Secular Liturgies Network and Forum

Our mission is to enrich societies with secular ethics and reflective practices, informed by the latest research, and expressed in original creative, scholarly and journalistic publications and events. Our work has strong themes of well-being, sustainability, cultural enrichment and community building.

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It’s Good to Talk by Anastasia Somerville-Wong

It’s good to talk, no strings attached, which is why I’m hoping that pastoral care will be the next big thing in well-being. Why? Because it has the potential to alleviate many of the difficulties we experience in modern life. It’s about human connection, spiritual growth and building community, and we all need more of those things!

Many people think pastoral care is only for the religious, only for children or only for those in crisis. It’s not. Increasingly, nonreligious pastoral carers are volunteering and being employed in hospitals, prisons, care homes, schools, universities and other places of work and study. Their numbers have increased rapidly over recent years in response to secularisation. Upwards of 50% of the UK population no longer has any religious affiliation. To meet growing demand, nonreligious pastoral support is becoming available throughout the UK. Practitioners are accredited with the Non-Religious Pastoral Support Network, which has a rigorous selection and training process.

So, what is nonreligious pastoral support and what can it do for you?

Nonreligious pastoral care is a truly person-centred approach to well-being, which uses ‘counselling-type’ conversation skills to enable you to express your innermost thoughts and feelings and to reflect on these in a safe, non-judgmental space. Your Pastoral Carer will help you to gain perspective and make sense of your current circumstances. She/he will enable you to develop, strengthen and reassess your values and goals. Pastoral care empowers people when they are at their most vulnerable but it also helps us to be more resilient when life is good.

While counselling seeks to address a specific problem during fixed appointments, pastoral care is about someone coming alongside you in your current state and situation, whether good or bad, to hear and engage with your feelings, beliefs and world-view in a more holistic sense. Our perspectives on life, death, meaning and purpose have more impact on our well-being than we might think. Indeed, the psychological therapies themselves are rooted in world-views. The growth in nonreligious pastoral care reflects an increasing awareness of this.

Your Pastoral Carer will be able to signpost you to other well-being services where appropriate and advocate for you when you are sick or otherwise unable to make your voice heard. She/he may have built community around shared secular values and interests. This may provide you with likeminded friends, and who knows, even a potential life partner! Your Pastoral Carer may lead reflective practices and rituals and may organise lectures, workshops and other events that you may find inspiring and enriching. If she/he is also a trained Celebrant, as many are, they may even be able to officiate for you at a family funeral, wedding or baby naming ceremony!

Nonreligious Pastoral Carers take inspiration from the insights and practices of a variety of the world’s philosophical and faith traditions, depending on their background, though the majority have a humanistic worldview in common. They work respectfully with religious chaplains in multi-faith centres, providing pastoral and spiritual care for all, with the utmost confidentiality and respect for each individual’s beliefs and values.

So, why not go and have a chat with your nearest Nonreligious Pastoral Carer (they may be called Humanist Chaplain within the institutions themselves!) and see if you connect? It may be the best well-being/lifestyle hack you perform this year! If you don’t have a Nonreligious Pastoral Carer at your workplace, why not ask your employer/institution to put out a job advertisement for one? You could even think about training to be one yourself!

Of course, if you identify with a faith, even if you are progressive-minded or no longer attending, you may prefer to seek pastoral care at your local church, mosque or temple, or from an appropriate faith chaplain.

More information about the Non-Religious Pastoral Support Network, including the code of practice that Nonreligious Pastoral Carers are bound to follow, can be found online at

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My Humanist Christmas by Anastasia Somerville-Wong

As a Humanist, I don’t share the Christian belief that God’s son was born on earth but I do appreciate some of the cultural expressions of Christian belief in music and art, and in popular Christmas traditions such as candlelit services, carol singing and those seasoned performances of Handel’s Messiah. I also empathise with the underlying psychological needs those beliefs, stories and traditions evolved to fulfil, and the sentiments they express, which are after all, universally human.

The Christmas story, for example, has its poignancy and charm in a purely allegorical sense, since the idea that God became incarnate as a baby is powerful imagery to illustrate the truth that strength, greatness and power can be manifest in things that appear to be small, weak and powerless. It’s why the Christmas story can still move people who no longer adhere to religious dogma. It is also true that there is no easier thing to celebrate than a new born baby, and since I’ve become a mother, I’ve met countless people for whom that is what Christmas is about; a celebration of babies and children, of new life and its triumph, even at the darkest, coldest ebb of the year. Christmas is often both literally (with all its candles and fairy lights) and figuratively, a shaft of light in the darkness, which brings with it a renewed sense of hope and gets us through to the spring.

Having said all that, I do hope that the traditions evolve to slowly exclude superstitious, outdated and harmful dogmas. I don’t mean to belittle the prejudice and unpleasantness of some of them. It’s why I feel uncomfortable singing many of the carols now. The implicit and underlying sexism in Christian writing and imagery is so insidious and offensive that I feel I undermine my humanity uttering those words. It has to change but we don’t have to lose everything else in the process. We can have the carols but change the words. We can have candlelit services with a modern humanist liturgy.

As well as appreciating some of the Christian aspects of our December celebrations, celebrations which it must be noted are much older than Christianity, I am also mindful of the fact that the beautiful churches and Cathedrals which so often appear on our Christmas cards are as much my inheritance, to be owned, interpreted and repurposed, as they are the inheritance of any of my believing friends. I often visit the Cathedral near my home to reflect, and while I once felt alienated from such spaces by the dogma taught there, I have grown to view them as my heritage and embrace their potential as places where all of us might one day be inspired to grow spiritually, whether we are religious or not.

Perhaps the best way of summarising what the seeming oxymoron of a Humanist Christmas means to me, would be to say that Advent is all about reflection and Christmas is all about gratitude. During Advent, I take the time to take stock and remind myself of what matters most. I reflect on my personal growth, in terms of my understanding, character and values, and on my sense of identity, purpose and vocation. Importantly, I consider how I might create and nurture more meaningful connections with family, friends and strangers. When Christmas finally arrives, I celebrate all the growth, progress and potential I see in myself, others and the world, and I celebrate the company and qualities of those people closest to me. Even in these regressive, fractious and anxiety-inducing times, it is possible to find plenty to be thankful for.

Christmas is of course a mishmash of all sorts of traditions, some of them pagan and others Christian in origin. It’s worth digging into these from time to time to see what inspiration and insights they might bring of both the philosophical and creative kind. For example, from their use in the winter solstice celebrations of the Egyptians, Romans, Celts and Vikings to their more recent and familiar appearance in the traditional Christmas scenes of Victorian England, the evergreens have always been central to the festive season, and their presence among us now takes on a special significance in the light of deforestation and climate change. Will the (hopefully sustainably sourced) tree in your living room speak to you of the plight of the world’s forests and all their inhabitants? Will it compel you to tread more lightly on the earth in 2020?

After all, there’s a lot to be said for a simple life, and a simple Christmas for that matter. What was wrong with a little stocking each with a few treats inside? What was wrong with a few hand-made decorations and just one indulgent meal on Christmas Day? There is something undeniably grotesque about the rampant materialism at Christmas in the light of the damage humanity has done and continues to do to the planet. It does seem as though many people really have forgotten the true meaning of Christmas but by that I don’t mean they have forgotten about Christian dogma, I mean they have forgotten the importance of attending to the deeper parts of our human selves. They have become blind to our higher needs for meaning, value, culture, empathy and self-actualisation.

Last Christmas, I witnessed something which summed up this spiritual poverty. It was a red-faced middle-aged man having Christmas shopping rage (otherwise known as a tantrum), over an incident so trivial it isn’t even worth describing. He was brandishing one of those long bags containing rolls of wrapping paper, and the absurdity of the spectacle was such, that its impression was at once seared on my memory, possibly forever. It’s fair to say that I do not sympathise with the endless pursuit of goods and excess that some people seem to be gripped by at this time of year. However, that’s not at all to say that I disapprove of festivity and merriment. Quite the contrary, while it needn’t take the form of a shopping spree, gratitude should be shown with wild abandon once a year at the very least!


Photograph from Sarah Moyes’s article ‘How to have a plastic free Christmas’ (Friends of the Earth Scotland blog) Friends of the Earth Scotland

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An Interview with Jacqueline Watson

I am delighted to share with you an interview with Jacqueline Watson, an Honorary Research Fellow at the University of Exeter, on her many years of research on the subject of spirituality in education, including connections between spirituality and Religious Education (RE), and the inclusion of Humanism in RE in the UK.

Jacqueline retired in 2014 and is putting her academic interest in spirituality into practice as a Humanist Celebrant and as a Humanist member of the Royal Devon and Exeter Hospital chaplaincy team. For more information about Jacqueline’s research and publications see Jacqueline Watson University of Exeter Research Profile.


Dr Jacqueline Watson

  1. Who or what inspired you to forge a career in religious education?

Good question!  After 8 years looking after children (around 1989) I thought I’d do a PGCE but didn’t know what subject to choose (I had a philosophy degree) and a friend who was already doing a PGCE suggested RE.  I said I couldn’t teach RE as I wasn’t religious but she said she’d met PGCE RE students who were not religious and I found out that it was a multi-faith subject and it sounded fascinating.  Also, I’d just been reading Rushdie’s Satanic Verses which had sent me to the library to find out about Islam as I didn’t know why Muslims were burning the book in Bradford!

  1. How has the teaching of religion changed over the course of your career?

Sadly, it has become more restrictive because, when I started in 1991, I taught a very multi-faith curriculum and now there tends, I think, to be more of a focus on 2 main religions one of which is Christianity and the other is often Islam.  I don’t know how true that is, and it presumably varies across the country, but that’s the feeling I have.  I actually stopped teaching RE over 15 years ago.  Also, of course, Humanism has been introduced into RE since I stopped teaching, although how much it is actually being taught in schools I don’t know.  I very recently contributed to a multi-faith conference for 3 schools locally – in my case, talking about Humanism – and none of the pupils from the 3 schools had studied Humanism or knew what it was.

  1. What are the challenges faced by those with nonreligious (including humanist) and minority religious world-views in education?

There is no space to properly engage in discussion and exploration of their beliefs and values.  My feeling is that pupils will just switch off as RE will be seen to be irrelevant to them.  This also means they haven’t had the opportunity to consider their own spiritual journey.

  1. In your view, should RE focus on improving objective knowledge of religious and philosophical traditions, beliefs and practices, or should its primary purpose be to nurture children’s spirituality?

Very much both.  We need basic information about religions and beliefs but we also need space to explore meaning and values for ourselves.

  1. How is spirituality (or spiritual development) in children defined by professional bodies and what is your preferred definition?

I’ve written a lot about this.  I think it’s very important to keep any definition for professional purposes simple, broad and open.  There is a constant danger that people try to define it as they see it and not realising this is their particular view.  People’s spirituality is highly diverse today.  I say, spirituality means how a person develops meaning and purpose, beliefs and values, for their life.  It’s essential to listen to an individual because they will have constructed spiritual meaning and beliefs highly individualistically.

  1. In what ways could the spiritual needs of children be better met in schools and at home?

Listening.  Giving space for open discussion.  Making sure RE isn’t just about teaching facts about specific religions.  Making sure Humanism is included as well to explore and challenge atheism and materialism/naturalism.

  1. In what ways could religious and philosophical literacy be improved among children and the population at large?

More space for and respect for a broader RE.  Better media!

  1. What are the most important or surprising things you have learnt from your research on the connections between spirituality and religious education?

That it is important to have a solid subject – currently RE although sometimes given a better name – where this area can be explored.  The idea was that opportunities for spiritual development could be provided in all subjects but I have come to think that it is vital to have a dedicated subject as it is a complicated topic.

  1. What inspired you in more recent times to become a nonreligious pastoral carer and humanist celebrant?

Retirement partly.  And I’d spent about 25 years thinking about spirituality and non-religious spirituality academically, and I wanted to put that study into practice.  I feel that I do have some understanding of the breadth and individualism of contemporary spirituality which prepares me for listening to people who want a ceremony or pastoral care.  Having been a teacher and lecturer I had the confidence to be a celebrant and I love writing ceremonies.  I find it fascinating to take on the role of chaplain/pastoral carer which is a challenge in so many ways and – because we’re breaking new ground as non-religious carers – feels a bit like action research.

  1. What are the main challenges and rewards of your current work?

Being a celebrant is rewarding – it’s wonderful to present a ceremony that engages people and makes them laugh and cry.  It’s frustrating that not enough people know about Humanist ceremonies and that we still can’t conduct weddings legally.  Being a chaplain/pastoral carer is very rewarding when people appear to have benefited from the opportunity to talk about their experiences, although it can be challenging not knowing whether I have been of benefit or not.  It’s very frustrating that Humanists and nonreligious chaplains are still not accepted across the board and the battle for recognition is a slow and frustrating one – but hugely vital as over 50% of the population are now ‘nones’!

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An Interview with Noah Rasheta

As someone with a life-long interest in Buddhist philosophy from a secular perspective, a leading figure of the Secular Buddhism movement was high on my list of prospective interviewees. I am delighted, therefore, to have had the opportunity to interview Noah Rasheta, a Buddhist teacher, lay minister, host of the podcast Secular Buddhism and author of a book with the same title.

Noah studies, embodies, and teaches the fundamentals of Buddhist philosophy, integrating Buddhist teachings with modern science, humanism, and humour. Please enjoy this audio and transcript and add your questions and comments below. The transcript includes extra material from our email exchanges so do have a read as well as listening.

I would like to mention here that Buddhism has a great deal to offer in terms of secular liturgy in the more literal sense, with its many stories, sayings and analogies. Many Buddhist teachings are presented in poetic, repetitive, reflective, and therefore liturgical, including those regularly used in their original or modified form by Secular Buddhists. I don’t think Noah thought of these as liturgy at the time of interview, which explains his answer to my question about liturgy but they certainly count as far as I am concerned. I’m sorry Noah if that wasn’t clear!

I am very grateful to Noah for taking time out of a very busy schedule to do this interview, and I hope my readers enjoy and engage with the content.

Best wishes to all, Anastasia

Noah Rasheta

Noah Rasheta

Recording of Noah answering the questions


Anastasia: What makes Secular Buddhism different from religious forms of Buddhism?

Noah: Well, good question. From my perspective, I don’t necessarily see Secular Buddhism as an off-shoot or an entirely different form of Buddhism, compared to religious forms of Buddhism. I see Secular Buddhism more as an approach that people can take to studying Buddhism, whether that is any form of religious Buddhism. The secular approach is essentially the secular minded person who’s digging in and saying well I want to find what is at the core of these practices or rituals or beliefs, and I think Buddhism offers a lot of rich and valuable concepts and teaching and ideas. The secular approach is just to explore that, without the need of entertaining any form of supernatural explanations, whether that be demons, or ghosts, or realms or things of that nature.

Now Buddhism, in and of itself, is quite secular in nature as far as the doctrines that are taught in Buddhism are concerned. However, Buddhism usually adapts, and it takes the flavour of whatever culture it gets spread to. You have schools of Buddhism from certain parts of the world that might seem very different from other forms of Buddhism, like Zen Buddhism as compared to Tibetan Buddhism, as an example, and in the West you have a secular population exploring Buddhism, and Buddhism has taken on a secular approach in that environment. In the same way, it takes on a less secular approach in a less secular environment. So, in that sense, Secular Buddhism is just another flavour of Buddhism, teaching a lot of the same stuff.

I only express caution there because I don’t think that we do it justice when we try to separate Secular Buddhism as its own form of Buddhism and say that it’s probably more accurate than this other form of religious Buddhism because I think that is missing the point. I think that for a secular Buddhist who thinks their interpretation of Buddhism is more accurate than a religious form of Buddhism, they are making the same mistake as a religious form of Buddhism might make by saying that a secular form of Buddhism is not accurate. It’s not about one being better, more correct or more accurate than the other. It’s about the fact that as Buddhism spreads there will continue to be forms of it that adapt and evolve just because that’s the nature of how ideas work.

All ideas whether they be political, or languages themselves, do this. Languages spread from one place to another and the flavour of it changes, with certain slang, the accent etc., and if someone were to ask what the difference is between British English and American English, it’s not about playing out the differences it’s about recognising why there are two different forms because that’s the nature of how languages evolve over time, and I think Buddhism is the same. It’s the nature of how ideas morph and evolve over time and take on the flavour of a specific time and place, and Secular Buddhism is one of those flavours just like every other form of Buddhism.

Anastasia: What are the key sources of Buddhist philosophy and practice which have inspired Secular Buddhism (and you personally)?

Noah: Well, I’d say the key sources of Buddhist philosophy and practice which inspired Secular Buddhism are any of the key sources that have inspired Buddhism in general, which is any of the schools of Buddhism, whether we’re talking about Theravada Buddhism and the collection of works that they use and read from or the Mahayana schools of Buddhism and the Sutras that they use. All of them are sources of inspiration, or, just current Buddhism leaders, thought leaders like Thich Nhat Hanh and the Dalai Lama.

Then, there’s a movement with scholar and former Buddhist monk, Stephen Bachelor, whose name is very much associated with Secular Buddhism, whose goal is to go back and re-read and re-translate a lot of these ancient writings and say, oh here’s a more accurate way of translating it, or a more accurate way of explaining this specific teaching or concept, and a lot of his work has inspired Secular Buddhism. He’s been at the forefront of this Secular Buddhism movement.

And for me personally, it’s been a combination of all of that. I find a lot of value in a lot of the religious schools of Buddhism, and their texts and their writings and their leaders, their current works and past works, so I think it comes from everywhere.

Anastasia: What are the key networks (and communities if relevant) that make up the Secular Buddhist movement?

Noah: I don’t know that there really are many yet. I’m trying to build one around my podcasts. The podcast has grown and it’s a pretty relevant community in the Secular Buddhist movement but there were podcasts that were out before mine like The Secular Buddhist podcast. Mine is called called Secular Buddhism. Stephen Batchelor does workshops and has a large following of the books that he writes, and his books serve as a way of introducing people to Secular Buddhism. I’d say those were some of the main ones right now. I’m not aware of any specific key networks or even communities and I think there’s a demand for it, and I think a lot of Secular Buddhist practitioners just find their sense of community among other already established forms of Buddhism, or mindfulness groups and meditation groups, and that’s how it is for now as there’s not a specific Secular Buddhism community.

(There is a Facebook group called Secular Buddhism which is a form of online social media community.)

Anastasia: What was your own journey to Secular Buddhism, and then to lay ministry and teaching through your podcasts and book?

Noah: That’s a good question. So, my journey into Secular Buddhism started as I exited another form of organised religion, a form of Christianity, and my beliefs were evolving and changing, and I was seeking some other way of understanding the universe, or life. When you have a belief system that has all the answers for you, and when that foundation you stand on starts to crumble, it’s really scary because that’s the way you understand yourself and the relationship you have with the universe, and that left a big void as I was trying to sort out how I make sense of all of this. I attended a couple of religious seminars that were presenting the meaning of life through the five major world religions of Christianity, Judaism, Hinduism, Islam and Buddhism and something stood out to me when the presenter was talking about Buddhism.

Up until this point it had been, who am I, why am I here, what happens when we die, and this is what Christianity says, and here are their answers, and this is what Islam says, and here are their answers, and when I got to Buddhism something that stood out to me was that the presenter said Buddhism doesn’t necessarily have answers to these questions. They’re going to flip it around on you and say that more important than knowing who am I or what happens when I die is the question, why do you want to know? And that really fascinated me. I realised it was very much a path that wasn’t about the answers but about exploring the questions themselves and that attracted me to Buddhism as a way of thinking.

