can be at its best. 

I will never forget the day that I found out about my mother’s diagnosis. Not only because of the obvious shock and sadness, but because of the way in which G2, the church I went to and worked for offered such profound love and support. Throughout the journey that ensued, they offered constant, prayerful friendship that truly brought home to me what it meant for the church to be a family. Moreover, when I returned home to my actual Mother Church in North Wales, I was overwhelmed by the way in which they loved us, served us and in many ways carried us practically and emotionally, even though they themselves were grieving. 

At the heart of the Christian faith, is the idea that through Christ we can be children of God (John 1:14). All of us are in some ways orphans in the world who have been adopted into the family of God (Galatians 4:4-8).

The Church, our Mother Church, is that gathered family, here on earth. Of course, both history and our own individual experience will tell us that it is often a dysfunctional family. Like any other family, there is always the potential for brokenness and hurt to occur. And yet, at our best, we can be a community of people who step up to the plate whenever a brother or a sister is in need.

Therefore, as we approach Mothering Sunday let us celebrate mothers, whilst remembering those for whom such an occasion is potentially painful. But more than that, let us remember that the Church is called to be God’s faithful and loving family. We are a community that has been Baptised with a grace that enables us to be a family that goes beyond biology. It is our God-given duty to provide a place for those who lack and those who have lost and to be a home for the widow and the orphan alike. For the sake of the orphan, the widow, those who lack and those who have lost, this is the kind of family we need to be, not only this Sunday but every single day. 

This Sunday is still a day that in some ways I dread. However, I will return to my Mother Church, knowing that however bittersweet any service might be, it is my home and it is where I belong. 

Belief beyond the ballot box

‘A week is a long time in politics.’ This oft quoted statement is believed (rightly or wrongly) to have been uttered by former Labour PM Harold Wilson in the mid 60’s. Five decades on, following one of the most surprising elections in history, such an assertion is as apt as ever. 

After all, a week ago we were on the brink of an election in which nothing seemed certain except that there would be no clear winner. Today, there is a Tory majority government, freed from the moderating shackles of the now decimated Liberal Democrats. 

A week ago there was talk of the radical new makeup of British party politics. Today, despite an SNP surge, the first past the post system has ensured that within England the two-party system is stronger than ever, with the Lib Dems reduced to a tired remnant. 

A week ago, there was a growing sense of excitement amongst Labour supporters that Ed Miliband might defy his critics in the press and that he had a realistic chance of becoming the next PM. Today, Miliband’s leadership is over and the race to succeed him already underway, with a return to Blairite centrism looking increasingly likely. 

As a Labour member on the left of the party, the last week has caused the cautious optimism with which I went to the polling station to be replaced by bitter disappointment. Indeed, as I look ahead to what might prove a palpably painful five years for many, this disappointment becomes dread. 

And yet, as I speak of dread I am acutely aware that the ‘many’ to which I refer does not include myself. Funded by the Church of England to train as a Priest, I am comfortable by most if not all measures. Even if the waves of austerity hit with the ferocity one might fear, its not the trainee vicars who are in trouble but rather the poorest and most vulnerable in society.

Of course, it is all too easy for me to sit here behind my keyboard, making pious pronouncements about Tory cuts and the potential harm they might cause. Similarly, it would be all too easy for me to sit back in dismay at the decision of the British electorate, my own conscience consoled in my belief that I voted progressively. 

Perhaps one of the most helpful things articulated by both men in the now infamous Milibrand interview, was that democracy has to go beyond the termly election of MPs. This is a concept which, rather unsurprisingly, predates Brand and in fact played a key part in the thinking of 18th century political philosopher Jean-Jaques Rousseau in his work The Social Contract. Rousseau believed that representative democracy alone was so limited that it meant that the people of England were ‘overtaken by slavery’ as soon as our votes had been cast. This may well be an overstatement, and yet the challenge remains to consider what it means to engage democratically between elections and referenda. 

The same can be said regarding one's apparent sense of compassion or concern for the poor. My convictions about social and economic equality may well in my case translate into a vote for Labour (I am aware that many with the same concerns might vote very differently). However, such concerns mean little if anything if that’s the extent to which this apparent concern outworks itself. I may well lament that the number of food banks in Britain continues to grow, but if I’m not giving them my time or my resources (and at present I’m not) then my cries seem somewhat hollow. 

