Academic Auto-da-fé

Christopher Dawson, the English historian and cultural critic, warned that “a society which has lost its faith becomes sooner or later a society which has lost its culture”. His words, spoken nearly a century ago, echo with an eerie resonance in our present moment. The values that have long underpinned our nation are not merely being questioned but, in many quarters, outright rejected. Yet, amid the disquiet and uncertainty, there remains a glimmer of hope—a hope that lies not in a blind clinging to the past, but in a thoughtful reaffirmation of our faith in Australia and the values that have shaped our shared history.

Australia’s story is one of resilience and diversity, a tale of a people who, despite facing unimaginable hardships, built a nation that has become the envy of many. The foundation of our country was laid by a disparate array of people: convicts and soldiers, settlers and farmers, labourers and tradespeople, teachers and publicans, whalers, and indigenous Australians. These pioneers have made it possible for generations of Australians to prosper in freedom—freedom to speak, worship, and be oneself without fear. The welcoming country they created has attracted millions of migrants seeking a better life. As a result, a symphony of languages fills the air in our cities, and a medley of tastes and traditions enriches our streets. A remarkable 30 per cent of Australia’s population was born in another country. This figure is twice the percentage of Americans or Britons born abroad.

Dorothea Mackellar poetically immortalised Australia as a “sunburnt country”. It is a perfect image. Australia’s sunny shores have attracted migrants from 190 countries. Their optimism is evident in the continued growth of immigrant families, contrasting sharply with demographic stagnation in the rest of the population.

Australia has much to be proud of, yet a dissonant note has infiltrated the national conversation. Increasingly, voices—be they politicians, intellectuals, or media personalities—portray Australia as a nation mired in xenophobia, sexism, and racism. This narrative presents a paradox: while Australia remains a beacon for those seeking a better life, we are increasingly encouraged to view our past and present with shame.

Australia Day, once a symbol of national pride, has become a focal point for controversy. We are told that the convicts who landed on our shores, in chains, in 1788 (and would rather have been anywhere else) constituted an “invasion”, turning what was once a celebratory occasion into a day of disgrace. In recent years, this rewriting of history has led to the cancellation of citizenship ceremonies, the refusal of public figures to acknowledge the day, and even the removal of Australian flags from supermarket shelves. It seems that patriotism, once a virtue, is now seen as something to be shunned.

Australia, like any nation, faces numerous challenges, and yes, we sometimes falter. Acknowledging and understanding our history—the good and the bad—helps us to learn, grow, and strive for a more just and equitable society. However, there is a fine line between honest reflection and self-loathing, and when we cross that line, we risk falling into a state of despair and nihilism.

To understand how we have arrived at this point of cultural crisis, we must examine the institutions that shape our collective consciousness—especially our universities.

Launching the University of Sydney in 1850, the poet-turned-politician William Charles Wentworth claimed Australia’s first university would seek “to enlighten the mind, refine the understanding, and elevate the soul”. In his 1852 book The Idea of a University, John Henry Newman offered a similar rationale for establishing a Catholic university in Dublin. Wentworth and Newman defined education in moral terms. Following Plato, they believed that education makes good people, and good people act nobly. Unfortunately, educational institutions have not always lived up to their lofty aims.

In his Confessions, Saint Augustine describes his arrival at the ancient equivalent of a university as follows: “To Carthage, then I came, where a cauldron of unholy loves sang about my ears.” One can only imagine what he would say if he entered a university today. You can learn practically anything at an Australian university—how to keep business accounts, calculate planetary movements, or speak Japanese. At Swinburne University, students learn to do handstands as part of the Circus Arts degree. But elevating the soul is no longer part of the curriculum—nor is our shared cultural inheritance.

Consider Shakespeare, for example. In 2024, students studying in Chinese universities are more likely to encounter Shakespeare than their Australian counterparts. Academics dismiss the Bard of Avon as a white male relic of a patriarchal era. Shakespeare has been replaced by the American pop singer Taylor Swift. According to Australian academics pursuing Swiftian studies, Ms Swift’s work has “impacted contemporary life … across the intersection of music, economics, business, media studies, health”. One scholar claimed Ms Swift’s lyrics contain a “fascinating array of modern sonnet sequences”. Who needs Shakespeare’s sonnets when we have Taylor Swift’s?

Universities, which owe their existence to the ideals that define Western civilisation, no longer believe in the values that led to their creation. A few years ago, in response to a generous philanthropic offer to support the teaching of Western civilisation, one hundred academics from the University of Sydney published an open letter opposing the teaching of any aspect of Western civilisation. Instead of preserving the culture, the university announced that its mission is helping students to “unlearn truth”. “The way the world works has changed,” they say. “Things you thought you knew … are no longer true. [You must] … unlearn old wisdoms and discover new ones.” (“Wisdoms”, indeed. It seems that even grammar must be unlearned.)

Of course, adapting to new knowledge and perspectives is crucial, but how do we progress as a society if we discard the very concept of truth? In his book The Undoing of Thought, the French philosopher Alain Finkielkraut writes: “When hatred of culture becomes itself a part of culture, the life of the mind loses all meaning.” I am sad to say that higher education provides numerous examples. Visit any university, and you will encounter an infinite number of sexual genders and a raft of linguistic absurdities, such as replacing breastfeeding with “chest-feeding” and substituting “birthing-person” for what was once known as mother. Writing a satirical novel about campus life has become impossible because reality surpasses any invented exaggeration.