The more I read – I started devouring books and listening to great courses and just everything I could about understanding this way of thinking – and by that time, I had a lot of friends and other people who were disaffected with religion, wanting to know what some of the other alternatives out there were to help you to understand life, and I started sharing what I was learning from Buddhism and found that a lot of people were really interested in hearing about it, so that’s what sparked the podcast. The podcast just grew and grew and grew and that led to the book.

Simultaneously, I wanted to formalise my practice and that led me to a lay ministry programme as a way of cementing and formalising the goal that I had to teach Buddhism and to I guess put a little bit more authority behind the things that I was sharing. So that’s what led me down that path, and the more I’ve studied it the more it made sense to me. Ironically, the more I study the more comfortable I get with just not knowing the answers to all of those big existential questions that led me down this path. I haven’t answered a single one but the desire to answer them has virtually disappeared. I’ve become so enthralled with the question of where did that yearning to know come from in the first place, why did I feel the need to know these things? All I gained in all of this, is a greater understanding of myself and my need to feel security in an insecure world – to feel some sense of permanence in an impermanent world – and that’s why I feel it’s a very good path for me, for my personality and the way my brain works.

Anastasia: A criticism often levelled at Secular Buddhism is that it is merely an individualistic applied philosophy and therefore lacks cultural richness, rituals and community (including the monastic tradition). Is this something you are addressing as a lay minister/Secular Buddhist leader, and if so, how?

Noah: I think this is a valid criticism. Secular Buddhism is very new. It is very much an individual journey. Most people who encounter or come across Secular Buddhism, they’re attracted to it because it is individualistic, because there’s no community, because there are none of the cultural attachments. So that cultural richness that you find in other traditions, we just don’t have it because it’s just a very new very sterile environment where people are often practising on their own.

I think the beauty of some of that cultural richness, well, it can be found in those other traditions and I think that’s why for me it’s been nice to blend my Secular Buddhist practice with some of the other traditions. The lay ministry programme I did was through a form of Buddhism that’s rooted in some of the Japanese schools of Buddhism and which has a lot of the cultural richness and rituals, which I don’t personally practice – I mean I did in my induction ceremony and some of the things I do from time to time with them but that’s just not me.

I’m not looking for any cultural richness. I’m not looking for any rituals. I’m not even looking much for the community aspect of it. However, I recognise the importance of community and that’s why building a sense of community around the podcast has been important because people want to stick with other people who are like-minded and talk about these things and so I’m finding that whether it’s through Facebook groups or the newest thing I’m building up with my Patreon podcast community, people enjoy having the companionship and the ears of other likeminded people to talk about these things. But almost all of us in the communities that are emerging are not interested in the cultural richness, we’re not interested in having any rituals and it’s becoming our cultural richness that we don’t have cultural richness, and our ritual that we don’t have any rituals. So, you give that enough time and it becomes its own set of problems but for now that seems to be working. A sense of community is out there but it’s not at all like these other communities that you find in other traditions.

Anastasia: What might Secular Buddhism bring to secular ‘liturgical’ scripts and events (e.g. annual, seasonal, lifecycle events) and so forth?

Noah: I don’t know. I haven’t given that any thought. I’m not entirely sure what if anything we could bring to that. Again, these are area that are pretty well established by some of the other schools of Buddhism and that’s part of their culture. With the Secular Buddhist approach it doesn’t seem like there’s a demand for annual, seasonal or lifecycle events. As that need grows, if it does, I’m sure things will pop up but for now I really don’t see that.

(Anastasia: I would like to add here that Buddhism has a great deal to offer in terms of liturgy, with its many stories, sayings and analogies. Many Buddhist teachings are presented in poetic, repetitive, reflective, and therefore liturgical ways, including those used in their original or modified forms by Secular Buddhists. I don’t think Noah thought of these as liturgy at the time of interview but they certainly count as far as I am concerned. I’m sorry Noah if that wasn’t clear!)

Anastasia: We often hear about the benefits of mindfulness meditation, which have been backed up by peer reviewed research and recommended by institutes such as NICE (National Institute for Health and Care Excellence). Are there other Secular Buddhist beliefs (or philosophical approaches) and practices which can help us to live mentally and/or physically healthier lives?

Noah: Well, Secular Buddhist beliefs is a kind of misnomer because what we’re trying to do through Buddhist practice in general is to analyse our beliefs, and if anything, to deconstruct them from the perspective of, there is reality as it is, and then there are the stories we construct around this reality, and those could constitute as beliefs. So, rather than having a new set of beliefs, Secular Buddhist beliefs, what we are trying to do is say, what if we are unattached to all of our beliefs? Sure the belief can be there, but if I feel the need that is has to be there, that is a form of attachment.

So what we’re trying to do in this approach is to understand ourselves, understand our beliefs, where these arise from, why do we have them, what kind of comfort does it provide, and could it be that it is actually providing more discomfort than comfort, and in that way, have better, healthier physical and mental lives. It piggy backs off everything that we’re finding in psychology, so whatever these other institutes are finding in terms of mindfulness and the benefits of mindfulness we go off a bat and say yes, that makes sense to us. I wouldn’t say that there’s anything additional outside of whatever Buddhism is already teaching; the concept of no self, the concepts of interdependence and impermanence. Those are the big key ideas in Buddhist philosophy that are being pushed through the Secular Buddhist lens as well.

Anastasia: Can Secular Buddhism help us to live more sustainably and meet our global environmental challenges?

Noah: I think it can but not more than any other thing helps us. Secular Buddhism and Buddhism in general are trying to help us to understand the nature of interdependence, the fact that everything we do affects everything else, and in that sense, I think what we’re producing is people who are more self-aware and who feel a greater sense of responsibility for how we live in the environment that we live in. So, in that’s sense yes, but I don’t know that Secular Buddhism is doing something beyond that. It’s trying to make individual people be more sustainable and, in that sense, if enough individual people are living more sustainably then yes, as a society we’ll be living more sustainably as well.

Anastasia: How do you view the dogmatic and superstitious religious traditions? Are they more harmful overall than they are helpful, or do they still have a place?

Noah: I think they still have a place. Everything has its place. I think we can become dogmatic and superstitious against dogmatism and superstition and then we’re in the same boat. I think any time a dogma becomes harmful it’s because its excluding every other way of thinking and that can be harmful in the sense that it’s blinding us to other potential ways of seeing things.

The analogy that’s often used in Buddhism is the five blind men describing the elephant. So, there’s nothing inherently harmful about one of the men describing the front of the elephant but how much more limited is the view, if that man describing the front of the elephant isn’t willing to listen to the person describing the tail of the elephant. So, I wouldn’t say that dogmatic and superstitious religions are necessarily harmful. Sure they can be to some degree if the specific belief and view that is held is harmful to other people who don’t hold that view, and the extreme obvious example here is of the suicide bomber who feels justified in taking the life of a nonbeliever because they believe the world is better of without the heathen in it. That’s a very harmful view but that’s and extreme view, and there are lower degrees to that and you could argue that can be found such as the views some religions have about homosexuality or other things like which that can be harmful but to just blanket say that dogmatic and superstitious religions are harmful, I don’t agree with that. I think it can be just as harmful for a non-dogmatic, non-superstitious religion to emerge and to become the very thing that it is fighting against, with its dogmatic non-dogmatism and its fight against any form of superstitions.

So that’s just something that we need to be careful of, and I think from the Secular Buddhism approach, the idea is always to expand the view, it’s never to restrict it and say that it is the right way, but to say, this is our way, and are there other ways, and trying to understand every single possible description of this elephant that’s here before us, which is life. Any possible explanation that may give me more insight is going to be welcome and if it’s harmful then I’m going to stay away from it, and if I see that it’s harmful for others then I may voice my concerns about that harm, but that’s how I view that, to that extent.

Anastasia: How do you balance the equanimity, which comes from a Buddhist approach to reality, with the need for activism and a prophetic voice which ‘speaks truth to power’ by calling out social injustices etc? Or, put in another way, how should Secular Buddhism respond to harmful human behaviours and harmful religious and political ideologies?

Noah: This is a very important thing right, in our day and age, because we have this culture of wanting to call out anyone who doesn’t hold our specific worldview or our specific political view and I don’t think that that’s right. There was a recent video which was circulating with president Obama talking about the harm that we’re doing with this call-out culture (see link below), and I think, regarding how Secular Buddhism should respond, I think it would be in a similar way, highlighting that first and foremost, life is complex, everything is interdependent, and what you would call, this good, and this evil thing, they’re interdependent because without good there is no evil and without evil there is no good.

That’s not to say then that we leave things the way that they are but what I’m trying to get at is that the world is a messy place. It’s very complex in nature – there are good people who do harmful things and bad people who love their families and who are doing good things in their community – there are drug dealers who pay for orphans to go to school while at the same time killing their enemies and causing all kinds of havoc. It’s just incredibly complex, so I think it’s dangerous when we try to put ourselves in the position of saying, I have it right and you have it wrong, and that we need to do things the way that I’m doing them.

So, we need to be careful about doing that in our voice of activism, and rather than specifically putting down the thing that we disagree with, put on a pedestal the thing that you do stand for, the thing that makes sense to you, and live by example. I think that’s a very important thing to do. I cannot recall a single instance where someone was shamed into changing their world view or changing their political view because they were shamed into it. It just doesn’t work that way.

I think the more we can just talk to each other, using rational discussion and communication tools, the more we can understand ourselves. So, I think from the Secular Buddhism approach, what we’re trying to do when we stand for something is just to highlight more understanding. I want you to understand how I view things not to agree with me. You don’t have to agree with me but I would want you to understand why I view it this way. And if you were to do the same thing back with an opposing view and help me to understand your view, then now we’re actually on to something because our goal is to increase our understanding of each other’s views, not to establish which view is correct, or which view is right.

Obama on Call-Out Culture

Anastasia: I totally agree with you about focussing on the positives about one’s own values and work rather than focussing on opposing or calling out others. I have been trying to do that with the Secular Liturgies Network from the start, though I have found that most people who contact me are far more interested in controversy and the ins and outs of what I do or don’t believe regarding religion, rather than the work I am trying to do in secular ethics, reflective practices and pastoral care!

I suppose what I was really searching for with my questions about activism was for an answer to the criticism that in my experience has been most often levelled at Buddhism – that is so much about personal growth and so pacifist and tolerant of other viewpoints that it cannot help in situations where there is a determined aggressor, whether than be a group with a harmful religious or political ideology. Activism can and should of course emphasise its own positive agenda rather than slagging off its opponents but it also needs to take a stand at times, which cannot help but be opposed to the views of other groups, even while it may listen to and respect the opposing views of individuals. There are individual, private interactions and then there is the public, political sphere.

This is of course very relevant today in many places. I suppose I was seeking a bit more of a response to that. The example most often brought up in discussion is Nazi Germany of course – what should a Buddhist have done in the face of the rise of National Socialism? This may seem like an extreme example, and as you say, there are many degrees to this sort of thing but in reality, in human history, violent and harmful ideologies and actions do happen all the time, and sometimes force of some kind is required to stop them. I suppose I was looking to explore all that a bit more.

One Buddhist teacher once told me years ago that under those circumstances a Buddhist should just submit, and in essence, die as a martyr for his/her cause but this doesn’t sit quite right with me. Another Buddhist teacher used an example of a violent mentally ill person in a village, saying a good Buddhist community would be able to restrain such a person in chains and yet also keep him happy and fully included at the same time – again that seems extremely implausible to me. I suppose I struggle with the way that some Buddhist teaching suggests we can always avoid conflict with others, when even for the most mild and gentle of people this is not possible all the time. We can avoid actually saying someone is wrong and we are right but isn’t saying politely that we don’t agree with them, and following a different path, pretty much the same thing as saying that we think they’re wrong and we’re right?

Noah: Thank you for clarifying the question a bit. I believe that one of the core practices of Buddhism is to act skillfully. I think the 4th noble truth is entirely about that and activism would certainly fall within that. I like to use the analogy of a bear coming into a campsite and terrorizing the campers. As a camper, I must do what is skillful to protect my family and my tent etc. It may be skillful to call the park ranger and have them shoot a tranquilizer to move the bear or if I sense more imminent danger, I may need to even shoot the bear. But it all depends on so many circumstances that will determine the most skillful course of action. This is how I view life from the Buddhist lens. Would I sit by while the Nazi’s invade my country? I personally would not.

I would fight when it makes sense to fight or run underground operations if that made sense or even subversion and sabotage if that made sense. I don’t know exactly WHAT I would do because it would depend entirely on all the circumstances that I might find myself in and I would hope that my Buddhist practice would allow me to me more aware and skillful in my specific course of action. I hope that clarifies my stance on that a bit more?

Anastasia: Thanks Noah, that’s helpful. It shows there is a wide range of perspectives among Buddhists as with most other groups. Some may be pacifists of a rather extreme sort but groups will vary. I grew up with a lot of Theravada and Tibetan Buddhist influence, which was essentially secular in its philosophy so I’ve long been a secular Buddhist of sorts. I’ve always found it very helpful but have not yet found a local community that takes that secular approach or a realistic/skilful enough approach to the very real challenges of life. The Secular Buddhism network is a very useful addition to the Buddhist schools and movements.

I still go to meditations at our local centre nonetheless, as I find them helpful, even though I ignore the supernatural and extreme pacifist elements of their teaching. There is still beauty in the imagery and stories, even if I don’t believe the magical beings are real, and of course, the core teachings are all the same.

Anastasia: How does the Buddhist understanding of suffering and attachment help us to empathise with and have compassion for other humans and nonhuman animals?

Noah: Well, I think that the biggest way that it helps is that it reminds us that we are all in this together. We’re all going through the same experience of being alive and experiencing suffering and of the difficulties that arise because we are alive. I’ve found that in my own personal journey the more I’ve understood this reality the easier it is to empathise and have compassion for others, regardless of how they view the world because however they paint their picture of, oh I’m so happy because I believe this or I’m so happy because I’ve go all these followers on Instagram or whatever, the picture is you can start to see through that and be like, no, I know that you, deep down inside, you experience difficulties in the same way that I do when things don’t when things don’t go the way that we want them to go and when things aren’t the way that we want them to be. We experience suffering and that’s universal.

By recognising that we’re all experiencing that from time to time to different degrees, I think that empathy arises naturally. It’s not, I’m supposed to be nice, why, because I was told that I’m supposed to be nice. It becomes natural to be nice because you realise, you’re are no different from me, and I have fears, and I have insecurities, and I have all these things that I try to hide about me, well, I don’t have to hide them anymore and now can see that you have yours too. I may not know what yours are but I know that you have them and that allows me to approach people differently, and I think that’s one of the big benefits of this very key teaching of Buddhism of Dukkha, the concept of suffering.

So, I think that’s how he Buddhist understanding of suffering helps us to empathise with others and more importantly here, it allows that empathy to arise naturally, not forced, because you’re not compelled and in the Buddhist tradition there are not commandments, right. You are told, hey be kind to your neighbour. There’s no reason to, you don’t have to be, so if I don’t have to be kind so I’m left with the option of then why does that still feel like the right thing to do and I can look into that and realise, oh because we’re all here and we’re all suffering and we’re all trying to make it better and to me that seems like a much more authentic way of feeling empathy than just saying, well, I’m going to be nice to you because that’s what I’m supposed to be doing, so I pretend to be nice but deep down inside, I’ll judge you, and I’ll feel angry that you don’t do this and that you do do that. So, that’s how I view that concept of suffering in relationship to Buddhism.

Anastasia: Secular Buddhism seems to have a lot in common with the Secular Humanist approach (and that of the Secular Liturgies Network and Forum*). Indeed, it has the potential to enrich Secular Humanist perspectives, ethics, reflective practices and models of pastoral care. Do you currently collaborate or have links with humanist organisations or other progressive faith organisations e.g. progressive Christianity, humanistic Judaism etc.?

Noah: No, I personally don’t. I’m not aware of the other people who are talking about Secular Buddhism if they have relationships with any of these organisations or institutes or movements but I think they’re worth looking into. I don’t really read or study their perspectives. I’m not entirely sure. I would assume we have a lot in common because the secular approach seems to be very similar to other secular approaches.

I’m very fond of the work that people like Sam Harris are doing, and the work that people like Neil Degrasse Tyson are doing to promote secular ethics and yes, I can see similarities with some of those approaches. I’d love to be more involved or know what some of those things are but now I’m not really aware of any or of Secular Buddhism trying to jump into something more than just what it is right now which is an exploration of ideas.

Anastasia: What are the greatest rewards and challenges of your work?

Noah: The greatest rewards are knowing that these concepts, these ideas, these teachings, really change lives. People send me messages all the time about how, whether its dealing with disaffection of religion or dealing with some kind of relationship conflict with a spouse or a partner or between parents and children. I see it all the time that these concepts and ideas are healing. They’re healing peoples’ relationships with themselves, peoples’ relationships with their loved ones and peoples’ relationships with their overall community and the environment that they live in and that they were raised in.

And that’s the biggest challenge by far, and that’s what I’ve experienced also in my own approach to all of this is that it’s a greater sense of peace. I feel like for so long I was on this trajectory of, I have to know things, I have to find the truth, the right path, have the right answers…and that’s slowly morphed into, now the journey is the journey of having more peace and more contentment, more joy and more peace and not even searching for answers anymore. I’m not interested in the answers. I’m still interested in the questions and the source of the questions but I’m not interested in the answers, and I feel that that’s been a great reward of this specific work and this specific path.

The greatest challenges, not entirely sure, I think I’d have to think about that a little bit. I think some of them are about being misunderstood. When you live in a community that has very similar sets of views and beliefs and you don’t share those, it can be challenging because you’re perceive to be an outsider. Or, even worse, in my case, if you’re still somewhat ‘in’, it’s like well, now you’re not really one of us. You’re not really an outsider because you’re not against us but you’re not really one of us because you don’t believe what we believe, so you’re kind of stuck. You’re not with us or against us, and I guess that’s a better place to be than against us.

And then there’s some of the push back I’ll get from other Buddhists, for example, like you’re bastardising Buddhism, I’ll get messages like that from time to time and I just respond with, I’m not changing Buddhism at all, if anything, study it a little bit more closely and you’ll realise that what I’m doing is the same, this is all the same stuff. We’re just presenting it with different approaches, different lenses, and also just the time that it takes to dedicate to constantly preparing new topics for the podcast episodes, taking the time to respond to emails and to the messages I get and things of that nature but it’s not really challenging, it’s a very rewarding work for me.

(*With its Nine Themes, the Secular Liturgies Network suggests that the focus of progressive faith and applied philosophical movements going into the future should be on improving the following: health and wellbeing, compassion and empathy, sustainability, social justice and equality, community-building, critical thinking and a rational/evidenced based approach to knowledge, personal development/growth, and cultural diversity, creativity and enrichment.)


A Conversation with my Old Self by Anastasia Somerville-Wong

The Secular Liturgies Network reflects a wide range of progressive, humanistic and non-religious ideas, practices and worldviews. This article is an exploration of my own worldview and how it has changed over time. I hope you find it an interesting and enjoyable read. Anastasia

Christian: Meeting my future self was bound to be traumatic on many levels but I’m especially saddened to find you have lost your faith. I can’t imagine that happening. How did it happen?