I suppose this is the kind of frustration that is being expressed in the famous passage in James regarding the relationship between faith and works (2.14-26).  An alternative paraphrase of one section might read: ‘if a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food and one of you says to them, “Go in peace, go and eat your fill, and rest assured I voted Labour,” without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that?' (v.15-16… sort of).

This is not to diminish the role of voting, which is a huge privilege and can effect enormous change. Furthermore, seeking to see political and social change on a broader level is a means of addressing the causes rather than symptoms of inequality. Nevertheless, if my concern for the poor stops at the ballot box, then what good is it? If my desire for justice extends no further than this blog, then who will it help? If my faith in equality manifests itself merely in reading and sharing sharply worded Guardian articles on social media, then such a faith is ’barren’ (v. 20).  

Ultimately, despondent as I may be by the results last Thursday, it is awkwardly apparent that outrage and frustration won’t do. The challenge I face is to prayerfully consider how my beliefs might tangibly be worked out in such a way that might beneficially impact my community. I’ve barely even begun this process, I’ve no idea what it might look like and I’m open to suggestions. Perhaps over the next five years I’ll find out. 

Permission to Participate: Emma Watson's UN speech and male participation in feminism

This week Emma Watson delivered what is already becoming a widely heralded speech on gender equality. Speaking in her role as a UN women's good will ambassador, she was launching the HeforShe campaign in which she extended an invition to men to participate in the feminist movement.

Of course, there will undoubtedly be some who react with cynicism to Watson's speech and her UN role more generally. Indeed, as journalist Marina Hyde has pointed out, celebrity participation in campaigns and charity can often be more distracting than helpful. However, in this case I think such cynicism is both unhelpful and unfounded.

In her speech, Watson spoke nervously but with conviction. She didn't position herself as an expert, but rather as someone who was passionate about gender equality and was using her notoriety to highlight the cause and some of the issues faced by the feminist movement. She acknowledged that many would be wondering what "this Harry Potter girl" had to do with feminism. Indeed, it goes without saying that there are historians, sociologists and gender theorists who could address the issues with more critical depth. However, what Emma Watson delivered was a speech full of truth and common sense, that due to her fame, has reached millions and has got people talking about feminism.

In particular her speech was addressing the destructive and distracting notion that feminism and misandry go hand in hand. Watson stated: "I have realized that fighting for women's rights has too often become synonymous with man-hating. If there is one thing I know for certain, it is that this has to stop. For the record, feminism by definition is: 'The belief that men and women should have equal rights and opportunities. It is the theory of the political, economic and social equality of the sexes.'" As such she challenged men to engage in the issue also, stating: "Gender equality is your issue too".

As a self-identified feminist man, I was delighted not only by this speech's content but by the launch of the broader HeforShe campaign. It is very easy as a male proponent of gender equality to feel awkward and uncertain about what one's role in any movement should in fact be. Often male feminists never get any further than a sense of liberal guilt and in turn offer little if anything to the cause. As such, it is extremely helpful when a campaign like HeforShe comes along that provides both permission and means to participate.

Therefore, as a man and more generally as a human, I'd like to formally accept the invitation to join the feminist movement. My hope is that millions of men worldwide will do likewise.

The Downfall of Dawkins: Christians should resist the urge to score points off his latest gaffe

Another tweet, another gaffe. This was the increasingly familiar story of Richard Dawkins's week. Indeed, the renowned Evolutionary biologist turned best selling atheist author has not so much fallen from grace recently as stumbled towards ignominy, one faux pas at a time.

It began with allegations of Islamaphobia - with Dawkins taking a page out of Robert Kilroy Silk's book and questioning the extent of the Muslim world's contribution to society. Then, last month he caused outrage with a series of pointless tweets in which he devised hierarchies regarding the respective immorality of various forms of rape and child abuse. Anyone opposed to or bemused by this needless ranking system based on his moral logic 'needed to learn how to think' in Dawkins's view.