As someone who grew up in the US when segregation was still the law in parts of the country, I am particularly appalled by Australian universities that reserve separate academic and social areas for indigenous students. Instead of judging people by their character, universities now discriminate based on race. This is the opposite of what Nelson Mandela wished for and what Martin Luther King died for.

Campus orthodoxies rise and spread without belief in a God, but never without a belief in the devil. The devil is anyone who objects. Apostates are vilified, shunned, or banished from the academy. Several professors have been fired for claiming there are only two biological sexes. Cowardice and fear keep academics and vice-chancellors parroting patent nonsense.

All this upheaval would be worthwhile if it improved the world in some way or gave students and graduates the latitude to lead more meaningful lives. Unfortunately, it has had the opposite effect: young people are miserable. According to a Menzies Research Centre report, 39 per cent of young Australians suffered a mental disorder in the last year. The percentage is even higher if we focus on young women. The Australian Bureau of Statistics reports that 46 per cent of women aged between sixteen and twenty-four experienced a mental disorder last year. Some observers have tried to put a positive spin on these numbers. They say that the increase in mental disorders reflects a greater willingness to talk about psychological problems than in the past when admitting to mental illness carried a social stigma. Unfortunately, the explosion in mental illness is not just talk. The leading cause of death among Australians aged fifteen to twenty-four is suicide. What do we do when many feel life is not worth living?

In Australia, we do what we always do: turn to the government for a solution. In response, the government has declared “zero tolerance” for suicide, domestic violence, and a list of other social ills. The government has pledged to spend lots of money to cure them. Their actions are well-meaning, and the dedication of those striving to make a difference is admirable. Yet, I cannot help thinking of Oliver Goldsmith’s words: “How small, of all that human hearts endure, that part which laws or kings can cause or cure.” Suicide occurs when life is so meaningless that it is too painful to live. Such deep-seated anguish is a malaise of the soul—a despair that no government advertising campaign can hope to heal.

There was a time when religion and communal traditions offered solace and answers to life’s existential questions. Unfortunately, Matthew Arnold’s “melancholy, long, withdrawing roar” of the Sea of Faith has left young people adrift in a sea of uncertainty. As T.S. Eliot noted, our youth are “no longer at ease in the old dispensation”, yet they continue to wrestle with the same old questions: “Why am I here? What is good? How should I live?” Our governments and educational institutions are unable or unwilling to provide any guidance. In a culture marred by cynicism and self-loathing, it’s all too easy for young people to see life as “a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing”.

Despite the challenges, I have faith in Australia. The country has come through far worse. Every decade has brought its trials. During the Great Depression of the 1930s, 32 per cent of Australian workers were unemployed. Today’s figure is 3.5 per cent, and we are one of the most prosperous countries in the world. The Japanese bombing raids of the 1940s killed hundreds of people in Darwin, Broome, and Townsville. Australia survived, and Japan is now one of our closest allies. The Vietnam War of the 1960s divided the nation and scarred numerous lives. Today, Vietnamese migrants are thriving here, and their country is a popular destination for Australian tourists. Cyclone Tracy, the Black Saturday bushfires, and the Great Brisbane Flood were deadly and costly, but a combination of compassion, mutual aid, and resilience rebuilt every affected community.

We can overcome the current spiritual malaise, but it will take work. The first step is to learn to push back as hard as the age that pushes against you. As Paul advised the Romans, “Do not be conformed to this world but be transformed by the renewing of your minds.” Our way of life is a precious gift that must be cherished and protected against the forces aligned against it.

The good news is that the pushing back has begun. A $450 million campaign to divide Australia on racial grounds by altering our Constitution was overwhelmingly defeated. It seems that Australians prefer common sense to emotional blackmail, cohesion to division, and a fair go to favouritism. Despite a noisy minority, patriotism—our faith in our country’s future—is vibrantly alive and growing stronger. This year, we witnessed the largest turnout in history for Anzac Day, and millions joined in Australia Day celebrations. The recent resurgence of classical education suggests that parents and students—shocked by what they see in schools and on campus—are pushing back by returning to foundational educational and spiritual values.

Australians have always united to support one another during natural disasters. But our faith is also displayed in Wordsworth’s “little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and love”. These acts of communal solidarity—whether in times of crisis or the quiet moments of daily life—continue to demonstrate the basic strength of our social fabric.

The title of this article, “Faith in Australia” can have two meanings. It speaks not only to our belief in the future of our nation but also to the spiritual faith that sustains us. Neither patriotism nor spiritual faith are passive; they are calls to action. They require courage, persistence, and a commitment to defending what St Paul called the good, acceptable, and perfect.

We can allow the country we love to drift into a future marked by division and despair, or we can use our strength to forge a new chapter of unity, resilience, and hope. The challenges may be great, but patriotism has carried us this far and will continue to guide us in the years to come. This is our moment, our opportunity to reaffirm our belief in the promise of Australia and to ensure that the cultural crossroads we now face become a turning point away from the dark forces of division towards a brighter, unified future.

This article is based on a speech delivered at the Christopher Dawson Centre Annual Colloquium Dinner in Hobart in July. Emeritus Professor Steven Schwartz AM is the former vice-chancellor of Murdoch, Macquarie and Brunel (UK) universities. He is a Senior Fellow at the Centre for Independent Studies. More of his writing appears here.