Humanist: I haven’t lost my faith in any of the values we hold dear. It’s the overlay of religious dogma and superstition I’ve left behind; the belief in a personal God; the theological superstructure that says the universe and humanity was created for a specific purpose and that things will unfold according to a preordained plan. Values like compassion, kindness, courage, freedom, equality, beauty and love; these aren’t the preserve of Christianity or any other religious faith. Indeed, they underpin almost all philosophical and religious traditions because they originate in universal human psychological needs and the development of pro-social behaviours, behaviours that are mutually beneficial. The ‘golden rule’, which states that we should not do to others what we would not like them to do to us, or alternatively, that we should treat others as we would wish to be treated ourselves, is as old as humanity itself and common to almost all faiths and philosophies, many of which long predate Christianity. The rule arises from empathy and common sense, not from religion. We are safer and better able to thrive when we allow others to be so, and we are happier when we can help others and enjoy their success.

This is human-to-human morality, the morality which upholds human rights – the basic needs and rights that each of us has by simple virtue of being human – and the world needs this morality more than ever. If we then add another layer of morality, a set of principles supposedly commanded by God and revealed in ancient texts or by the mouths of prophets, then we end up with internal confusion and hopeless conflict because the two moral systems are so often at odds. Invariably, these texts and teachings, as is the case with the bible, are spoken and written by elites whose moral instructions work in their favour and are an attempt to control others. Thus, we have texts demanding people conform to a particular lifestyle, we have condemnation of anything that doesn’t conform, such as homosexuality, and we have the subjugation of women, all of which runs counter to the golden rule.

Biblical morality is a troubled mixture of humanist morality and the false morality of privileged male elites, and both are attributed to your God in various measures. It’s why you constantly struggle to resolve certain biblical texts with the commands elsewhere to love and show compassion for others. Once we break free from the false morality that is supposedly commanded by a supernatural being but is in fact the morality of the powerful and avericious, we are free to fully embrace the morality of the ‘golden rule’. You know yourself that your evangelical friends, regardless of their claim to be the only truly bible-believing people, pick and choose from the scriptures according to their social values just as much as all other Christians throughout history. They have no choice but to do so, when faced with all its internal moral contradictions, not to mention its factual contradictions. The title of ‘bible’ is itself misleading. Its contents are best referred to as the myths and legends of the Hebrew peoples. They make a whole lot more sense that way. Reading the bible is no different to picking up a book of Greek, Norse, Chinese or any other myths and legends.

Christian: It’s true that I struggle with certain texts. It’s also true that I don’t find the convoluted explanations given by preachers and theologians, which try to excuse them, as remotely convincing. Their feats of mental gymnastics lead to conclusions that are far less credible than the meaning of the words at face value, however shocking and unjust that meaning may be. However, it was Jesus that drew me to the Christian faith, not the writings of men who had clear bias. Of course, it’s through those writings that we learn about Jesus but it’s interesting that they never attribute to him that false morality of the elites that you speak of. Scholars say we can know little of the historical Jesus from the scriptures but even if this is true, the Jesus or ‘Christ’ depicted in the gospels, whether real or largely imagined, remains untainted by the twisted morality of those in power. On the contrary, he subverts the powers that be. If he weren’t real and very special in some sense, he couldn’t possibly do so.

Also, you’re saying that good values are just whatever is mutually advantageous and best for human communities rather than those things that are right in and of themselves. I used to think like that too, but then, as you know, I encountered a personal God. It gave me a much greater sense of clarity about what was right and wrong at a higher level than the human-to-human, and about how I could cleave to that path, sometimes in spite of myself. I took a step of faith in committing to the Christian path after reading the scriptures and coming to believe that Jesus was the God I had encountered, the incarnation of that God. After that, I found the Christian faith just worked for me. I felt a deep inner peace, I found hope for the future and for an eternity with God. It still works for me. I have someone to turn to whenever I am overwhelmed and no one else can help. I have someone to talk to when no one else will listen. I have someone to be with forever, who knows me through and through and loves me nonetheless.

Humanist: I know, I understand, and rarely can one person truly say that to another! It feels really real to you at times, the presence of a benevolent supernatural being. Also, I acknowledge that Christian theology can seem elegant and moving in some respects – a pure, divine being who reaches down to the depths of our suffering in order that we can overcome. It has its beauty and poeticism, like so many of the stories, myths and legends we humans have created to help us to make sense of life and cope with its tragedies, and to give us and our peoples a strong and distinctive identity and sense of purpose. However, the reality is that many people have these sudden transformative experiences of overwhelming peace and love, and they have attributed these to all sorts of different supernatural agents depending on their cultural context. Catholics encounter Mary, Buddhists encounter the Buddha and so forth, whether through internal feelings or hallucinatory visions. While it may seem as if there is some agency behind these experiences, they can be easily explained by the effects of chemicals the brain releases in times of elation, which are also released to protect and heal the brain in times of distress. And you were certainly distressed, very much so, having suffered months of unremitting anxiety. Your mind reached its darkest hour and in that moment your brain made a last-ditch effort to protect itself. It released a flood of dopamine and no doubt other neurochemicals like endorphins to bring you out of your despair. It’s incredible that our bodies have such a capacity for healing but there is nothing supernatural about it. Our natural world is just so much more complex and awe-inspiring than we tend to think.

With regard to the moral purity of Jesus, I have to disagree. The accounts do not portray a Jesus untainted with prejudice. What about the passage where he refers to a gentile-women as a dog? He is portrayed as having the same prejudices against women and other ethnic groups as his contemporaries, even while he bravely challenges the exploitation and prejudice against the poor. He is portrayed as progressive for his time but not progressive by today’s standards. None of this is very relevant of course because Jesus, and especially the Christ, are later hagiographical reconstructions of the noble or ideal human, and why should the vision of a few men who lived more than two thousand years ago be of such significance today? You are right to say that what we know to be true of the historical Jesus is very little and tenuous. While I’m not saying we do away with Jesus altogether, for he clearly had some admirable qualities, it is high time we came up with new role models for our more enlightened age, and held them in equal regard. Also, you talk about the implausibility of people deifying someone who subverts authority unless that person has some kind of special significance beyond their times but when various groups are vying for power, and one group wishes to manoeuvre itself into a higher social strata by gaining a popular following among the lower orders, a certain amount of rebellion is exactly what needs to happen. Jesus provided a convenient focal point for a personality cult, which would inspire social change. Besides, people have always been able to worship those who live according to altruistic morals, while living in a selfish manner themselves. Our species is hardly short on hypocrisy and stark contradictions between belief and lifestyle. The Epistles show clearly just how quickly the leaders of the churches, a new male-dominated elite, enforced social conformity and developed a new religious dogmatism, in spite of the counter-cultural qualities of its central figure and the significance of women in the earliest expressions of the Jesus movement.

With regard to your question about values, those I listed earlier can be seen as purely utilitarian, as you point out, but they can also be held as a rule because they are good for us in the vast majority of situations. And besides, we cannot go about calculating the utility of everything we do and see. It’s neither practical nor possible. We have to rely on general principles and weigh these up when they conflict. Thus human values can be seen as good in themselves, in spite of the fact they evolved out of a practical need for cooperation, and from our mutual desire for survival and flourishing. The fact that these concepts evolved to meet our needs and that there is a certain selfish element to every good and kind act, does not make these things any less desirable. It is more honest to say that we pursue certain things because they are good for us as well as others. Traditional Christianity has blackened our natural love and concern for ourselves and often asks us to deny ourselves completely in the service of others. Many evangelical churches, like the one you used to go to, even go as far as teaching that everything we do that is good is God doing it through us, and everything we do that is bad is from us. It is an understatement to say this is wrong-headed. It would be best described as deeply psychologically harmful, not to mention the fact that it is entirely impossible for almost everyone. In fact, if someone really behaved altruistically in that extreme sense, they would be quickly identified as suffering from some kind of mental illness with suicidal tendencies. Remember, the biblical Jesus himself was not purely altruistic. He is portrayed as desiring the devotion of his followers. He stood to gain a great legacy from his suffering and martyrdom (far greater than he would ever have imagined as it turned out!), and yet he is frequently described by Christians as the epitome of selflessness.

Christian: I know that many of the doctrines taught in evangelical churches are problematic, like the doctrine of total depravity which you touch upon, and I fully admit that the teaching about forgiveness is often simplistic and reduced to cheap sentiment. However, many Christians find a more reasonable balance between the various extreme theological positions. Christianity teaches us to love ourselves and to forgive ourselves because God loves and forgives us for our mistakes and misdemeanours. This has to be weighed against the call to repentance and sacrificial service.

I should also point out that there is a rational basis for my faith, as well as an experiential one. Otherwise, no one would believe unless they had had a similarly transformative experience. I am convinced there had to be a ‘first cause’, and that this first cause was then revealed to us through prophets and scriptures over the course of human history. But no doubt you’ll say, that if the universe is so incredibly intricate and ordered and complex that it had to have a designer with a mind that is even more intricate and complex, then this first cause or designer would also need a cause! I’ve heard theologians argue that this is missing the point because God is in fact incredibly simple (laughs) but that completely undermines the argument from design, and we fall back once again on paradox, one of Christian theology’s favourite but most meaningless devices, and a large dose of magical thinking. How can God be intelligent enough to provide an explanation for the universe but simple enough not to need explaining himself?

We have the same thing with Jesus. He is supposed to be fully divine and fully human, when of course, the definitions of those things are mutually exclusive. Then one hears Christian apologists talking about how things can be waves and particles at the same time, as if this analogy from particle physics is proof of paradoxes but of course, we know this is a misunderstanding and oversimplification of the science, not to mention the fact that it has no real bearing on language, Jesus or God. I’m starting to sound like you (laughs), and yet the idea that there are multiple dimensions to reality still appeals and still seems possible. Dualism is not yet entirely dead for me.

Humanist: (laughing) I would indeed say exactly what you predict and yes, you are starting to sound like me! Again, it’s a romantic story you tell about a first cause, whose mind is somehow reflected in the structure of the universe, and whose character has been revealed to humanity through prophets and scriptures. It is a story that is easy to grasp and tell, unlike the complex, baffling and sometimes seemingly conflicting theories proposed by physicists. Its elegance and simplicity, however, do not make it true. Ultimately, you have chosen to believe it rather than reasoned your way to it. It is not a necessary logical conclusion from the facts as we have them. It is mere conjecture. Surely the only honest thing we can say on the basis of reason and evidence is that we simply cannot yet know if there was a first cause or not? It seems to me that logic and reason are the lesser players here, and that an emotional connection with the stories of the bible in particular, is what you base your faith on. It is nonsense indeed to say that the universe requires an intelligent  (omniscient in fact) cause because it is so complex and yet ordered at the same time, and then to say that this cause itself does not require a cause. And you are right to point out that the subsequent claim that God is simple rather than complex, even though he is apparently able to communicate via prayer with billions of people all at once, is merely to use paradox as a device to circumvent reason – a device that can be easily used to claim any two contradictory things.

The greatest difference between you and I, is that while I think knowledge can only be obtained from reason and evidence, you believe knowledge can also be gained through what you call “revelation”, where God reveals information about himself through certain special humans and the things they write and teach. The problem then is that anyone anywhere can claim God has revealed him/herself to them, and indeed, many people have done just that, with very different conclusions! As you know, religious people of all faiths claim to have the revealed truth and yet they say very different and contradictory things. Even within Christianity, with its numerous denominations and sects, there is much dispute over what to believe, and the bible itself has many contradictory statements and stories about God and human history.

And regarding what you say about God teaching us to love and forgive ourselves as he has forgiven us, this assumes we need to be forgiven for being terrible and evil and selfish and so forth. Christianity not only asks us to do the impossible thing of denying ourselves but also, simultaneously, we are asked to do another impossible thing, to love and forgive ourselves after we’ve been persuaded we are dreadful by the very being that created us. It makes no sense to me. In fact, it is a really unhealthy and harmful view of ourselves and humanity. It leaves followers saddled with guilt, self-loathing and an overly pessimistic view of humans in general. Indeed, the doctrine of original sin, along with penal substitutionary atonement and those trite, judgmental notions of forgiveness you alluded to, are the most abhorrent aspects of orthodox Christian theology. Again, the human-to-human morality, at times expressed in the bible, for example, in the simple phrase ‘love others as you love yourself’, is much more sensible.

Christian: I agree there are some serious problems with orthodox theology, and I’ve long been uncomfortable with the idea that God is a father who allows the brutal killing of his son as a sacrifice for human sin, in order to satisfy some sort of perverse sense of justice, but of course, there are alternative theological interpretations of the events in scripture. I tend to believe that God became fully manifest in Jesus, a man who would give his life in the struggle to help the poor and marginalised, in order to demonstrate divine solidarity with his cause and in order to experience the depths of human suffering and show that even the very worst of it can be overcome. It is a story, a myth even, which is so meaningful to me that it becomes my truth as much as anything I might apprehend with my senses. I am aware though, as you will no doubt argue, that my theological perspective is not exactly mainstream.

As a humanist, you believe we humans create our own meaning but in that case you’re not doing anything different to religious people who create their own philosophy, beliefs, myths and so forth. What would you say to a person who creates his own meaning through a neo nazi ideology and feels fulfilled in the process? Sometimes a morality conferred from above, from a supernatural being and from revelation, and which is well established and widely upheld, holds more weight against evil ideologies and evil behaviours, whether it is true or not. I’m aware that I’m not talking now of the veracity of faith but of the expediency of it I suppose.

Humanist: As humanists we create our own meaning by making best use of our particular talents, opportunities and privileges, not by creating myths and ideologies which are either based on biased or selective information or which aren’t based on evidence or reason at all. We create freely but nonetheless within a framework of ethical values and a rational approach to knowledge. This leads to a commitment to the values I talked about above, which are shared across many societies, and which are demonstrably best for our well-being and flourishing. Neo-nazi ideology would be an anathema to us.

It is a very common mistake to think that secular and humanist values and goals constitute just one more exclusive ideology. They merely provide a framework within which all humans have basic rights and freedoms and in which all can flourish, both the religious and nonreligious alike. Humanism and secularism are not anti-religion as so many assume. Secular states protect the rights, including the worship rights, of those of all faiths and none. This can only be successful, indeed, multi faith and multicultural societies can only be successful, if individual human rights trump religious group rights. Therefore, religious group rights are protected as long as they do not harm individuals. There are frequent debates of course, about what constitutes harm, so there will be plenty of conflict where religious groups want to treat women and LGBTQ persons in ways that wider society views as harmful. This is unavoidable. However, while all other ideologies – both religious and atheistic – are exclusive, tribal and ultimately intolerant, secular humanism is tolerant of diversity at the deepest level. We are also committed to democracy as the best, though not by any means perfect, system of governance, a system which can be undermined by its own fairness, as we have seen in recent times with the rise of popularism!

We want to teach children liberal social values and critical thinking within secular schools, not to make them atheists but to protect their individual freedoms against dominant and oppressive cultures, religions and ideologies. Secular means multi-faith, and it is often forgotten that the term ‘multi-faith’, includes a wide variety of humanist, non-religious, progressive and atheistic world-views, the holders of which are often subject to discrimination, in spite of the fact that in societies like ours, they make up the majority of the population.

Christian: But militant atheists can hardly be described as tolerant and fair!

Humanist: Personality type has a lot to do with that. Some people have a tendency to be dogmatic about whatever they believe strongly. A dogmatic, rigid thinking person who is religious will be dogmatic and uncompromising about their faith, while a nonreligious person with a similar personality may be incredibly self-righteous about the way people should stack a dish washer or hang up the washing. Similarly, some atheists are arrogant and self-righteous about what they believe, and mistakenly dismiss all religious people as either brainwashed or stupid, probably both. I totally agree that this is very unfair and that such people should try harder to understand the psychological needs that religion evolved to meet, and to appreciate the artistic and theological sophistication of many faiths. The reality, however, is that most humanists are not anti-religious or dogmatic. We are simply nonreligious people who share a vision to make this world a kinder, fairer, more compassionate place. We are people who seek to grow intellectually and spiritually in order to be the best we can be and we encourage others to do the same.

Christian: What about evil? Don’t you believe there are such things as evil and goodness?

Humanist: It’s funny that a Christian should challenge a humanist on that subject! Isn’t the onus on you to resolve the conflict between an all-powerful, all-loving God and the presence of evil?! (laughs) Good and evil are human constructions that evolved to support pro-social behaviour. If incredibly harmful crimes are seen as evil, rather than merely unhelpful, then the social condemnation and punishment that follows is likely to be far greater and function as a far more effective a deterrent. Equally, if the rewards of doing a great service to others are many and profound, society will foster many more heroes. Moreover, some things are just so horrific to us that ‘wrong’ or ‘criminal’ are words that just don’t do justice to them, so a special word reserved for these alone, such as ‘evil’, seems better. At the other end of the spectrum, some things are just so remarkable that normal terms don’t do justice to them. Instead we say they are ‘divine’, or ‘miraculous’. Many nonreligious people use these terms, even though they don’t actually believe in supernatural forces or events. The word ‘God’ is itself used as a metaphor or superlative for those things that are too wonderful for ordinary words.

It is important to remember that the world is full of creatures that are suffering and brutally killing each other. It is also laden with awe-inspiring beauty and noble acts of kindness. However, it is only humans who label things as good or evil. These labels are incredibly meaningful to us alone. They help us to fight against those things that would harm or destroy us and to celebrate those that are beneficial but they are also easily misapplied. We can get into philosophical debates about deontology and consequentialism, asking the question of whether some things are just morally right or morally wrong in themselves but my view is that while moral maxims like ‘do not lie’ are useful, they are not final in all circumstances. Something that seems bad to us may actually turn out to be what we call ‘a blessing in disguise’, while something we perceive as good may turn out not to be. Consequences and contexts always matter. If you could lie to save a life then why wouldn’t you? What I’m saying is that yes, I can talk about something being awesomely good or heinously evil but I do so understanding that there is nothing supernatural about these things. Religious superstition only serves to make the things we perceive of as bad far more frightening by endowing them supernatural agency, in effect, giving them a lot more power and control over us than they deserve.

In reality, even the most terrible things, take murder for example, are caused by a whole lot of explainable factors. The guilty person may have lost their ability to empathise through abuse or neglect in early life. They may have even been born deficient in this regard due to faulty genetics or they may have later developed a psychological or mental health condition that caused them to behave aggressively. People often bring up the holocaust in these kinds of discussions but the reality is that even the holocaust emerged from plain old human tribalism and from a misguided and harmful ideology of the same kind that has often been produced by religion – consider the witch burnings, the inquisition, the crusades, Islamism and religious fundamentalism in general. It arises from flaws in our thinking, such as our cognitive biases, and our tendencies towards a range of pathologies of the mind. There is nothing particularly mysterious about Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot or others of their ilk. They are simply sociopaths who suffered from delusions, megalomania, narcissism and so forth. This is why you will hear witnesses to terrible crimes describe the sheer ‘banality of evil’. Rather than give evil far more power than it deserves, humans must learn to counter what is harmful and promote what is in our best interests without thinking in terms of gods, angels, devils and spirits. We would be far better off learning to understand our cognitive biases and delusions and put sufficient checks and balances in place to keep society’s minority of sociopaths out of positions of power and influence.

Christian: I struggle with this a bit because of the otherworldly quality I perceive in things that I would describe as ‘divine’ and because of the opposite but equally otherworldly quality I perceive in things I would describe as ‘evil’. My faith somehow makes me feel more secure, and more confident that I will remain on the right path. It helps me to be a better, kinder person. It means that when I am tempted to do wrong, or when I feel hopeless or at the mercy of forces beyond my control, I can call upon an external being to help me. And I definitely feel safer around Christians than around the general public. I know that they know God is watching them, and I trust they are committed to following the way of Christ.

