Beware the manosphere guys who, on the brink of disgrace, discover Jesus
Humans are probably correct to feel a bit flat about our prospects. We inhabit a world roughly comparable to that of a schoolchild in the 1960s when we fully expected the Cuban missile crisis to erupt in a global fireball. The school principal told us not to worry, that we’d be dead before we knew it. We could never say we weren’t warned. We can say the same about AI giant Anthropic . In its $2 trillion public flotation prospectus, its own risk section runs to about 90 pages. That’s before it warns that advanced AI could pose ”catastrophic or existential risks to humanity ”. The latest tech industry news is that the world’s biggest chip company is being shredded by a distinctly old-fashioned alleged sex ‘n’ spies honeytrap. No wonder some people are turning to religion . There is plenty of precedent for faith resurgences at times when people are clutching for common humanity. Tech stocks are struggling, but the pope ’s stock was never higher. News of his cancer surgery inspired Eric Idle of the famously blasphemous old Monty Python team to write, “Even atheists are praying for you. You are a good man. Please get well.” Meanwhile, Trump ’s vast army of Christian nationalists has been defanged, ceding much of its heft to the new Democratic big tent of inclusive Christians, Muslims, Jews and atheists. The evisceration of the movement has brought another bounty. That’s the long line of manosphere guys who, on the brink of public disgrace, suddenly, conveniently and very publicly were able to find Jesus and instant forgiveness in the shape of Trump, the Maga Jesus, and his evangelical army. James Bloodworth, the author of Lost Boys, noted the trend over the years towards a “God pill” where manosphere influencers were turning to Christian nationalism, saying they’d had enough of promiscuity, or discovering religion with whiplash speed after being exposed for wrongdoing. It was conspicuous, and the list of the latter is long and public. But who can judge for certain whether a sudden conversion is a PR con? People sometimes sincerely discover faith during times of personal crisis. Conor McGregor put his very loud, very public coming-to-Jesus moment a year ago down to hitting “rock bottom”, pledging to live a life free of mind-altering substances before getting married in the Vatican’s oldest church. It’s what Jesus would do. Dave Hannigan: Conor McGregor has found God, a severe case of the Russell Brands The scepticism arises when the conversion coincides with the sudden need for a big public rebranding. Russell Brand flourished a Bible during his rape trial – the same one he brought to a Piers Morgan interview in April, but when asked to locate certain passages, failed to find any after some eye-wateringly awkward ruffling of pages. During his trial, he also posted videos of himself (in a chest-baring leopard-print dressing gown), his wife and Jericho the cat holding online Sunday prayer meetings from the kitchen table. It’s doubtful if an Irish trial judge would have approved such creepy exhibitionism, although, in general, there is a decent natural reluctance to comment on another’s expressions of faith. The ongoing vicious post-sentencing rows about who on the left or right supported Brand (both wings emphatically embraced him at different times, most recently the right) highlight how Christianity became a frontier in the culture wars. It was no coincidence that after his born-again Baptism in the Thames in 2024, Brand found a spiritual home in the Maga-rich territory of Florida. God help us all, Russell Brand has found religion Christian nationalism has been on the march in the UK and the US , ably harnessed by a Trump-era crew of wealthy evangelicals, conspiracy theorists, crypto fraudsters, right-wing populists, podcasters and influencers. Their ersatz Christian zeal blended neatly with essential lubricants of misogyny and racism and all combined with politics in the quest for earthly power and profit. Stephen Yaxley-Lennon – aka Tommy Robinson – left prison in 2025 wearing a surprise crucifix, thereafter framing his “Put Christ Back into Christmas” carol service and “Unite the Kingdom” rally (opened by pastors with a prayer) as a crusade to save Christianity. He had an open door at the US state department and the vocal support of Elon Musk, Steve Bannon and Donald Trump jnr. Trump – the Maga Jesus found civilly liable for sexual abuse – invited McGregor into the Oval Office for St Patrick’s Day in 2025 , just four months after a jury in a civil case found the MMA fighter had raped Nikita Hand . Defence secretary Pete Hegseth – who settled a sexual assault claim, which he denied, confidentially – hosted McGregor in the Pentagon. Of all the Christian nationalists in power, Hegseth is arguably the most dangerous and with the most to lose. With his Crusade emblem tattoos and monthly prayer services in the Pentagon’s auditorium, he recently set up an office of religious affairs reporting directly to him. Since Trump was stripped of his halo, it’s hard to know where Hegseth will turn as he faces impeachment and possibly worse. The latest news about McGregor is that he’s back to his old form on X.com, roaring the F word, “take off the gloves and fight bitch!” and vowing to go out “violently, viciously, in a blaze of glory”. Probably what Jesus would do. There is another way, of course. Secular redemption in quiet, lifelong atonement and practical humanitarian work – as practised by disgraced UK cabinet minister John Profumo after a sensational sex and spies scandal in the 1960s. Profumo dedicated 40 years to washing dishes and using his high-level connections to raise millions for London’s impoverished East End community. It’s possible that he never mentioned Jesus at all.