By Adrian Wooldridge One of the most surprising consequences of the Alternative for Germany’s spectacular success in two recent German state elections is a war between the radical-right party and the Christian establishment. The AfD wants to end the long-established system of state financial support for the major churches. The churches, which face a loss of subsidies worth €600 million ($675 million) a year nationwide and €40 million a year in Saxony-Anhalt alone, are predictably livid, warning that the change would create chaos and threaten religious freedom.

There is an element of tit-for-tat here: Church leaders uniformly denounced the party for peddling hate speech and trampling Christian principles. The German Catholic bishops’ conference even banned AfD members from church jobs. But there is also an element of : The AfD is the most secular of all Germany’s parties, with only about 22% of its national MPs identifying as Christian, compared with more than 48% of all Bundestag MPs, and its secularism can shade into anti-Christianism. The party’s leading candidate in Saxony-Anhalt, Ulrich Siegmund, who often rides a Soviet-era Simson moped, played on nostalgia for the old East German regime of stable manufacturing jobs and official atheism.

The row might strike one as peculiarly German. The country’s government has a long history of waging war on churches, starting with Otto von Bismarck, the first chancellor of unified Germany, and reaching its height under Adolf Hitler. Germany’s postwar leaders regarded state support for religion as a way of normalizing politics.

But the conflict also has a more general lesson. Liberal commentators are so terrified of the fusion of religion and politics (see: anything written about Christian nationalism) and so maddened by the fact that a few prominent conservatives, such as US Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, wear their faith on their sleeves, that they have lost any sense of balance. The reality is more nuanced: The religious right is a waning force in conservative politics as activists turn to earthier concerns such as nationalism and immigration.

The US alt-right is much more anti-Christian than Christian. It’s also notoriously difficult to pin down — it has no formal structure, let alone political representation, and exists as an internet-based network led by eccentric keyboard warriors. Nevertheless, it enjoys substantial cultural clout with young conservatives and supporters of President Donald Trump.

Many of the loudest voices in this shadowy world are violently hostile to the fundamentals of Christianity, not just incidental expression of the faith. Christianity is based on the principles of universalism and equality, whereas the alt-right believes in nationalism and hierarchy. The clash of these ideals inexorably leads to what the alt-right calls “pathological altruism,” welcoming strangers who undermine your culture.

Here’s what the White nationalist/manosphere set has to say on the matter: Greg Johnson argues that “Christianity is one of the main causes of White decline” and a “necessary condition of White racial suicide.”“Gregory Hood” (a pseudonym) argues that Christianity is “the essential religious step in paving the way for decadent modernity and its toxic creeds.”The blogger who goes by Bronze Age Pervert (and has been identified in the press as Costin Alamariu) mixes White supremacy with enthusiasm for paganism and classical heroes (and well-oiled musclemen).

A surprising number of these figures are highly educated (both Johnson and Alamariu have PhDs from elite universities). They reinforce their writings with references to heavyweight critics of religion (Friedrich Nietzsche and Oswald Spengler) as well as eccentric right-wing heroes. Alain de Benoist, a French ethno-nationalist philosopher and author of wrote that “the introduction of Christianity has to count as the single greatest ideological catastrophe to ever strike Europe.”

Sam Francis, once an adviser to former White House Communications Director Pat Buchanan and an intellectual forebear of Trumpism, wrote in 2001 that “Christianity today is the enemy of the West and the race that created it.”Both Stephen Miller, a senior Trump adviser, and France’s Marine Le Pen have praised Jean Raspail’s 1973 dystopian novel, , which envisions Christian activists welcoming into Western countries masses of violent and unassimilable non-White people who then slaughter the White population and seize power.

The likes of Bronze Age Pervert at least pay Christianity the compliment of taking it seriously. A growing number on the right are not so much anti-Christian as post-Christian, treating religion as either an irrelevance, anachronism or annoyance. Trump is arguably America’s first pagan president — a twice-divorced playboy who has no interest in the Christian virtues of forgiveness for his enemies or compassion for the weak.

During the 2016 primary, the religious right initially supported anyone but Trump; in April of that year, the then-candidate’s most robust support came from religiously unaffiliated Republicans (50%), while only 34% of frequent GOP churchgoers supported him. Le Pen, also twice divorced, has abandoned her party’s opposition to abortion and gay rights. Reform UK’s Nigel Farage (divorced just once!) is more interested in the bar stool than the pulpit.

Geert Wilders, leader of the Netherlands’ far-right Party for Freedom, sees himself as a defender of European secularism against aggressive religiosity and, although the religion he’s concerned about is Islam, he echoes many Enlightenment critiques of Christianity, particularly Catholicism.

In the US, the rise of the post-religious right reflects a structural change to society. Conservative Christians have always been a marginal group in Europe’s overwhelmingly secular politics. Today, they are becoming more marginal in the US as well. The number of Americans who say that they have “no religion” has risen from 5% in 1972 to about 30% today. It is certainly true that the Supreme Court has scored substantial victories for the religious right, notably overturning Roe v. Wade. But this is arguably the swan song of a movement that reached its height during the George W. Bush administration, not the signature tune of today’s right.

Current conservative activists such as Christopher Rufo and Tucker Carlson are focused on immigration and identity rather than, say, school prayer and contraception.

The result is a reversal of roles from the culture wars of the 1980s. The loudest preachers of the politics of virtue now come from the progressive side. Wokery is deeply rooted in the Christian tradition: It wants to save humanity from sin, sanctifies the victims of injustice and relishes imposing high moral standards. The most determined supporters of do-your-own-thing libertarianism are red-state conservatives who go carpet-chewing mad at the mention of wokeism and devote hours to listening to Joe Rogan.

This is not to say that the old alliance is completely dead. Post-religious populists certainly make use of religion: Trump, who sold his own , holds the text aloft when it suits him. Far-right marchers in the US and Europe frequently carry crosses or dress as crusaders. But these symbols function more as cultural markers, like flags, than as statements of commitment to religious dogma. They are the last twitch of the old right rather than a manifestation of what’s next. The new right is a very different creature from what came before — rooted in the politics of blood and soil rather than cross and altar.

To contact the author of this story: at awooldridge5@bloomberg.net