Humanist: You were always a kind, empathic person with a strong sense of justice and fairness. Your experience of anxiety and depression then further deepened your ability to empathise with the sufferings of others. There are two kinds of religious person, the kind who uses orthodox religious beliefs and practices to further improve their character, and the self-righteous, controlling sorts of people who use the same religious beliefs and practices to lord it over and oppress others even more than they might otherwise have been able to do. The former tend to cling to theological emphases on, for example, the loving nature of God, and on reflective practices like private prayer and meditation, while largely ignoring or being somewhat in denial of the much less palatable nature attributed to God in the scriptures. Meanwhile, the latter tend to emphasise divine justice over divine compassion, and take inspiration from the wrath and cruelty of the biblical God, in order to support their controlling agendas. They concern themselves with the public practices of religion rather than with self-improvement, ignoring or being somewhat in denial of the loving and merciful attributes of God.

This is why the Christian faith can lead to all the things you are deeply uncomfortable with in the church, just as easily as it can lead to an improved character and loving friendships. It can lead to the oppression and subjection of women, discrimination against the LGBTQ community, anti-science biblical literalism (including six-day creationism and young earth theory) and climate change denial, with no end to the undermining of expertise, research, evidence and reason. With regard to the need for something beyond and better than us, namely a transcendent God (particularly in times of crisis), one must simply point out that our need or desire to believe in such a thing does not make it real. Just because you want or would really like something to be true does not make it so. This doesn’t mean there aren’t all sorts of external things we can go to for help, namely, other people, information, research and so forth. These will most often and most reliably lead us to the answers, solutions and remedies that we need. There are times of tragedy when it is not yet possible cure an illness, solve a problem or put something right but there is always hope when we look to reason and science because with time and investment an answer may come. Theology, on the other hand, cannot give us anything more than it already has, and in the tragic circumstances I referred to, it is never enough.

I should also point out that loving, what in truth, is simply an abstract idea – God in this instance – does not necessary make us more loving in general. In fact, many religions demand we love this God at the expense of others, since God is apparently jealous for our attentions. In the process of making our love for anything real idolatry, it is the love of this abstract deity that becomes idolatrous. I have heard evangelicals say that we should be careful not to love our family members and friends so much that we love them more than we love this God concept. Such people show a cold and unhealthy detachment from those closest to them. Cults do exactly the same thing but to a greater extent. They separate people, both emotionally and physically, from their family and friends, especially those family and friends who are not in the ‘in group’ of the cult.

The only reason you feel safer around Christians is because you’ve become isolated from wider social circles and have been soured towards them by your supposedly loving Christian community. If you hear often enough that people outside the fold are bad and godless, it’s only a matter of time before you start to believe it. If you mix with other groups you will soon find they are comprised of exactly the same sorts of humans – some good, some bad, and most of them a mixture of the two. The idea that people behave better when they believe God is watching is an interesting one because it is actually true that the presence of witnesses (or a belief that witnesses are present) can make people behave more pro-socially. However, God is a different kettle of fish because he doesn’t intervene or report them. They know they can get away with a transgression if it’s only God watching, so they most often go ahead regardless. Belief in God only helps if it is strong and consistent enough, such as when a person is very devout, and even then, it often wavers in the face of temptation. Belief is a strange thing, especially belief in God. People put it aside temporarily, and sometimes in a flash, when it suits them to do so. Also, let’s not forget that many people do their evil deeds believing they are actually God’s will because they have worked to convince themselves of this or because the God of their scriptures does have his cruel, even genocidal, tendencies. You could justify a lot of evil deeds using the God of the bible for a start! There is no evidence that theistic societies are more moral or safer than secular ones. In fact, secular societies are some of the safest, most compassionate and socially just in the world. Evidence is mounting that certain kinds of secular societies, where far right and far left political ideologies are successfully kept to the fringe, are the most civilised of all.

Christian: You may be right that I’ve spent too much time around Christians. It’s ironic, considering the emphasis evangelicals place on outreach, that we spend most of our time with each other. Also, I’m with you on the idolatry bit. I totally see how people put their idea of God, a conception of God they have largely invented, before the people they should love and care for. I don’t consider myself an evangelical really. I’ve always been on the fringe of it, mixing with a more eclectic group of Christians, as you know. I’m certainly no creationist or fan of male headship.

But changing the subject a little, I’m curious, what do you think about death? I believe I will somehow return to God in a way that is beyond my understanding, to a perfect reality, along with everyone else who reaches out to God, and that includes people from all cultural and religious backgrounds with whatever name they use for God. I believe the beauty of our world is a mere shadow of what is still to come. I don’t believe in hell as a real place of eternal punishment for nonbelievers. I tend to think that all good people reach out to God in some way or another, even if it’s at the very end of life. However, in the case of those sociopaths who persistently do evil and are unrepentant, I believe they suffer an absence of God both here and in the afterlife, which in itself is a kind of hell. What do you think?

Humanist: I think much of religious belief is a means to console us and alleviate our fear of death. It is also a means to satisfy our sense of justice and fairness when it comes to what people deserve but I think this is a lesser consideration. However, death need not be feared in the way it so often is. A limited life makes every day of this one life we have more precious and beautiful, and the thought of living forever is actually a rather a tiring, burdensome one. If you speak to the elderly, those who are approaching death, you will find they often feel ready and willing to go. When we die, all our atoms and molecules go into creating something new in the circle of life. We are remembered for a while by those who love us but we often forget that our legacy is much broader and longer than that, it goes forth in all the tiny actions and words we spoke throughout our lifetime. Those of us who have children pass on our genes, ideas and talents and continue to live in many ways through them, but whether we have children or not, the impact we have on the world goes on indefinitely. The more we love and give and change things for the better now, the greater our legacy, and the greater our positive impact on the world for the benefit of future generations. We can die well and contented knowing we did what we could. Indeed, even the manner in which we die leaves its legacy for others, whether positive or negative. By making sure, as far as is possible, that we die a good death, with as little pain and as little regret as possible, we demonstrate how death is just another part of life, which can serve a good purpose.

Those who have witnessed many deaths and attended many funerals know that having a good death, or a meaningful funeral, doesn’t depend on the religious belief or non-belief of the individuals or families concerned. Many humanist deaths and funerals have been described as peaceful, meaningful and moving, while conversely, there are plenty of religious deaths and funerals that have been described as distressing, empty and hopeless. Hope, meaning and contentment are not the preserve of religious people. Rather, the experience we have depends on our individual attitudes and morality, and that of our family, friends and community.

Christian: I must confess, your perspective on death isn’t one I’ve ever heard before. It makes sense, and you express it with kindness and sincerity. I’m not entirely sure what I think about it yet but it’s something I will ponder when I am alone.

Going back to the bible, as you point out, I’ve always been uncomfortable with the contradictions in the bible and what the evangelical ministers rather unsatisfactorily call the difficult passages – the genocidal God of Old Testament, the sexist and homophobic passages and so on. Preachers get stuck in endless circular arguments, claiming the bible is infallible because a verse in it claims that it is so, or that every verse is divinely inspired because a verse within it makes that claim, and so you can’t possibly reject any part of scripture, however distasteful. Of course, you would only take notice of such arguments if you already thought the bible was infallible in the first place! Similarly, they argue that you have to believe Jesus was either a God or a madman because in the scriptures he didn’t give us the choice to think of him only as a great moral teacher. Again, you’d have to be already convinced the scriptures were 100% accurate and take all of them literally for that argument to be relevant.

There is also the popular claim that the New Testament stories fulfil ancient prophecies so exactly that they could not have been invented but accounts written decades after an event and clearly intended to convey a certain theological viewpoint are bound to fit the facts into the existing framework, just as far as is possible without arousing too much suspicion, and therefore, leaving a few inconsistencies as the bible in fact does. The idea that God had his guiding hand throughout the process of the scriptures coming together to comprise the bible seems less than credible to me, though not quite as incredible as the mental gymnastics used to try to make the ‘difficult passages’ morally okay.

Humanist: It’s freeing just to come out and admit it isn’t it? I found it so. Theology is basically a superstructure of belief that is based on completely flawed assumptions, often a sophisticated superstructure but a flawed one nonetheless.

Christian: It is freeing, I grant you that. I don’t often get to express my doubts and frustrations in quite so frank a way! However, it’s getting late, so, I suppose the big question for me to ask you now is whether you still believe in God?

Humanist: Certainly not, if by God you mean the traditional Judeo-Christian conception of God, the jealous God who seeks our worship and our obedience and who intervenes in our affairs to condemn sinners and select a few chosen souls for paradise. A God who creates humans as they are and then punishes them for being that way makes no sense to me and couldn’t be more perverse. As I said already, I think ‘God’ and terms like ‘divine’ and ‘miraculous’ are metaphors and superlatives to describe things that whilst they are not necessarily remarkable in the grand scheme of things, are indeed remarkable, awe-inspiring and deeply meaningful to us in our own lives and in our limited spheres of influence and understanding; the kind of things that ordinary language seems insufficient to describe because of the weight of meaning we want to convey.

With regard to God as some kind of first cause, I am agnostic. We don’t have evidence to confirm or deny it, though we know enough to think it unlikely. If there is such a God, we certainly don’t know anything about it, and how should we define God in order to make it possible to recognise it or not anyway? I’ve heard God described as ‘the infinite mystery of the universe’ and other vague definitions but nothing that can really be grasped. While many humanists are atheists, many are agnostic. What we have in common is that we all seek to live the best lives possible with the knowledge that we have through reason and evidence. It’s an intellectually humbler way of living than the religious life in many ways, and that can only be a good thing. Religious people choose to believe there is some overriding meaning or purpose of life, some great story of which they are a part. It takes a great feat of the imagination to believe that. You have to believe at least 101 impossible things before breakfast! Meanwhile, humanists choose to stick to what we can really honestly know, even if that means living with a lot of questions and uncertainty, and we create meaning for ourselves within that framework.

Christian: Any yet, so many people find living within an over-arching theological structure binds them together with others in a way that nothing else can.

Humanist: Indeed they do. Religion has always been a great social glue but in helping tribes to stay together and loyal to communal values and goals, religions have also reinforced tribalism, the ‘in group’ and ‘out group’ mentality that results in more frequent and ferocious conflict and violence. We were once more successful because of religion’s ability to bind us together. It helped us cooperate to out-compete other human and competitor species’s for the earths resources. That’s why it evolved. It helped us to support each other to survive against external threats, such as other aggressive tribes, but eventually our mutually exclusive ideological systems became a threat to humanity itself, heightening the risk of mutually assured destruction. Religion’s ability to bind us into tribes is no longer of benefit to our species. We now live in huge numbers in a globalised, information-rich world, and our leaders have access to terrifying weapons that could annihilate not just external threats but our whole species. We have simply outgrown the old, traditional forms of religion.

We urgently need to find new, more inclusive, ways of nurturing human spirituality and building cohesive community. Thus humanism concentrates on universal human values, and I hope increasingly, on reflective practices that are useful to us all of us. Successfully building community around these values and practices is a harder nut to crack but we are slowly and steadily finding ways to achieve this alongside other progressive and universalist movements. I think humanist/nonreligious pastoral care and community leadership will have an important part to play in this.

Christian: So, you believe the ills of orthodox religion outweigh the benefits?

Humanist: Religion can help good people to be better but it can also make bad people a lot worse, as I said before. Good people choose to emphasise the kind and compassionate aspects of religion (the human-to-human morality I spoke of earlier) and they use it to improve our quality of life. Meanwhile, bad people take all the judgmental and despotic elements and use them to do far greater harm than they might have otherwise been able to do. Private religiosity, however, can be a very different thing to public religion. While the former may be comforting, the latter is very often quite the reverse. Most religions have helped those with power to form elaborate control systems in which many people have suffered oppression, subjugation and cruelty over hundreds of years.

I believe we will all be better off when humanity is free from traditional religion. However, we are just as much in need of ethical discussion and the reinforcement of morality through ritual, reflective practices, community and pastoral/spiritual care and leadership as we ever were. As we have seen in history, atheistic dictatorships are what arise when religious ideologies are simply replaced with political ones, and with rampant greed and materialism. We still have to attend to our ‘higher needs’, to our values, creation of meaning, well-being, self-actualisation and so forth in ways that best ensure our survival and flourishing in the long term. How I think we should go about all this is perhaps best left to for another conversation. I should be clear, however, that while inter-faith dialogue is great, I do not advocate any aggressive efforts to disabuse individuals or groups of their religious beliefs. That would be cruel and thoughtless, and certain religious group rights will need to be protected for a long time yet. My hope is that with greater access to information and education, however, the vast majority of people will eventually outgrow their traditional beliefs, and set about adapting and repurposing their stories, reflective practices and customs in accordance with a modern understanding of the world.

We must of course remain just as conscious as ever of nurturing and developing our spirituality; our thoughtfulness, wisdom, wellness and character, our sense of identity, meaning and purposefulness. My own spirituality, for example, is progressive and humanistic and just as vibrant as ever, and I take inspiration from the insights and practices of many of the world’s faith and philosophical traditions. I have no intention of throwing the babies out with the bath water when it comes to the world’s many religions and philosophies, including Christianity, and I hope that you at least feel somewhat reassured about where I have come to in my journey of faith, and why.

Christian: I believe I am reassured. It’s strange because I didn’t expect to be. I must confess I expected to find out you had experienced some terrible tragedy and become embittered and angry with God. I expected to find someone I barely recognised, someone who had regressed spiritually, but instead I found a much more confident, and if anything, more open-hearted, open-minded version of myself. It’s something I’m going to have to mull over until we meet again. I didn’t expect you to have such a positive and coherent worldview. I didn’t expect you to have grown so much outside the Christian fold. I didn’t expect you to be so kind, especially to someone you are presumably now embarrassed by. In fact, I’m rather sorry to have begun this conversation so full of assumptions…

Humanist: It’s okay. I understand. I was there, remember.

Christian: I’ve just got one more burning question though that can’t wait. What happened with your prayer life? Did you just stop praying one day?

Humanist: I just naturally moved from praying to a supernatural being, to understanding that my prayers were simply a way for me to express my deepest feelings and desires, and a way of thinking aloud. They became a form of meditation and reflective practice. Without wanting to offend you in any way, I’m convinced that prayer to a supernatural being is an act of self-deception, or put more positively, a feat of the imagination which is hard to sustain, hence why so many religious people struggle to pray and go through dry periods where they just can’t. It’s especially hard when people come up against the indifference of the universe to their individual needs and desires, and when life is unfair and cruel, because whatever excuses we make for him/her, it implies God has either abandoned us or wishes us to suffer. When I was able to be honest with myself, I admitted that prayer had always felt rather like talking to myself, or talking for the benefit of myself and anyone I was praying with, rather than talking to an all knowing, all powerful being. The God part had always been a work of the imagination, which was often faltering.

It’s the same with belief in the afterlife. Most religious people know deep down that this is the one life they know they have, and if you observe them, you will find they live according to that knowledge rather than according to their proclaimed religious belief. Very few religious people are, in practice, willing to sacrifice their mortal lives or indeed even elements of their lives for the promise of an afterlife. People were more willing to do so in the past, when life was ‘nasty, brutish and short’, but only because they had much less to lose. Indeed, they often had more to gain from renouncing privilege, power, wealth and sex by joining a monastic order, or even from becoming a martyr if their lives were characterised by persistent poverty and suffering. For the martyr, the legacy one would leave, indeed the waves one would set in motion among those who lived on, was sometimes worth dying for. The reality is that we ultimately know that we do not know, when it comes to the supernatural and an afterlife, whether we choose to believe in it and create such things in our imaginations or not. And every intelligent religious person knows there is absolutely no evidence that prayer has any impact on events. It has even been confirmed by numerous experiments. However, it is clear that prayer can have a positive impact on the people praying because of its reflective nature, and the way in which it can help us to reinforce our values and positive character traits.

Christian: It’s interesting. I’m not sure I agree but I understand where you’re coming from. As you say, many religious people, at the liberal end of the spectrum at least, themselves accept that prayer changes the pray-er rather than any external circumstances. It’s also true that religious people are often beset with doubt because of the lack of evidence for much of what they believe and because we cannot apprehend God with our senses most of the time. I will think about everything you’ve said. I must admit it scares me. It’s uncomfortable, and I usually take that to be an indicator that God isn’t in it and that it is therefore something to be avoided. However, that’s just a feeling, and I know it could be nothing more than the superstition instilled in me by living in community with so many Christians! It’s going to take time for me to process everything but I will process it.

Just one more thing, do you have an entirely naturalistic world-view then? I mentioned dualism earlier but I don’t think you picked up on it.

Humanist: I think a naturalistic worldview is the only worldview we can have if we want to stay sane. As soon as people start thinking in dualistic terms they end up distrustful of more and more of what they experience with their senses, or of what they learn through reason and the scientific method. You end up living with a dark undercurrent of fear and superstition. Also, dualism in religion has been responsible in almost every case for denigrating nature, especially natures which do not conform to the rules of those in authority. It has created hell for a lot of people, not just the imaginary place many religious people claim nonbelievers will go to when we die but a real hell on earth of exclusion, stigmatisation, discrimination, oppression and abuse. It’s okay to explore your dreams and realms within your imagination but it has to be understood that these are brief indulgences and not a lens with which to view reality as a whole. You wouldn’t want to be plagued by your dreams and imaginings, or for that matter, the spirit-realm imaginings of your religious predecessors, morning noon and night would you? We can still enjoy the metaphorical and literary sense of things, while knowing that it differs from reality. I think having a naturalistic outlook is a much healthier way to view the world, and it comes with substantial psychological and physical benefits. It also affirms the way we are and not someone’s idea of the way we ought to be –  usually white, male and straight – with everything else seen as either inferior or an abomination.

Christian: It seems to me that many Christians in the West already have a largely naturalistic world view in spite of the fact they give theoretical assent to the existence of a supernatural realm. Many are deeply uncomfortable with the more superstitious beliefs and activities of Christians in developing countries and in Pentecostal and charismatic traditions. There does seem to be an internal contradiction there, with people believing 101 impossible things before breakfast on a Sunday but living according to scientific and rational principles from Monday to Friday, especially in their day job. I suppose I am one of those with a largely naturalistic world view, who baulks at those who want to go around praying away territorial spirits, exorcizing the mentally ill and other such nonsense. However, I tend not to think this is hypocrisy but rather, I deem God to be so powerful that as long as I am close to God I have nothing to fear from anything evil in a spiritual sense, and so I never waste my time thinking about such things.

I agree it is problematic to take an obviously modern, enlightenment-influenced theological approach while also claiming to be bible-believing, and thus I have never claimed to be bible-believing in that literal sense. I am aware that others, especially reformed Christians do make such contradictory claims without realising the hypocrisy in it. However, as far as I am concerned, theology evolves and grows over time, with the information and knowledge we gain about the world, and so it should. Then this being so, you will ask where exactly our revelatory truth lies – the faith communities and their teaching, prophecy and traditions, in the scriptures, or in a mixture of these. It’s difficult to answer that, I grant you, but then the faith has endured and evolved for thousands of years somehow or other!

Humanist: A couple of thousand years is nothing the grand scheme of things, not even in the history of our species, and besides, the length of time something has been believed in, in one form or another, is hardly proof of its truth, though it could be said to be evidence of people’s limited understanding at a particular time, or of a persistent human psychological need, and it can certainly be said that persuading people to believe such things was useful to those with most power and influence!