Last week's twitter debacle has perhaps been the worst yet. Asked about a hypothetical dilemma faced by a mother with a foetus with Downs Syndrome, Dawkins suggested a women should simply: 'abort it and try again'. The number of abortions carried out on foetuses with Downs Syndrome was apparent evidence of widespread support for his view.  Asked if the same treatment should be afforded those with autism, he said no on the basis that they might still be able to contribute to society. Unsurprisingly, a twitter maelstrom ensued.    

Indeed, the response to these comments and others has been interesting to observe. Notably, there have seemingly been a number of atheists shaking their heads in disbelief and embarrassment. Dawkins has gone from a popular, money-making mouthpiece to a voice many of his former supporters wish would stay silent, at least on twitter. 

Meanwhile, the reaction of many within the Church has been understandably indignant, yet depressingly opportunistic. While there has been clear and reasonable outrage from all quarters, I can't help but feel that many in the Christian camp have been rubbing their hands with glee at the potential to make hay out of Dawkins's comments. Not only have his comments provided ample license to criticise him, but many have used it as a gateway to critique 'atheist morality' more broadly. It is this that I have found somewhat troubling.

To be clear, Dawkins's comments to me seem nigh on indefensible. The notion that autistic foetuses should be aborted due to a lack of potential  societal contribution is at best a dark form of utilitarianism and at worst an advocation of eugenics. This and other comments further emphasise my view and that of many others (atheists included) that Dawkins has plenty to say about ethology but little to contribute about ethics. 

The problem lies however when Christians begin making the claim that Dawkins's own brand of Darwinian infused ethics is representative of the natural moral framework that atheism leaves you with.  Whilst I appreciate the source of this belief, It seems to me a slightly misguided appraisal. 

What removing God does do is remove a transcendent basis for objective morality. That is to say - without something or someone that goes beyond humans, our experience, our biology and our culture there are no Universal laws or guidelines about how we should behave. Atheist existentialist philosopher Jean Paul Satre summed this up perfectly: 

 "The existentialist finds it very embarrassing that God does not exist, for there disappears with him any possibility of finding values in an intelligible heaven. There can no longer be any good a priori, since there is no infinite consciousness to think it. It is nowhere written that 'the good exists, that one must be honest or must not lie, since we are now upon the plane where there are only men."

Essentially, Satre admits that without God there is no basis for objective good or bad, right or wrong. There is no divine or transcendent framework that tells us what we should or shouldn't do. 

However, in referencing Satre here a couple of key things must be noted. Firstly, the tone is one of regret, not of triumph. There is no nihilistic celebration at some notion of liberation from the shackles of a Theistically inspired morality. Instead, Satre is embarrassed that no infinite consciousness exists to institute any kind of moral law. 

Moreover, Satre's conclusion is not that moral anarchy is the only way to respond. Indeed, his conclusion still allows for good or bad, they're just not 'a priori' or transcendent or objective. The view that many naturalists hold that moral frameworks are the result of evolution and culture can still sit very comfortably within this view.

As a Christian I do believe in a sense of objective morality. I agree with CS Lewis's assertion that human experience points us to a 'moral law' which in turn nudges us towards the author of such a law. Consequently, in my own imperfect way I try to respond in obedience to this law. 

However, I know several agnostics and atheists who, broadly speaking, also find themselves attempting to follow the same code. The only difference is that they disagree with its origins. Simply denying moralities Divinely instituted objectivity does not negate its existence or application. It is equally possible to  conscientiously avoid murder whether I'm following a Biblical mandate not to kill or whether I believe such an instinct is the result of an evolutionary urge that exists to preserve the human race. Perhaps like me, you don't find these explanations mutually exclusive. 

Dawkins' moral system is not the result of merely lacking God but of replacing God. Rather than simply looking at evolution as a process that explains our origins he has used it as the basis of a moral framework. In this framework, logic and utility will always trump love and compassion. Dawkins's comments are not the natural consequence of atheism or a belief in evolution. Instead they are the consequence of an aggressive nihilistic naturalism. 

It is this brand of nihilistic naturalism that is truly unsavoury, and it appears countless atheists agree. That is why so many atheists are asking that Dawkins is no longer regarded as their mouthpiece. And as Christians, we should not deny them that desire for the sake of rhetorical capital.