Christian: Indeed, it is as you say. I suppose in the end, if you are a good person who won’t exploit religious revelation for your own ends, it all comes down to a choice of how you want to live your life. If you like the stories and rituals of a particular faith and it ‘works for you’ as many people would say, then why not embrace it, especially if it gives you a community of which to be a part?

Humanist: I would also say why not, if it weren’t for the fact that so many of these rituals, traditions and beliefs, and the communities that sustain them, are so downright abusive in their sexism, homophobia and so forth. They are guaranteed at the very least to be stifling rather than nurturing of the talents of the majority of their people. The churches that seek to make everyone an evangelist are the worst because suddenly everyone has the same perspective and mission, and follows the same course of action and lifestyle with very little of the natural variation of expression that humans have in abundance when they are free. It is a kind of slavery.

I certainly felt stifled, especially as a woman, and as an intellectual woman with leadership and creative ability, life becomes particularly unbearable in those communities. Looking back, I can hardly believe I was once part of a community, which viewed me as a second class member (albeit a somewhat rebellious member), and which frequently denied me the voice and the respect I deserved. Like many other women, I could never have thrived in those churches as the person I am. I would have had to suffocate the vital and most essential aspects of my being to live a lie. It reminds me of the fallacy of Pascal’s Wager, a favourite among so many evangelists, an argument which doesn’t convert anyone but seems to have quite a hold over those who already believe. It reminds me of when I pointed out to one of them that it isn’t true that you wouldn’t lose anything if you lived a Christian life and it turned out there was no God – you’d have lived a complete lie and wasted many opportunities for a wiser, healthier, and more fulfilled life. Many of those I know who left the faith, still regret the many opportunities they missed and things they suffered because of believing traditional theology and being part of religious community. This is quite apart from the fact that Pascal’s Wager is completely presumptive and could be applied to a whole host of deities, and indeed, any magical being anyone chose to invent, and is therefore completely irrelevant to anyone who doesn’t already believe in Christianity. You realise all this even more, when you leave those communities and begin to build more authentic relationships again.

Christian: (laughs) I never thought much of Pascal’s Wager. It assumes you can force belief, and that forcing belief is actually a good thing, better indeed, than just being honest with yourself and with God. It seems like false belief to me, and worse still, an argument that implies false belief is better than no belief. But then, perhaps I’m not much better in your mind because, well, I’m not offended in the least, but I’m assuming living a lie is exactly what you think I’m doing right now. Is that true?

Humanist: I’m sorry to say that I do think it is the case to some extent. It’s why I felt it necessary to break free. It’s why I gave my final fond farewell to the things I once needed as a crutch, and to the people I once loved, who I knew would no longer accept me. It’s why I leapt into a future that at first seemed alien to me but which turned out to be as natural as a cup of hot cocoa on a winter’s night.

Christian: Is that how life is for you now… natural, free?

Humanist: Life continues to have trials and tribulations as it always did, of course, but yes, I am now as fully myself as anyone could be, as fully free and anyone could be, and embracing that human-to-human ethics and humanist spirituality that I have always sought, and which traditional religion once threatened to rob me of. You see, when I saw how Christianity, and the Christians I was spending so much time with, were actually hardening my heart, hardening it to the stranger, the nonbeliever, the drunkard, the LGBTQ community, and ironically, doing precisely the opposite of what the man they claim to follow allegedly commanded, that I had the sudden realisation that I needed to get out, fast, while my open-heartedness and open-mindedness were still, for the most part, intact. In those who stayed in, I still see the struggle, the desire to love others but the constant and simultaneous pull of traditional theology toward judging and condemning them. I still see it, and even more sadly, in some cases, I watched the latter attitudes become dominant and the person’s true humanity be buried so deep it can no longer be reached.

I want to ask you a question now, you speak of Christian community but don’t you recognise your loneliness? I remember it well but I suppressed it. Don’t you miss your family and, well, your nonreligious friends? I always felt lonely in those church communities, painfully so. The churches were mostly soulless cattle markets for controlling men in search of submissive wives, and women enamoured of enthusiastic young men preaching about love (laughs). No-one was really interested in getting to know each other and all of them were deceiving themselves into thinking they were part of a loving spiritual community. Indeed, they had even created a spiritual hierarchy of sorts among themselves, a pecking order, with those who considered themselves purest and wisest at the top. The toxic stink of that pretension and hypocricy was high indeed! I never found true spiritual connection there, though I did experience it with a few individual Christians here and there, outside of regular church, among those who happened to be as devout as I was. The relationships in church turned out to be far less authentic and far shallower than I had hoped. When I left, I soon discovered just how few of those people actually cared two hoots about me. I had gone to church partly out of loneliness and a thirst for connection like everyone else but the churches only exacerbated and prolonged my loneliness. Our society is lonely for a number of reasons but those places of faith are often lonelier still, for those who do not fit in.

Christian: I suppose I do feel lonely. Sometimes I find myself crying silently on the way home from church, hoping that my tears will be dried by the bitter Edinburgh winds. I confess that I feel struck to the core when you articulate so vividly and passionately the things that are going on inside me, even though I should jolly well expect you of all people to know them. I’m glad that you came, in spite of all the discomfort I’ve felt. I’m glad that I can reflect on these things sooner than I might otherwise have done. In short, I am grateful, but I need time, as I said. Do you think that in a decade or so I’ll be just like you?

Humanist: I don’t know. We cannot know, and we must be content with that, but know this, that I love you, my young self, even though you sometimes make me cringe when I remember your mistakes. I see you often in the young people I meet. That makes me sound like an old woman but believe me, by the time you reach thirty-seven, you realise you know a whole lot more than you did a decade or so earlier.

Christian: I can believe it! And I can tell you have a great deal more clarity of mind, no doubt because you are no longer plagued with the particular anxieties of early adulthood. I have wasted so much time and energy worrying about the future and dwelling on the past but then that is, I suppose, one of the universal follies of youth. Meeting you has given me no small amount of comfort. Now I’m imagining what you might be thinking about your current self when you are forty-seven! No doubt that thought has occurred to you as well. Ah, but I see you must go now.

Humanist: I’m afraid I must. Maybe we’ll meet again someday, if it’s not too disconcerting.

Christian: Maybe so, except that I thought you didn’t believe in magical encounters!

Humanist: Magical encounters are just fine, as long as they’re fictional.

Christian: (laughs) well Goodbye then…

Humanist: Goodbye…

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Why Unitarianism? Three Ministers Reveal All

unitarian church

Photograph courtesy of New Unity, a nonreligious Unitarian church in London, whose congregation is one of around 170 congregations belonging to The General Assembly of Unitarian and Free Christian Churches

1. Personal Inspiration

What personal experiences, authors, speakers and so forth, inspired you to train for ministry with the Unitarians?

Maria Curtis

I discovered Unitarianism in my mid-fifties, having been an atheist for most of my adult life.  I was familiar with my local Unitarian church as a concert venue where my singing group had rehearsed and performed. I started to look at the information leaflets and writing on the walls, noticed the absence of crucifixes, and thought, “What sort of church is this, where ‘all are welcome regardless of beliefs’?” At the time a difficult long-term relationship had come to an end and I was experiencing a sense of freedom. I had always been interested in spiritual approaches to life but was intellectually unable to adhere to irrational beliefs. The Unitarian church aroused my curiosity and I felt I had nothing to lose by attending a service. The service was led by a female minister who managed to combine a sense of irony with a prayerful seriousness; what she said was interesting, inspiring and uplifting.

I was hooked and have never looked back. I very quickly got involved in the life of the church, doing readings, setting up for services and making teas and coffees etc., and became a member and sat on the Committee. When the minister left, a group of members kept the church going. I was an experienced teacher and was working as a psychologist in education. I co-led some education programmes (engagement groups) and started taking services. There was no particular moment when I felt a calling – it was more a feeling that I was already ministering and wanted to train in order to make a better job of it. It was the ethos of the church that inspired me –  the fact that it was congregational; that the community was based on shared values rather than shared beliefs; that it was open-hearted and open-minded.

Claire MacDonald

Ministry mediates between the world of everyday experience and our hopes and dreams. It’s very cognisant of desire and disappointed hopes. I came to it through my childhood experience in a deep way, a way in which I also felt called to transformative theatre work in groups and with communities, which I did for many years. I was an eldest child in a fragmented, cash strapped family in which my siblings and I had to care for a dying parent in a family in which the other parent had left. That kind of experience brings the exigencies of life very close and invites you to ask big questions.

As an adult the calling was expressed to me by Rev. Elizabeth Birtles when I took a course in how to lead a service with two impressive Unitarian women — Sarah Tinker and Jane Blackall. Liz Birtles articulated for me the way in which a minister operates in a space between, a place where energies can be called forth, ragged hems mended and hearts stilled — through a practice of doing and being. That just called me to it. Unitarianism and Unitarian ministry has been the only ministry wide enough, deep enough and liberal enough to hold me personally. It has allowed me to draw on the Christianity of my childhood and deepen it with other religious and philosophical insights and a political commitment to justice and equality across race, class and genders.

In terms of who has inspired me as writers and thinkers — that too goes a long way back — Ivan Illich, the great Catholic liberation theologian and social thinker in his book Tools for Conviviality, which I read first in the 1970s has always been a spiritual presence, as has the theologian Mary Daly, brave, wild, radical, feminist, wordsmith and counter cultural thinker that she was. Karen Armstrong’s diligent attention to religion’s history, Nicola Slee’s Christa imagery and ritual sensitivity; Kwame Anthony Appiah’s commitment to conversation’s centrality to human flourishing; Mary Wollstonecraft’s prophetic imagination, and, personally, the great Unitarian speaker, minister and hymn writer Rev Andrew Hill, as well as Rev Andy Pakula who mentored me in ministry at Newington Green, Rev Ana Levy Lyons, my minister in Brooklyn, composer Meredith Monk who asked the great question for me as a performer — what is the difference between an audience and a congregation? Letty Russell for knowing the value of a round table — when I think of it there are just so many thinkers, writers, encounters, friends whose spirituality and political theology has informed me I can’t list enough of them here.

Andy Pakula

I do not fit the mould. I never have. I grew up in a liberal and rather secular Jewish family in New York. We celebrated Hanukkah (mostly for the presents) and Passover (the celebration of freedom), but we also had a Christmas tree, and Santa came and filled our stockings every year! I did not take to religion as a young man. Indeed, I was vehemently atheistic and anti-religious. I am still an atheist and, depending on definitions, I might still be called anti-religious; at least I am ‘anti’ the kind of religion fosters homophobia, transphobia, and misogyny, that promotes ‘us vs. them’ thinking, that insists that it knows the right answer – as if there is just one – that tells us what we should think, believe, and do, and dangles rewards and threatens punishment to get us to behave.

I chose to study science, earning a PhD in Biology and a Master’s in Business, both at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT). I went on to have a rewarding career in the biotechnology industry. As a scientist, I wouldn’t entertain any ideas that couldn’t be proven in a well-designed, objective experiment. So, when I found myself in a Unitarian Universalist congregation in Lexington, Massachusetts, it was a bit surprising to those who knew me, and to me as well!  My wife Miriam and I had decided to give it a try, but only for our young son’s benefit – or so we thought. Over the subsequent years, ever so gradually, that congregation helped me to recognise the potential beauty and power of people coming together to create community and to make a better world. Indeed, it started me on a path that led me to leave biotech and become a non-theistic Minister.

I began studying for the ministry at Andover Newton Theological School in Massachusetts: several years of academic training, followed by a year-long internship under the supervision of an experienced Minister. I was in the late stages of setting up my internship at an American congregation when Miriam announced that she’d been offered an exciting job (as the CEO of an internet retail fashion company) that would be a great step forward for her. Naturally, I was delighted – until I found out that this new job was based in London. ‘London? We can’t go to London! I’m preparing for the American UU ministry!’ I feared that it would be impossible for me to transition my ministerial preparation to the UK. However, the expected barriers fell like dominoes before me. We packed up and moved to what we expected to be our very short-term home – London.

The London Unitarian congregations of Newington Green and Islington asked if I’d be willing to fill in for a year, upon the departure of their shared minister. I was told that it would be considered a success if the congregation numbers were maintained. Happily, the congregation grew that year, and the church Committees asked me to stay on a bit longer. Two more years passed, with continued growth, from 35 members to more than 100. In 2009, when I completed my British Unitarian ministry training, the congregation formally welcomed me as their Minister. It had become clear to me that even though I hadn’t foreseen the fascinating twists and turns my life path would be taking, I was in the right place, at the right time, in the right vocation; and so looking forward to the challenges and joys to come. I do not fit the mould, and I don’t think any of us are meant to be shaped and manipulated to fit a mould – of belief, perspective, sexuality, or ability. We’re meant to be treasured as the people we are, and to be accepted, loved, and supported as we grow as individuals and join together to create a more just society.

Perhaps the most important experience for me was of truly deep and vulnerable community. This took place in various settings in and around Unitarian Universalism (UU) in the US. This experience is to me the most profound and even perhaps ‘sacred’ of encounters. My disenchantment with the world of business inspired me in the sense that it provided a clear example of what I did not want to do for the rest of my life! There have, of course, been many other experiences.

2. The Meaning of Ministry

What does being a Unitarian minister and spiritual leader mean for you, in terms of your personal beliefs, values and goals?

Claire MacDonald

Being a minister and being a Unitarian are two related but distinctive things for me. Ministry is a practice and a calling across faiths and contexts. It’s not defined by denomination, it’s a practice, a way of doing and being. I try at it, I fail, I fall, I try again. It is at the same time deeply joyful and scarily uncertain — it calls me to find resilience and to learn to swim when no resilience is possible.  It’s without goals in its best sense. It feels very connected to caring for the earth, to countercultural ways of thinking and doing outside conventional notions of ‘success’.

I try to ask the questions, value experience and not depend on established narratives. And yet, I think we are looking for the best models to live by, models that allow for the most generative kinds of human flourishing. So I am not a liberal in the classic sense — not all paths are equal for me. Spiritual leadership is simply two things, one is always being prepared to say that the ‘buck stops with me’. I am the backstop. And I simply try to walk the path, to walk with, not to fix or solve but just to be there.

Andy Pakula

I am committed to creating more love and justice in the world. This begins with community and works through community, so building healthy, loving, justice-seeking community is my highest priority.

Maria Curtis

I spent years of my professional life putting labels on children with special educational needs as a route to acquiring resources. I am very much against labelling people. One of my fundamental beliefs is that we should encounter “otherness” with curiosity and compassion. It is important to me to acknowledge that we all have prejudices – we all project our perceptions onto others – then we can work to counter them in an attempt to see the other as a human being like us. I believe we are all “equal in the sight of God”, but we find it very difficult to behave as if this were the case; we are all guilty of valuing some people more than others. Through our spiritual community we endeavour to support one another in seeing the divine spark within everyone.

One of my tasks as spiritual leader is to acknowledge human frailty and still maintain hope. We are not in denial about human stupidity and evil, but we know that is not the whole picture. I support my congregation in avoiding despair and retaining their capacity for joy amid the gloom and doom. For example, we can easily experience despair in relation to climate change but despair does not lead to action; we need to tap the wellspring of joy and gratitude at simply being alive amid beauty and loving relationships. This is the world we want to preserve for future generations and it is our responsibility to act to make the world a better place, rather than being mere bystanders.

3. Study and Training

What did your training involve and how do you continue to reflect on and develop your practice?

Maria Curtis

We used to have a Unitarian college in Manchester which was part of a federation of colleges of other dissenting churches. I did a two-year full-time course in Contextual Theology, alongside Unitarian Studies, which was taught separately. Because I was academically well qualified, I was allocated to courses from the MA programme although I had no background in Christianity. I enjoyed the courses but felt uncomfortable learning in an academic environment where one’s Christianity was assumed. I do not identify as a Christian and soon realised that the sort of philosophical discussion I had anticipated was only possible with my Unitarian colleagues and not the other students (and only some of the staff). We have recently created a new Unitarian College which is completely independent and can tailor courses to individual needs, a much better model in my view, and I wish it had been available when I undertook my training.

By far the most significant aspect of my training was the placements, the first under the supervision of an experienced minister and the second where I was the minister-in-training. I learned so much about congregational life and was able to reflect on my practice through my contextual theology assignments. I continue to reflect on my practice through a covenant group (a form of peer supervision), my District support group for ministers and my own minister’s support group in my church. There are two national meetings per year when all Unitarian ministers in UK can gather to reflect on and develop their practice. We also have an annual General Assembly where we meet with the wider membership.

Claire MacDonald

My accredited training took several forms. Firstly, I took a course in how to lead a service which tuned out to be much, much more than that. It was an opportunity to reflect and connect in ways that were transformative and allowed me to bring my existing practice as a performer, teacher and writer into an emerging context and share with others the experiment and experience of allowing what ministry might be to change us. It stayed with me and the people who did it with me stayed with me. I have Sarah Tinker and Jane Blackall to thank for that. Secondly, I was incredibly lucky to be invited by Rev Andy Pakula to spend a year at New Unity in Islington as his assistant and trainee. It was a wonderful year. I learned from him about family systems theory, and about how to be in a congregation, where your role is to be slightly set apart. I took services there monthly and I loved and love that congregation. I then trained for two years at Harris Manchester College Oxford in ministry. The focus was on formation, in an intimate conversational setting in which we wrote essay length pieces of writing on a variety of topics and shared those, reading them aloud and then through discussion. The afternoons we spent in discussions were very deep indeed.

At the same time, I undertook a pastorate in Oxford and led services monthly as well as a book group. I also studied in London over two years for an MA in Abrahamic Faiths at Heythrop College, a Jesuit foundation, which was among the deepest and most challenging and interesting intellectual contexts I have ever taken part in. I already had a PhD in a different subject. I was a university teacher and was also running an MA while I was training but this was very challenging. The MA focused on the violent impact of modernity on the three Abrahamic faiths and the ethical, political, spiritual and cultural questions which emerged from that. I had teachers from all three faiths.

In terms of continuing reflection – yoga, prayer, getting myself out of the way, trying, failing, listening to God, finding God in the small things. There’s nothing special. My practice is everyday life. In a sense it’s the heightened awareness of life’s brevity, of that very short horizon, of living with insignificance. I am a yoga teacher and writer. I still work in the arts. It is very important to me though that the MA aspect of my training was so intellectually deep. It gave me strength and depth and connected me to the the writings of others through history. I felt as if I was being taken by the hand from somewhere very deep down and just hauled to the surface of the water, learning to swim.

Andy Pakula

I was trained both in the US and the UK. In the US, with the Unitarian Universalist Association (UUA), I was required to do a Masters of Divinity degree which was 30 modules. It covered theology, history, preaching, ethics, scripture, world religions, pastoral care, community systems, and much more. I was also required to undertake three hundred hours of Clinical Pastoral Education, which I did in a hospital, and to carry out a yearlong full-time internship in a congregation. In the UK, I was required to learn more about British Unitarian history and theology. Ultimately, as an atheist serving a non-religious congregation, I found much of the theology and history to be not very relevant to my practice of ministry. I have learned far more doing ministry than I did learning about it.

4. Liturgical and Reflective Practices

What liturgies, rituals and reflective practices feature in your church’s services and events?

Claire MacDonald

As I understand it, liturgy originates in the order of things, the way we do them. Simply meeting weekly for reflection and sharing is a practice that has become essential and which is at the heart of community and congregation. That Sunday morning hour is an expansive moment. Its a pause between one week and the next, a collective breathing in and out, a point of recognition of who we are. We do some meditation, we sing at times, we read poetry, we light candles for the world and our own lives and we share the joys and hopes and losses and pain quite formally, and in a context that is confidential. We do that to recharge and support our commitment to change. That change is an essential aspect of ordering our daily life on ethical principles and values. Everyone matters, we commit to love and kindness, we admit to failure, we appreciate what we dont know, we use and value reason, we accept and value difference.

At my own community meeting house in south London we embrace many paths to spiritual growth and we do it in a strong and questioning way. We experiment with ways of connecting through arts and poetry, song, meditation, story telling and practical work gardening, cooking, sharing meals, going camping together. We also try to work/walk through the seasonal year and its festivals, which are often tied to the big Abrahamic faiths as well as older, earthier insights and practices. The road is made by walking, as the poet Antonio Machado said. This Sunday we are doing a water gathering service using the bringing and mixing of waters to tell the stories of our summer and our hopes for what is next. Artist Amy Sharrocks, who created the Museum of Water, is joining us. Personally, I also lead and design rites of passage, and conduct weddings and funerals in which I help people to create those in appropriate ways for them. I am also interested in rituals as effective acts, or performative utterances. I am leading a weekend workshop at the Live Art Development Agency at the end of September on blessing and cursing for art practitioners. I like that cross-over.

Andy Pakula

We don’t do much in the way of liturgy to the extent that this is meant to mean a repeated set of words and phrases. We do have rituals. There are those (such as candles of joy and sorrow, lighting of a candle, and rising in communal song) that we repeat weekly. There are others that are infrequent and some that are devised for specific situations. Our meetings begin with a ritual check-in with the prompt ‘how is your heart.’ The meetings end with a check-in of ‘likes and wishes’ to express what each person liked about the meeting and what they wish could be different in the future. The meeting finally closes with a ritual where each person in turn takes the hand of the person to their left with the words ‘I place my hand in yours that we may do together what we cannot do apart.’

Maria Curtis

Services begin with the lighting of the chalice, the symbol of our free faith. I often incorporate candle lighting ceremonies in my services where individuals from the congregation can light a candle (tea light), offer a silent prayer or speak to the theme of the service. I sometimes have mini-discussions where people can share their experiences in small groups. We have very little in the way of a set liturgy, but my services generally follow a structure that I’m comfortable with, sometimes known as the “hymn sandwich”. Every service would contain hymns, readings, prayers and silence/meditation. I have also used film clips occasionally.

An example of a recent District Meeting that I hosted: A service – plus – workshop on a theme of Active Hope, based on the ideas of American Buddhist and eco-warrior, Joanna Macy. We sang, we prayed, we gave thanks, we lamented, then we discussed what we had done that had actually made a difference, however small, to the welfare of the earth.  Contributions took the form of lighting a candle and speaking and sharing in small groups. All who attended (about 35) made a contribution and I believe felt empowered by the end of the ceremony, which took about two hours. Once a year, I lead a service to which members of the local community are invited. A couple of years ago, this took the form of the Great Get Together on a theme of Unity to commemorate the life of murdered MP Jo Cox. This year, the theme is Food and we’ll be looking at the recent UN report on farming and climate change; food poverty; food waste; recycling, etc.

5. Matters of Identity

Would you describe your ministry as Christian? Or, in other words, how does the Unitarian church’s Christian heritage feature and inspire current Unitarian communities and yours in particular?

Andy Pakula

No, not Christian. My own background is secular Jewish. My congregation is mostly agnostic or atheist. We draw wisdom and inspiration from secular and religious traditions. Christianity is no more important in this way than other major world religions.

Maria Curtis

A small minority of my congregation would describe themselves as Christian; most would not, but there is enormous variation in theology and beliefs among Unitarian churches and chapels. Having come from a very humanistic church in the south of England, I had quite a shock when I went to train in Manchester and encountered congregations which were predominantly Christian. I certainly do not identify as Christian; I can make no sense of Jesus being the son of God.  I find some Christian ideas such as Original Sin and the Atonement abhorrent.  I am not interested in claims about Resurrection. However, I am attracted by the ethics of Christianity, as conveyed in the gospels.

I sometimes describe myself as a follower of Jesus –  the radical who stood against hypocrisy and was committed to social justice – but I am also inspired by the Buddha, Socrates and many other mystics, philosophers and poets who seek the truth. I cannot assume that everyone in my congregation believes in God. I regarded myself as an atheist for years but would not do so now.  I no longer find it helpful to think in terms of belief or disbelief in God. In the course of a service I may use many paraphrases for the concept of God, eg, the Divine, That which is of highest worth, Love, Creative Spirit, etc.  At the beginning of a service I would always explain our Unitarian stance, saying that we respect the Christian tradition from which we emerged, but glean insights from other faiths and philosophies, as well as from literature and science. Above all, we are open hearted and open minded, and that means we must be ready to change our minds in the light of new evidence.

Claire MacDonald

My ministry does not look for Christian answers, it doesnt use the Christian story or the Christian message allegorically but it listens to what ancient stories have to tell us, and I am moved and creatively charged by them. I share with Christians a sense of the strange, essential, resilient mystery of Christianity. Christianity is a conversation, and a process, and a spirituality the institution of church is quite another thing. Unitarianism began in a moment of political dissent from the established church and I value the way in which it has moved towards a conversation between reason, science, knowing and unknowing, and an embrace of wider spiritual traditions. I also appreciate its commitment to ministry as a dynamic practice though I see that as in a sense more a rabbinical role than a priestly one — since Unitarianism is non sacramental.

For me, it’s more a question of culture than belief. Being married to an American Jew I have spent many years as a participant in Jewish liturgies, seders and practices, which I have come to love and appreciate. I have also come to see more clearly the ways in which I remain culturally, and in my heart, Christian. It has me emotionally — I know its stories, I know its part in my personal development from childhood, I know its shape and its depths. I have also been affected and informed since my teens by liberation theology. That movement, to always walk towards the margins, to always side with the poor, to side with those for whom the world is in a state of collapse, that is Christian in ethical practice and it takes a deep, steady sense of the worth and value of Christian theology to go there, and I have also learned from women practitioners and theologians across faiths — Ana Levy Lyons, my Jewish Unitarian minister in New York, the writings of Jerusha Lamptey, who is a muslim theologian at NYU, and, very recently, from the Palestinian scholar and activist Liana Saif who is taking part in my blessings and cursings workshop. In recent years the beauty and insight of Islam has been instructive for me. That is an ongoing journey.

6. Building Community

How do you build local community and accommodate a range of personalities and beliefs?

Claire MacDonald

This is huge question. By doing, listening, modelling, respecting, embracing… Ministers have a place at the table that is unique. It allows us to take part in a very wide range of community activities and spaces. That is very important. I think we need to offer respite, space, pause, and I think we need to be very clear about our values. Building community in times like these is very challenging indeed. Accommodating people is not what I see community doing, its more to do with finding ways to allow and enable people to ‘just be’ but also providing a strong sense of what we side with and commit to — people can be with those values as process and engage with them as part of a journey.

I am reminded all the time that Unitarian communities and congregations are ecological systems and I am thinking about what the ecology of a community means in difficult times, how resilient a small system can be. Religious movements encourage people to bring all the baggage we carry with us into the space. We don’t just bring our dressed-up selves but ourselves in pain and need. I find that challenging and I find it breathtakingly honest at times. We bring our grief and upset to the table, and in the current political spiritual ecological crisis I have begun to see that they are not negative, they too are tools we have to work with. The trick is to keep breathing, to learn to step back, not to judge, to accept where we are. I don’t find it easy at all. I find it extremely challenging at times. I have to remind myself that failing and falling and making fools of ourselves is all part of how we find new growth in the world we live in. Religions accept that we are broken, and that we strive for wholeness. At times, in a mosque, in a synagogue, in a temple, in a church, I feel we can breathe, let down, as if we step into shallow water together with bare feet, just to be here. That’s the challenge, to be here. As Tich Nhat Hahn says, our true home is in the present moment. ‘The miracle is to walk on the green Earth in the present moment / to appreciate the peace and beauty that are available now. It is not a matter of faith; it is a matter of practice.

Andy Pakula

I came to the conclusion some time ago that it is better for a congregation – and especially a minister – to be one thing well rather than try to be all things to all people. The Sunday Gatherings at New Unity are non-supernatural. They don’t deny the existence of supernatural forces and entities but speak to the core religious message of love and justice. Our words and practices place responsibility for the world and for our relationships upon human beings. This is not to say that other people and views are not welcome or included. All are welcome. Many who hold supernatural beliefs find much that is inspiring and sustaining at New Unity and – since we don’t try to deny or disprove their beliefs – they feel free to read their beliefs into our message.

Maria Curtis

We are a welcoming community which offers hospitality to all. We model respect in our interaction with one another, including tolerance of difference in our relationships, which then radiates out to the wider community. What holds us together as a spiritual community is our shared values. These are reinforced through regular worship, where we gain strength from participating together, and through shared activities where we extend our hospitality and charity to other groups. Together we share our joys and sorrows, leading to cohesion as a community.

7. Rewards and Challenges

What are the greatest rewards and challenges of your work?

Maria Curtis

The rewards far outweigh the challenges. Compared to life as a professional in the public sector, my life as a minister is pure joy. I have the autonomy to focus on what I feel is most important without having to worry about resources or statutory deadlines; I used to be part of a bureaucratic special needs machine, whereas now I have considerable freedom. True, there are deadlines, and one loses weekends, but apart from the work around the Sunday service, I can prioritise where to focus my time and effort. It is a real privilege being able to serve a congregation and focus on what really matters in life; a big responsibility, too, as people share their deepest feelings with their minister.

I am very comfortable in the role of “holding” the congregation during services as well as holding individuals and small groups. I bring transferable skills from my experience as a teacher, psychologist and counsellor which I enjoy using, but, beyond expertise, it is the use of self, just “being there” for others, which gives me great satisfaction. I enjoy the intellectual challenge of coming up with ideas for services, choosing readings and structuring the service for maximum impact. I am someone who enjoys writing and researching but my perfectionist streak means that I probably spend too long on these activities. Too much time spent sitting at the computer is one of the downsides of this line of work but the pressure is coming from me, not anyone else.

This may seem a strange thing to say, but I really enjoy conducting funerals.  I feel at my most therapeutic when I am supporting people in coming to terms with their loss. I think it is very important to make the funeral ceremony a positive experience. By that I do not mean denial of the finality of death or sharing fantasies about the afterlife.  It’s all about acknowledging the pain of loss and working towards acceptance of death. I endeavour to convey the personality of the deceased in a way that rings true for the mourners so that they can celebrate a life and say goodbye to their loved one. It is such a privilege to conduct funeral services for people when they are at their most vulnerable and be able to offer them comfort and support.

If I had to summarise ministry, I would say it is about bearing prophetic witness – to injustice, dishonesty, hypocrisy, etc, – while acknowledging with gratitude and humility the sheer privilege and joy of being alive.

Claire MacDonald

There are so many kinds of rewards in community. Being in there, in what I call the dirty water of passionate commitment to human flourishing, connected to where people are in vulnerability and resilience is rewarding. There’s a lot of fun involved, a lot of letting go of what doesn’t matter, a lot of attention to where we are. The challenges are also very big. Some of them are the usual — funding, making our spaces beautiful and safe, offering gatherings that are connected and meaningful, not making it a to do list, not overdoing it, listening. There are others patriarchy and unconscious sexism, the passing off of privilege as liberalism, the lack of real diversity in liberal congregations, the challenges of race and class, the need to meet emerging sexualities and identities with authentically and actively, all of that.

There is also a fear of taking responsibility that is very challenging, a desire not to rock the boat, an aversion to risk, a narrow minded clubbiness. Shall I go on? Church hurts. I am in a ministry group across denominations and its the same everywhere. The trick is to keep breathing, to learn to step back, not to judge, to accept where we are. And yet to hold to values and principals. I’m also prepared for failing and falling and making fools of ourselves, in things not going well, and in tears and temper and falling out — because this is how we find new growth in the world we live in. We bring our pain, grief and upset to the table, and in the current political spiritual ecological crisis they too are tools we have to work with. I am reminded all the time that Unitarian communities and congregations are complex ecological systems and I am thinking about what the ecology of a community means in difficult times, how resilient a small system can be, what makes it special, what gives it shape, makes it distinctive, gives it life? Churches are very challenging places because we bring our whole selves, and that is really powerful. We don’t just bring our dressed up selves but ourselves in pain and need. I find that challenging and I find it breathtakingly honest at times.

Andy Pakula

The challenges are few and the rewards many. The challenges for me really come down to my own passion. I want to do more each day than can fit. This comes from the fact that the work is so rewarding and important. Ministry is the best possible job. My work is to help people and help them make a better world. It is to help people to love one another. It gives my life meaning and purpose and aligns with my personal mission.

8. Unitarian Visions

In your view, what should the Unitarian vision and practical emphasis be, going into the future?

Maria Curtis

Our priority should be to engage with others who share our values, with people of faith but also humanists and anyone else who takes life seriously.  There are so many big issues to confront that we need all the help we can get. I am less interested in putting energy into preserving Unitarianism than in gathering like-minded people of compassion together to make the world a better place before it is too late.,

Claire MacDonald

Living it. Caring about an enriching spiritual life as everyone’s right. Not worrying about growth. Not getting into bed with the remaindered business model that churches are finding so appealing at present but siding with ecological, counter cultural thinking, how to collaborate, how to let go of old systems, how to model in the way we work together the kind of society we would like to be.

Andy Pakula

I believe Unitarianism should be a diverse collection of congregations. These congregations will have distinct perspectives, approaches, and diverse beliefs. Each would be authentic and avoid the pitfalls of trying to please everyone. Each congregation would be outwardly focused – intent on meeting the world where it is and providing what the people of today need.

9. Working with Others

What organisations with similar values and goals do you collaborate with?

Andy Pakula

We collaborate with Extinction Rebellion, Citizens UK, Humanists UK, and dozens of small non-profits.

Maria Curtis

Local, national and international interfaith groups. Local ecological groups. We have created a South-East Climate Alliance group.  GreenSpirit, a national group of which I’ve been a member for a while, brings together people from a range of backgrounds who care about the earth. Society of Friends (Quakers). Ironically, the group we have least contact with in my area are Christian churches; Churches Together will not collaborate with us because we don’t believe in the divinity of Jesus. Greenpeace.  Amnesty International.  Local Refugees group.  Extinction Rebellion.  Local recycling/repair groups working against waste.

Claire MacDonald

I am committed to internationalism so I collaborate with, visit and partner with Unitarians across the world. That includes feminist Unitarians in Transylvania through my friend Reverend Eniko Ferenczi, and with friends and fellow Unitarian ministers Meg Richardson and Gabriella Lettini at Starr King College at Berkley, who teach counter cultural pedagogies based in transformative inclusive theologies. I am a writer and arts practitioner as well and am part of the Culture Declares Emergency movement working on the climate crisis. I am in LIF, the Lewisham Interfaith Forum. I am a committed arts activist and work with arts organisations such as the Live Art Development Agency. They are based in an old Unitarian mission in Bethnal Green and create collaborations across all kinds of groups. I work with SimpleGifts, the Unitarian social action centre, also based in the same building in Bethnal Green. Actually, I will pretty much collaborate with anyone. At the moment I am planning to collaborate with Magic Me, which is also an arts-based organisation in Bethnal Green.


Rev. Dr. Claire MacDonald

Claire MacDonald is a Unitarian minister with Lewisham Unity in Catford, South London. She is also a writer, with a background in performance, who is committed to what she calls ‘writing beyond belief’ working in social change and art contexts to explore new ways of doing, being and meaning through conversation and collective practice. As an activist, she is committed to the idea that radical change originates in culture, and that art, like religion, operates at the moving edge of experience, always edging into what is just beyond what we think we know. Claire has recently joined the Secular Liturgies External Advisory Board.



Rev. Dr. Andrew Pakula

Andy is a Unitarian Minister at New Unity, a Unitarian congregation with two centres in north London. Under his leadership, the church has hosted a series of annual lectures by prominent public figures, to address “a topical or important aspect of liberty, reason and ethics”. The Richard Price Memorial Lectures have invited Evan Davis, the economist and BBC presenter, to speak on media and dishonesty; psychotherapist Susie Orbach, to describe “Frankenstein’s Bodies Today”; and literary critic Terry Eagleton, to analyse “The New Atheism and the War on Terror”.

It may interest readers that Andy was involved in a controversy when he was invited to appear on the Today Programme, BBC Radio 4’s flagship morning show, at the request of guest editor Sir Tim Berners-Lee, inventor of the World Wide Web and a Unitarian himself. Berners-Lee had wished him to present the segment within the programme known as “Thought for the Day” but the BBC hierarchy claimed this was not appropriate, since Andy describes himself as an atheist. Instead, he was allowed to deliver his message an hour earlier, as an “Alternative Thought for the Day”, with a theistic Unitarian minister appearing in the actual TFTD slot.



Rev. Dr. Maria Curtis

Maria has been Minister of Horsham Unitarian Church since October 2014, after training at Unitarian College, Manchester. Prior to ministry, she worked in social work, teaching and academic research, and for over twenty years as an educational psychologist.

Maria is shortly retiring from congregational ministry but will continue to serve the Unitarian movement with a focus on ministry training. As leader at Horsham Unitarian Church, Maria developed a Green Spirituality group, which is open to the community, with the aim of “bringing people together to celebrate life and consider how best to nurture the earth and all her creatures”.

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The Secular Liturgies Real History Project

We hear a lot about ‘fake news’ and it’s malign influence through social media. Well, over the last few years, I have been observing the increase of another phenomenon on social media – fake history. Many individuals and groups are using spurious, far fetched and downright deceitful accounts of history in order to try to justify their prejudices and promote harmful political and religious ideologies.

History has always been manipulated in this way but academic history has over the last seventy or so years established large bodies of evidence and evidence-based historical accounts which maintain a strong degree of objectivity. In spite of all the nuances discussed in countless articles about the objectivity of history (or the lack of it), there simply are a great many things, which we can safely say are true beyond reasonable doubt. Also, it isn’t difficult for anyone with some basic critical skills to determine when an author hasn’t done their due diligence in researching the claims they make or when he or she has an axe to grind and, therefore, an obvious bias.

Part of the problem is that historical research has not successfully filtered down into general knowledge or cultural awareness in the wider population. History as taught in British Schools has long been very limited in its scope and inclusivity and arguably still is, hence the recent women’s history and Black history initiatives which have sought to redress the balance.

Since it isn’t possible to police the internet, nor should it be possible, the best way to respond to the flood of fake history is surely to foster an environment where there is so much ‘real history’ of a strongly objective and scholarly standard (both in terms of journalistic and academic articles), that the majority of people simply won’t be able to actively avoid or remain ignorant of the truth very easily.

As a historian, I feel a deep sense of responsibility in addressing the ‘fake history’ problem. I have been alarmed by the frequency at which I am meeting people who have been taken in by fake historical accounts, and who when challenged, resort to saying things like ‘well everyone has their own version of history don’t they?’ More worryingly still, I have come across a number of articles published and shared by individuals and groups who might, on the surface, look to be allies of Secular Liturgies Project but who have resorted to answering lies and misinformation with further lies and misinformation of their own.

Much of the fake history I have encountered on social media promotes a right-wing ideology with its accompanying white supremacist and misogynistic tendencies. However, the political left have also been guilty of using the same methods of deceit. Then there are the many traditionalist and fundamentalist religious groups who have mastered the art of bending history in their favour, and on the other side, a few bitter apostates who have chosen to do the same thing in order to vilify and dehumanise the religious.

The Secular Liturgies Real History Project has a simple objective, which is to encourage as many people as possible to share on social media as many scholarly and accurate historical accounts as possible, especially on subjects that are frequently misrepresented by fake or misleading articles. These should be shared with a clear Secular Liturgies Real History hashtag (#SecularLiturgiesRealHistoryProject) and a link to this blog so that people can see a movement growing, learn about it and join in should they wish to. These articles should preferably explore an area or aspect of applied history, in other words, useful history that is relevant to the issues and challenges of the present.

It’s so easy to read a good article and not to think of sharing it. However, it only takes a moment to share something worthwhile across your networks, and it just might help someone to learn something important that they didn’t know before or challenge someone to rethink their assumptions and prejudices. It only takes good people to do nothing for evil to flourish, as the saying goes. Spreading knowledge and understanding increases the resilience of societies and communities against  persistent attempts at propaganda and indoctrination.

All articles shared in the name of this project should conform to scholarly expectation. If I or anyone else catches something being posted on behalf of this project that does not, they should call it out. If you would like to take part but do not know how to evaluate sources online, there are many guides produced by universities which can help you. Here’s a link to a good one produced by one of my Alma Maters, the University of Edinburgh:

Evaluating Evidence: A University Guide

Once you are familiar with these principles and have a bit of practice in applying them, you are equipped with the basic research skills required to join in with the project. Also, you can always seek advice before posting when you’re not sure about an article. Debates over points in articles shared for this project, which are controversial in terms of their accuracy, are welcome.

I am going to start sharing some articles via the Secular Liturgies Facebook Page to get us started!

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Marching for Change by Anastasia Somerville-Wong

“The Secular Liturgies Network is not affiliated with any political party or movement. However, we are deeply committed to secular values of freedom, equality and democracy, and as individuals, we take our political responsibility to defend these values seriously. We seek to further the cause of global economic and environmental justice, with the understanding that international cooperation is urgently required to achieve those ends. In my humble opinion, the United Kingdom can best contribute to these goals if it remains in (or eventually re-joins) the European Union as an active and influential member. However, it wasn’t for this reason alone that I participated in the March for Change in London on the 20th of June. It was also an opportunity to stand in opposition to those who seek to erode our hard-won rights and freedoms, and against all who are determined to exploit the British people for their own financial and political gain. I joined thousands of others in sending a message, loud and clear, that the upwards of 48% (and rising) will not be ignored.”


Marching for Change

I woke up at 4am having dreamt up a political slogan but after cobbling together a sign out of flipchart paper and permanent marker, I was too embarrassed to reveal it. Let that be a lesson to you. Never recreate something you dreamt about, before your critical faculties are fully engaged, and without the proper equipment. The message was far too earnest, not to mention vague, and exactly the sort of thing an academic might be expected to come up with, which made it impossible to carry out of principle. It was what I ought to have said, rather than what I really bloody well thought about the whole sorry state of the nation. I folded it away in my bag, just in case I had a change of heart. I never did.

As I skipped down the road towards the rendezvous point, I felt wonderfully subversive and rather like a child again. Perhaps activism would suit me after-all. Watching it was certainly an exciting prospect. It had been a while since I’d witnessed such an event in person. Indeed, I had avoided demonstrations for a few years, in order to preserve the innocence of my children while they were little. Surely, they didn’t need to be exposed to the cruelties and tragedies of the world before they’d even enjoyed it enough to establish some secure moorings. Also, I had never been an exhibitionist, apart from on one occasion in my youth when an overzealous host made the mistake of refilling my glass a few times too many while I was engaged in deepest conversation, the result of which was that I mooned at the assembled company for reasons I have never been able to ascertain. Since then, I had made myself present, and heard, on many a controversial occasion but shouting and fist waving is hardly the pursuit of a gentlewoman such as myself, even a financially distressed gentlewoman with much cause for complaint.

Only if I were sufficiently disguised by some form of elaborate costume would I consider making a vulgar display of emotion in public. It has been said, that Pentecostals and even Charismatics gave up on me during my years of religious devotion, even though I had rather a bad case. As far as I am concerned, two people in complete agreement is a cause for suspicion, more than two is downright sinister, especially if, god forbid, they become excited by the fact.

By the time I was seated on the bus, however, the enthusiasm had worn off and my mood was rapidly sinking. This may have been more to do with the disturbance of my circadian rhythm and an adrenaline crash than anything else, but at the time, it was the state of world affairs that was squarely at fault. We all knew it was hopeless, that the government just wasn’t listening, and that the narcissistic types to whom the country had been sacrificed were probably enjoying the attention. Conversation was fairly vigorous on the bus nonetheless, and it was pleasing to hear a variety of opinions, with little sign of the sinister conformism that so repelled me. The rise of racist and homophobic hate crime, the resurfacing of anti-Semitism and populist ideology on both the left and right, the spread of fake news and fake history, the problem of prejudice in general and how to overcome it – all were discussed with the vigour of those who still anticipated victory, albeit with a delay of a decade or so, or even a generation. There was a general feeling that we humans were in a worse pickle than ever before but that we weren’t quite a lost cause.

Someone asked if we could stop at the services with a Waitrose, a request which was received with sympathetic noises from around the bus. I smiled to myself, reminded of those who claimed these marches were ‘Waitrose on the move’ – the customers that is and not the staff! Were we really going to represent a middle-class elite? It was a ghastly thought, especially since there was much in middle-class British culture – or the lack of it – which I despised. Meanwhile, my mother piped up with an “oh no, we should stop at the one with the M&S. It has much better coffee.” There was a heavy silence indicating a level of disagreement on the subject. Understanding the possible direction this conversation could take, I hid myself from view as a precaution, taking refuge in the view beyond the glass. After all, my mother is a woman who has been known to complain about how common our royal family are, an opinion with which I have a degree of sympathy but would want to keep to myself nonetheless. There was clear consensus, however, on the revolting nature of service stations in general, with much pining for the famous Gloucester Services, with its organically formed, grassland covered eco building, and not forgetting its farm shop and edible garden!

There was a bit of a stunned silence when I mentioned how my sister had received rather a lot of anti-Semitic abuse over the years, due to her olive complexion and dark eyes, in spite of the fact she isn’t in fact Jewish. There are family rumours that our great, great grandmother was a Spanish Jew but I suspect family rumours don’t count. I’m not sure this revelation of the greater-than-some-imagined depths of our fellow citizens’ hatreds improved morale on the bus, nor my theory that the reason populism always returned was because, deep within humanity, there is a lust for trouble and even war; that in truth, many people liked rich ruffians and ruthless profiteers because they admired them and wanted to be exactly like them. No-one really wanted peace until they had tasted the pain of war for themselves. Peace was boring. Being an arsehole was much more fun. “Good for them”, I’d hear people say, when I told them about the greedy and unscrupulous behaviour of those in the ERG – the ‘bad boys (and girls) of Brexit’.

Indeed, while I was still reeling, not to mention fuming from the ears, at Boris Johnson’s assertion that the quarter of a million pounds he gets a year for his piddling articles in the Telegraph was mere chicken feed, these morons actually revelled in it. They were too simple to see, that just like the ‘American dream’, extreme wealth only comes true for a miniscule number of people who are born into privilege and have good bit of luck on their side. There are very few cases where someone very rich has worked their way up from nothing, fewer still who have anything that could be described as noble character, and the handful of people who do work their way up have to at least be intelligent enough to capitalise on the opportunities they get. Therefore, while the vast majority of the stinking rich have got there by exploiting other humans and the planet, by being scumbags in other words, those who admire them will never share in their spoils. Far from it. They will remain poor and stupid their whole lives, however nasty and selfish they are.

I’ve heard it said that many working-class people in Britain voted Tory and Brexit because they would rather be ruled by people who are overtly increasing inequality and serving themselves, than by those whose policies would help close the wealth gap, some of whom happen to be a little hypocritical at times (far lefties from privileged backgrounds come to mind here). That’s like choosing to be operated on by a willing local butcher, who readily admits he’s not all that au fait with human anatomy among other things, just because you caught the qualified surgeon smoking and over-eating on his day off. We all have our vices and contradictions but there are degrees, and besides, how can you celebrate immorality when it comes to one group of people, while roundly condemning it in another? It was the kind of argument that made one want to pack up immediately and live as a hermit as far from so-called civilisation as possible.

When we arrived in London, we had coffee and slices of pizza at a café in Hyde Park. We had alighted there in order to use the facilities and had queued accordingly, but listening to the sounds of someone violently retching within one of only two adjacent cubicles in a cramped subterranean space, was enough to make someone, however desperate, tighten the sphincter one last time and find alternative arrangements. I had been feeling rather jolly again at the sight of dear old London but the sound of vomiting echoed in my subconscious, renewing my world depression.

We stood baking steadily in full sun for what seemed like an age, as an unbroken stream of urbane and cheery protesters spilled out of the underpass in Park Lane carrying signage that couldn’t help by raise a smile, even in sullen and despondent cases like my own. Someone with a mic regaled us with the news that we would be joined by a Boris Blimp and a six-foot high model of Nigel Farage carrying puppets of Boris Johnson and Jeremy Hunt. This increased our sense of anticipation but the latter construction turned out to be a disappointment. I didn’t even recognise the giant Farage head when I first saw it lying on the pavement awaiting the erection of its body, because it was, if anything, better looking than the man himself. In an effort to create a caricature, someone had actually managed to create something flattering, which says a lot about the particular difficulty of the task. It meant that for a full ten minutes or so, I was wondering whose head this was supposed to be and why on earth I did not recognise it.

Then we marched. My abiding memory of this part of proceedings, was not the coarse and incessant chant of ‘bollocks to Brexit’ (hardly the cleverest of slogans!) but the point at which the march temporarily ground to a halt, and a nearby Scottish woman managed, rather impressively, to channel the full outrage of those north of the border into an impromptu and impassioned speech. The angry of Scotland would have been proud. Disregarded by the vilest human produce of England, and about to be stripped of their European citizenship, they had every right to be incandescent. Several English marchers were chiming in, saying they were tempted to move to Scotland in order to get away, and in some cases, promising to join the movement for Scottish independence once they got there. Having lived in Scotland for thirteen years, I was quite sure an English exodus across the border, even a liberal and socialist one, wasn’t quite what the woman and those she represented had in mind as a remedy for their current predicament! There was much sympathy for Scotland and Northern Ireland among the demonstrators, on account of their remain majorities, and much rage was vented on the subject of bitch-faced Priti Patel’s appalling suggestion that Ireland should be threatened with food shortages in order to force them to drop the backstop. No doubt she and her cronies would love to see Ireland starved into submission, just like in the old days!

Meanwhile, I was rather consumed by an altogether different kind of nostalgia. I had grown up in Ealing, in West London, but had lived elsewhere since late in the year 2000, visiting the capital rather less frequently in recent years. I had almost forgotten the glorious splendour of the place. It occurred to me, that if it wasn’t for the ill effects of the city’s pollution on my health, I would live there now. After all, it is hands down, the most inspiring city in Britain, both in terms of its buildings and its people. It is a place so diverse that barriers and prejudices are broken down just in the course of a day’s encounters, and consequently, counter to popular opinion in the provinces, it is one of the friendliest places on earth, especially when compared with other cities of comparable size. There are places where people think of themselves as friendlier but these are generally the kind of places where the bestowal of such affection is highly selective, and where incomers are shunned. The nine million strong population of London, while they may not like to look at each other on tube trains, are exceptionally agreeable in public houses and bars, and when you really need assistance. One gallant fellow walked me for twenty minutes across London on an occasion when I found myself horribly lost in unfamiliar parts! Having said all this, there is undeniably a downside to the sheer quantity of humans contained within London’s boundaries. I was reminded of this every time I found myself in a queue, since they were invariably a mile long.

At times I felt like a tourist, struggling to remember where or what anything was, and wishing I’d brought an A to Z. Having lived in Scotland for thirteen years and the South West for six, my identity as a Londoner had somewhat faded, and while I was keen to restore it, I was also acutely aware that I am a product, not just of a London upbringing but of all these islands, having a rather illustrious Scottish heritage as well as an Anglo-Saxon one. And, in the run up to Brexit, I had managed to get Irish citizenship for myself and my younger son, courtesy of an Irish grandmother. My loyalties are thus divided, and it occurred to me recently that I am in the unenviable position of being hated, potentially at least, by almost everyone in these islands for one absurd reason or another! I had always felt international to the core since I were a child. If that made me an elitist ‘croissant waving citizen of nowhere’ then so be it. I shall wave my croissant with pride!

My mother, now getting on a bit and feeling worn out (this being her seventh anti-Brexit demonstration), had decided to short-cut the remainder of the march with the intention of joining the fray again in Parliament Square. The short cut was, of course, via a favoured watering hole. My world depression eased a little as we cut across Green Park. We were consoled by the presence of the magnificent London plane trees. However, my mood lifted entirely when one of those rough macho types with nothing between the ears (complete with bimbo on the side with nothing between hers), called me a traitor as he passed by us in The Mall. It opened up the thrilling possibility that, if there was enough testosterone in the opposing camp, today might be the day that I finally get a proper excuse to punch one of these idiots in the face. I’d had a thirst for this kind of violence since seeing Suranne Jones’s Anne Lister punch her attacker in the BBC adaptation of Gentleman Jack. Since then, I’d had the chance to practice on a firm pillow held up at either end by my two little sons who’d squeal with laughter every time I landed a blow, sending the pillow flying and the two of them folding onto their bottoms on the bed. I discovered I had a hidden talent, an impressive right hook.

My mother had advised me to conceal my flag and any other signage while separated from the main body of protesters but something primitive had moved within, and the receipt of verbal abuse compelled me to unravel my flag and display it as provocatively as possible, while simultaneously wishing I could war-paint my entire face with the British and EU flags side by side.

We ended up in a café in St James’s Park, soaking up the soft southern sunshine and the scent of wild flowers. In the end, it was nearly three o’clock by the time we got to parliament square, and I was feeling somewhat guilty for what might be seen, quite unfairly of course, to be a shameless display of champagne activism. Once we got there, we listened to a couple of good speeches but we’d heard it all so many times before. Our minds wandered. Then there were the desperate sounding presenters and march organisers jumping around the stage trying to whip up the crowd with such cringeworthy nonsense that, for a moment, I wondered whether the event had been hijacked by lunatics or counter-protesters in disguise. We were relieved to find that, evidently, the intelligentsia in general don’t do mass hysteria but it was too much for us to bear nonetheless, and we were forced to retreat into a nearby pub.

We hot footed it down Tothill Street and fell on our feet in the Pie and Ale House. A single table became vacant just as crossed the threshold, a rare find on a summer’s evening, with numbers considerably swollen. We found ourselves pressed up against a couple of marvellous signs saying “remain, reform, rebel”, owned by two mature, Northern-of-origin ladies who, like us, had come from dwellings in the South West. Everywhere was crawling with protesters, and with London being sympathetic territory on the whole when it comes to things ‘remain’, most were still decked out in their badges, stickers, capes, berets, face paint and so forth. It didn’t look as though I’d be throwing any punches after all, and by that time, I was past indulging in such shenanigans. Nor had my fears been confirmed about our elitism, quite the contrary. The two ladies were slightly mischievous looking, which for me, was always a promising sign. They joined us, and a spirited discussion ensued about the finances and hypocrisy of various members of the ERG and Tory right-wing who sought to run the country. If I were a more superstitious sort of person, I might have suggested that Jacob Rees-Mogg, faux aristocrat and prize poseur, was in fact a reincarnation of ‘the serpent’ himself but unlike Jacob Rees-Mogg, I know where mythology ends and reality begins.

One of the ladies expressed concern that I might be upset about having been called a traitor. It was, after all, outrageous. There I was trying to do right by the land and society that nurtured me, while men such as my accuser were bent on undermining every good thing we and our predecessors had struggled for. There was indeed an enemy within – a body of people like that man who were cowardly and incapable of looking one in the eye – quite the opposite of anyone I’d met on the march. My feelings were unscathed, however, and I related the fact that in a moment of outrageous courage or folly, I had even relished the possibility of a fracas. One could not help but be angry with the privileged men and women who, out of pure greed and egotism, sought to dismantle everything that was really great about Britain, and with those who out of petty hatreds and profound ignorance, unthinkingly and slavishly followed them.

That evening my world depression lifted once more, not because anything had changed or improved in any way, but simply because in spite of everything, being among my fellow protesters had reminded me of a line in Max Ehrmann’s Desiderata, which runs as follows “…the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.” This 1948 poem is a favourite of my rather philosophical six-year-old son, and this being so, I went to sleep that night hopeful that we will see much more of heroism and high ideals in the coming months and years – more people like Gretta Thunberg and ‘the Squad’ among others, who are prepared to stand up for fairness, reason, cooperation and peace – and that by the time my children are launched into the big wide world, they will have the courage to do likewise.


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Secular Liturgies at the University of Oxford


Harris Manchester College, University of Oxford


Harris Manchester College, University of Oxford

On Wednesday 26thJune 2019, I travelled to Oxford to deliver a presentation on the Secular Liturgies Project at the Ministry Old Students Association (MOSA) conference at Harris Manchester College (University of Oxford). This was a gathering of 30+ Unitarian ministers from a variety of different backgrounds, all liberal, progressive or humanist in their approach, and including both atheists and those with some nondogmatic but nonetheless meaningful belief in ‘the transcendent’.

I was keen to share the aims and objectives of the Secular Liturgies Network and Forum with Unitarian leaders and thinkers, since I was sure they would have a great deal to contribute to the Secular Liturgies project in terms of philosophy and theology, reflective practices and rituals, and in particular, in terms of lessons learnt from their long-standing models of community building around these things. I had planned to speak and then to lead a creative workshop but the Q&A lasted an hour and we ran out of time! I have included the transcript of my presentation (below) but since it is very similar to the transcript for my previous talk, I will focus here on some of the questions that followed and the responses I gave.

The Q&A

Does your network welcome people who have a belief in the transcendent?

Yes, we have people who believe there might be something more than what we can sense, explain and understand with our limited bodies and minds but they are not dogmatic, superstitious or proselytising about it. Some members talk of ‘God’ as a personification, metaphor or superlative for all that is good in the world, and others will use the word to point to what they call the great or infinite mystery of the universe. Some are agnostics, in that they are open to the possibility of something divine in the supernatural sense but do not believe we are able to make any certain claims about it. Those who have a traditional theistic world-view, such as evangelical, conservative or fundamentalist Christians, Muslims, Jews and so forth, tend not to be interested in our network.

I aim to be as inclusive as possible. After all, there is much we still have to learn about the universe and what we call reality. I think this is the wisest approach, since people’s beliefs are so varied and changeable. Even the most rational people have superstitious thoughts and beliefs at times, and in fact, many nonreligious people still have superstitious and dogmatic beliefs, a small minority of them even more so than some of the less superstitious and dogmatic of religious people. This is because our beliefs and how firmly we cling to them has a lot to do with our psychology and innate personality and not just with our religious affiliations or lack of them. It is why we sometimes meet dogmatic atheists and thoughtful, open-minded religious people. A small number of people with no religious affiliation may still be very superstitious, and there are people who are very religious for whom superstition is a fairly limited part of their understanding of day-to-day events. Given the many nuances of belief and its often transient nature (and not forgetting all the contradictory people who attend spiritualist, Christian or other churches once a week but for the rest of the time act as if they don’t believe any of it), it is important to accommodate a range of people with a variety of viewpoints, albeit within a firm ethical framework that safeguards human rights.

In the light of what you’ve said, wouldn’t it be better to use the phrase ‘leaving behind rigid religious structures’ rather than ‘leaving behind dogma and superstition’ so as to be more inclusive? And, what about including people who aren’t rational, and making sure you don’t leave lots of people behind?

It is difficult to find language that communicates one’s meaning perfectly to absolutely everyone. The problem with phrases like ‘rigid religious structures’ and others that have been suggested to me is that in an effort to be more inclusive to one particular group, they end up excluding even more people in other groups, either that or they move into territory that is so vague as to no longer really communicate much at all to anyone. The phrase ‘leaving behind rigid religious structures’ may mean something to those religiously affiliated people who are beginning to do exactly that but it won’t mean much to the majority of church/mosque leavers who are fed up of exactly dogma and superstition, nor will it mean much to the millions of people who grew up or are growing up in nonreligious homes, many of whom see the appalling spectacle of fundamentalist religion around the world and fear for the future. The emphasis on leaving behind dogma and superstition is clearer and better communicates what we are about – education and scholarship, historical criticism, excellent science and so forth – even while we are open-minded, and to a point, flexible in accommodating the irrational aspects of our human natures. Most people understand that dogmatism and superstition are a major problem for humanity, even though they may, consciously or unconsciously, indulge in some of it occasionally themselves!

We need to be inclusive at grass roots in welcoming everyone into our communities, and treating everyone with respect and kindness, but equally, we need to be vigorous in teaching people, including and especially children, to think critically, to be aware of and to question their assumptions, and to get at the truth through reason and experimentation. As I said in my talk, reflective practices can help with this. People should be discouraged from taking the easy way out, by turning to supposed ‘revelation’, or in other words, by turning to religious dogma and superstition. Given the dangers that we face today with fake news, false information in general and the rise of extreme political and religious ideologies, this has never been more urgent. Rather than being tempted to dumb things down in community-building work, which can also be rather patronising and underestimates people’s capacity for understanding, it is worth trying to raise our society up. I must also make the point here that we should still have a great deal of respect on a personal level for those people who are superstitious or more traditionally religious but who nonetheless are doing a lot of good work for social justice, sustainability and so forth, even while we do not share their theology.

Given what you’ve said about the range of human belief and personality, as editor of Secular Liturgies, how do you decide what to publish and what not to publish?

Firstly, I am committed to maintaining the highest standards in terms of the quality and accuracy of submissions. I send pieces away for peer review if they are not in my field of expertise. However, the questioner was getting at what I include in terms of the beliefs expressed rather than in terms of the quality of the material itself. My view is that a good editor doesn’t just publish pieces that fit perfectly with their own opinions on everything, or just those submissions which appeal to them personally. I don’t have to like and agree with every single statement in a piece. As long as a piece has appeal for the network more widely and is compatible with the overall principles and goals of the project, it may express beliefs and views that are not necessarily those of the editor. I want to be challenged, after all, along with my readership, and I trust that people can think for themselves and don’t need me to provide an excessively strict filter. Therefore, I provide a framework within which there is plenty of room for exploration, challenge, and questioning.

The framework is nonetheless strong. Submissions have to be compatible with our key values and goals as expressed in my presentation. Just to illustrate with a couple of examples: I turned down a philosophical essay someone submitted, even though it had some philosophical merit (in places), because its entire emphasis was on undermining the idea that there is anything that could be said to be true at all. This piece was critical of religious truth claims but it also, along with its author’s accompanying message, was a clear (though unsuccessful) attempt to undermine our commitment to knowledge gained through reason, scholarship and science, and as such, I could not publish it. On the other hand, I do accept works in which authors express some nondogmatic beliefs in supernatural (or essentially mysterious) things, which I may not share. For example, in Connor Hansford’s recent piece of creative nonfiction, he expresses deep scepticism about the traditional Christian conception of a supernatural deity but he also mentions he has a belief in a “higher power” or “energy”, and in the ability of his ancestors to watch over him. I do not consider such beliefs to be harmful, or his work overall to be incompatible with our values and goals, since he is clearly not being dogmatic, superstitious or proselytising about his beliefs.

Why did you choose the word ‘secular’ for your project?

After a lot of market research, I decided ‘secular’ was the word the largest number of people were comfortable with. After all, in the UK, we are used secular spaces, with the separation of the state from institutions of faith. I liked the way that the word ‘secular’, rather than dismissing religious faiths altogether, implies a multi-faith as well as a nonreligious approach, therefore accommodating a greater range of viewpoints. This seemed very apt for a project that welcomes religious progressives alongside humanists, and which takes inspiration from the insights and practices of all faiths and philosophical traditions. Secular spaces have a neutrality about them, while also providing for everyone a firm framework of universal secular values based on reason, human rights and compassion. Statements of secular values are different from ideologies because the values are underlyingly universal, based on reason and evidence regarding human needs and wellbeing. They benefit and appeal to all humans, even while overlaid beliefs such as religious beliefs may sometimes suppress them. Secular values protect fundamental human rights and freedoms, ensuring all individuals are treated as equals, whether they be religious or otherwise, and thus they include the protection of every individual’s right to worship whatever they like as much as their right not to worship anything at all.

Can’t we end up being dogmatic about secularism?

It is a common mistake to think secularism and liberal values are just one more exclusive and dogmatic ideology. There is a tension of course, when individual human rights trump the rights, for example, of a religious group to practice their faith, but in such cases, there has to be evidence that a faith practice is harmful to certain individuals, and in societies where there is no large majority faith, the very existence of religious groups depends on the state upholding people’s individual rights to gather and worship as they please, against oppressive (or potentially oppressive) dominant groups and cultures. Ultimately, the choice we have in all societies, is between human rights based on liberal and secular values, or a tyranny of whatever the dominant political or religious ideology happens to be.

You mentioned the need to tackle issues of intellectual property. What is your approach to the use of objects, rituals and other heritage borrowed from other cultures?

I am very much for openness and reuse on condition that the context from which the ritual, object or work has been drawn is explained, understood and respected, and where authors and creators (either individuals or groups) are attributed.

(See my article on ethical re-use at, which also links to other helpful resources on ethical re-use.)

You say that you want to build bridges between the different progressive groups. Why don’t progressive groups cooperate and collaborate more already?

Ironically, there is a tendency for some progressive leaders to be overly dogmatic and to work only with those who agree with them on absolutely everything. There is also the perennial problem of the human ego, and the fact that some people like to build mini empires and wrongly view other progressives as competition. These are universal human problems! I aim to model a very different approach with the SLN&F, and you will get a clear sense of this open, reflective and self-critical attitude from what I publish. The reality is that no one group can do everything well, and so it may prove more useful to encourage the flourishing of a variety of movements and organisations with similar values and goals – which may come together on occasion – rather than to aim at any kind of deeper merging of movements. The SLN&F is looking to build bridges across groups and organisations and to look for potential for deeper collaboration on various projects but I am also aiming to support diversity rather than to push for any kind of uniformity.

The issue of community building is a really thorny one. Roger Ray, our guest speaker at the recent Secular Liturgies event, talked much of its importance for people’s health and wellbeing, and I totally agree. However, community building remains a very difficult thing to do in practice. It is enormously time consuming and endlessly frustrating because of all the facets of human psychology and behaviour we have been discussing. I am hoping to learn much from your experiences of fostering progressive community within your churches and congregations.

Recently, I found the time to reflect on my own vocational priorities in the light of the need for both what I call ‘priestly’ community builders and ‘prophetic’ publishers – those who do the day-to-day work of fostering community around shared rituals and those who read the times and question and challenge the status quo respectively. My current circumstances make it impossible for me to do both things well, and I find myself drawn primarily to the writing, speaking and publishing side of things, having an eye I’m told for original journalistic opportunities, good creative writing and for connecting up relevant research. I fully acknowledge, however, the great need for grass roots face-to-face community building, and while it isn’t my priority at the moment, I am willing to work in collaboration with others to create experimental progressive community where I live in Exeter. Part of my research, after all, has been to do with assessing the pros and cons of various community models and precedents, and it would be interesting to run some new experiments. I hope to work with Exeter’s humanists, Progressive Christians, Secular Buddhists and other existing progressive minded groups on this, if and when they are willing!

As someone who is sociable, while also being a little introverted (I enjoy being around people but need plenty of time alone to recharge my batteries) and as someone who has witnessed a great deal of petty squabbling and some more serious corruption in community settings, the prospect of community-building is a daunting one, and one that in our fragmented and technologically advanced society, seems almost impossible. However, we crave connection as much as we did in any previous age, and it is connection and shared experiences that make our lives meaningful. We are, after all, the most intricately social species on the planet, and possibly in the universe. Even the most extremely introverted humans crave that connection with others. Indeed, it is the loss of the community relationships we evolved to have, which is increasingly believed to be at the root of much mental illness and anti-social behaviour, not to mention the epidemic of loneliness and isolation. Therefore, we cannot give up on community and belonging, even while it seems elusive, and even while it’s construction and maintenance is fraught with difficulty and frustration.

Further Reflections on the Day

The question I had, which would have underpinned a creative workshop exercise, was one I left with the Unitarian ministers to think about in their own time. It ran as follows:

What could you contribute towards a Secular Liturgies Movement, firstly as Unitarians, and secondly, as individuals (in the following areas)?

  1. Philosophy and ethics
  2. Reflective practices and rituals
  3. Literature and other cultural heritage
  4. Creative writing and the arts
  5. Pastoral care and community models

I mentioned my plan to harvest answers to this question for an extended article to be entitled “An Interview with 30 Odd Unitarian Ministers!” I am discussing the possibility of this with the Rev. Dr. Claire MacDonald and hope it will come to fruition. I have also been encouraged to write a piece for The Inquirer, the Unitarian Magazine, so do look out for that. In general, I am looking forward to a closer relationship with our Unitarian friends as time goes on.

It was a delight to finally meet Claire, a Unitarian Minister and Thinker in Residence at the Live Arts Development Agency (London), after having met on Facebook some time ago when she came across my project and got in touch. It was inspiring to hear about the work and contacts she has in areas close to my heart – the spiritually and philosophically inclined arts, sustainability and progressive voices in Islam. I am very grateful for her invitation to speak at Harris Manchester College.

I am also looking forward to working with Paul Lindsay Dawson, a lay Unitarian leader at Westgate Unitarian Chapel in Wakefield, who suggested we hold a joint event there. It will be fascinating to see what grows from these connections. Exciting things are definitely happening in the progressive movement in general in terms of joined up thinking, connections between people and pioneering projects!


Dr Anastasia Somerville-Wong with Rev. Dr. Claire MacDonald

On a personal note, I had the opportunity to spend two hours wandering around Oxford; peering through iron gates into green flower-lined quads and down the central tree-lined walkway of the city’s botanical gardens, leaning over bridges to watch students and tourists punting up the river Cherwell, circumnavigating Christchurch Meadow and its enthusiastic young cricket players, and soaking up the history in the corridors and gardens of Harris Manchester College. There was a striking photograph in one such corridor, of Gertrude von Petzold (1876-1952), former student of the college and pioneering suffragist, distinguished scholar and well-known speaker, and the first woman to train for the ministry in England – an intelligent looking woman with a determined expression (see below). I enjoyed doing some further research on her once I got home, as part of my ongoing re-discovery of our lost and hidden heritage; the history of great women.

Thus, my day in Oxford turned out to be rather like a pilgrimage, in which my physical surroundings, as they changed, and as my perception of them deepened, began to reflect, and find themselves reflected in, my own inner journey. The presence of Oxford’s colleges, those imposing institutions of learning, made me contemplate my misspent youth, and how I would love to be able to go back in time and tell my younger self not to worry so much about everything but to instead focus on my studies – it would have been healing as much as anything else. I eventually found the confidence and inner tranquillity to learn at full capacity but it was rather late, in my mid-twenties, when I started my doctorate. However, it wasn’t a negative feeling I had, or even really a regret, since the city made me equally aware and grateful for all the experiences I had had on account of a somewhat nomadic and unsettled youth, and of what a great deal I had learnt from them all.


Gertrude von Petzold (1876-1952), photograph taken in 1904, at the start of her ministry in Leicester.

MOSA Conference Lecture Transcript

(Dr Anastasia E. Somerville-Wong at Harris Manchester College, University of Oxford, 26th June 2019)

Hello, my name’s Anastasia, and I’m Editor of the Secular Liturgies blog and up-coming Magazine. I’m delighted to be with you all at the MOSA conference, and am pleased to have the opportunity to introduce you to the mission and purpose of the Secular Liturgies Network and Forum of which I am also the founder.

A Post Religious Future

The idea for this Network and Forum grew out of my increasing concern that here, and in many other secularising nations, we lack a shared vision for a post-religious future.

If we are to succeed in building secular civilizations, which are culturally rich, sustainable, and resilient, we will have to invest a lot more in discussion, teaching and pubic engagement around secular ethics, and in the development of reflective practices that will help us to live better and more meaningfully without superstition and dogma.

British Social Attitudes Surveys show that religious affiliation has declined steeply and continues to do so. 50% of British people no longer identify with a religious faith, and many who do are non-practising, liberal or progressive. The percentage of 18-24yr-olds with no religious affiliation is significantly higher at 64%, indicating that rapid secularisation will continue.

Many nations are undergoing a similar transition. The world’s nonreligious are now the third largest group of humans, recorded as 16% of the world’s population in 2010, exceeded in numbers only by Christians and Muslims.

However, before we begin to hail the dawn of a new secular age, we must remember that birth rates are significantly lower among the nonreligious. Therefore, the percentage of world’s population which is nonreligious is actually getting smaller, and even in predominantly secular nations, while religious affiliation is declining, some religious beliefs, and superstition in general may not be. Movements in new age spirituality, Wicca, Modern Witchcraft and Spiritualism, for example, are gaining in popularity, especially among the young.

It is also true, however, that religious communities with high birth rates tend to be poorer with less access to education, so when it comes to power and influence, secular communities are likely to hold on to and increase their share.

The Secular Liturgies Network and Forum

In developed nations like ours, where traditional religion is rapidly losing ground, a combination of secular ethics and reflective practices has the potential to fill the void and provide a rational alternative to new age spirituality.

By the void, I refer to a proven decline in empathy and ethical engagement, a poverty and mediocrity of culture in some areas, and a lack of socialisation and social inclusion that has led to the epidemic of loneliness. These problems haven’t been caused by the decline in religion alone but the latter has certainly contributed to them.

While most of us here will be all too aware that traditional religious ethics, culture and community brought with it far too many of its own ills, there were aspects of faith and practice which instilled empathy and compassion, inspired great works of art and bonded people together in close community.

As a thinktank and creative hub, publisher and events pioneer, the SLN brings people together from across many secular, humanist and progressive backgrounds – to reclaim and repurpose the greatest insights and practices of the world’s faiths and philosophical traditions, to creatively express a common secular ethic, and to experiment with reflective practices that will enrich secular life and culture and make it more resilient.

The SLN publishes original creative works, including poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction, interviews with relevant experts/practitioners, and articles which communicate academic research to a wider audience.The first edition of Secular Liturgies Magazine comes out in Jan 2020, and will contain some of the best work submitted since I started the project back in July 2018. Some of these contributions will also feature in experimental liturgical events.

Our Network discusses secular ethics, reflective practices and nonreligious pastoral care. It is largely comprised of humanists, the nonreligious, and religious progressives from across many faiths and denominations. I have recently published interviews with a humanist senior chaplain who leads an NHS Hospital Trust, a humanistic Jewish Rabbi, a progressive Christian minister, a humanist funeral celebrant, and a spiritual director and pastoral supervisor in the Ignatian tradition. And, I am planning interviews with progressive Hindu, Muslim and Secular Buddhist leaders and practitioners. We also have a growing collection of original poetry and creative writing.

Our approach is inclusive and respectful of cultural and religious differences, as far as beliefs and practices remain compatible with the UN declaration of human rights and sustainability goals. After all, contrary to popular belief, values across communities of faith and unbelief are very similar, as is being revealed by the research of the Understanding Unbelief programme at the University of Kent. My approach is to emphasise what we have in common – universal human values – rather than what divides us.

The Nine Themes

Our secular liturgies and liturgical events are organised around the following Nine Themes…

  • Critical Thinking– truth, evidence, research, excellent science, responsibility
  • Good Life– character, empathy, wisdom, courage, virtue, kindness, compassion
  • Good Society– social justice, human rights, individual freedom, equality, democracy
  • Sustainability– our place in nature, green lifestyles, religious naturalism, biophilia
  • Health and Well-being– reflection, meditation, mindfulness, socialisation
  • Big Culture– cultural exchange, diversity, comparative philosophy/religion
  • Community– companionship, relationships, humour, fun, friendship
  • Life-Cycles– birth and coming of age celebrations, weddings, funerals
  • Seasons– annual and seasonal events following a secular calendar

Reflective Practice and CPD

Let’s take a moment now to look a little more closely at reflective practice…

Reflective Practice is a key part of CPD cycles for practice-based professionals, those such as teacher-educators and learners, leaders across industries, health professionals and environment or sustainability managers. Reflective Practice is the ability to reflect on one’s actions (and indeed one’s thoughts and one’s experience of the world) so as to engage in a process of continuous learning.

In reflective practice we pay attention to ourselves, noticing our assumptions, noticing thought patterns. By doing this we are empowered to change what we see, and even to change the way we see.

Many models of reflective practice have been created to guide reasoning about action. Those of you who have received or delivered workplace training in reflective practice will be familiar with names like Borton, Kolb and Fry, Argyris and Schon, Gibbs, Benner and Wrubel, Brookfield and Johns,Somerville and Keeling…

In the David Somerville (no relation of mine) and June Keeling model, as an example:

They suggest actively seeking feedback in the workplace, asking yourself and others what you and they have learnt that day, identifying accomplishments and areas for growth, viewing experiences objectively, empathizing aloud, recording your thoughts, feelings and future plans (in, for example, a journal), looking for emerging patterns, planning for the future, and creating your own future by combining the virtues of the dreamer, the realist, and the critic.

For many nonreligious people, these activities are no longer part of normal life, especially outside the workplace, and may indeed seem superfluous. However, for religious people, these (or similar) social and reflective activities are positively encouraged and integrated into the cycles, seasons and gatherings of religious life.

While we might not share the dogmas and superstitions of traditional religion, many of their institutions and traditions instil useful habits of reflective practice. These practices help us to discern what matters and what doesn’t matter so much, what is meaningful and why, what to love and what to hate… They attend to the life of the mind – to morality and virtue, to wonder and creativity, and to personal growth in knowledge, wisdom and character.

Reflective Practice in History

However, while scholars may have found precursors of reflective practice in ancient texts such as Buddhist teachings and the Meditations of Stoic philosopher Marcus Aurelius, they have barely begun to scratch the surface of all the lessons in reflective practice that the world’s many religious and philosophical traditions can provide.

Indeed, almost everything that is good in religion, or in so-called spirituality, is to do with rituals that facilitate individual and communal reflective practices.

We can learn, for example, from the way that religions give meaning, narrative and purpose to cultural heritage and the arts. Religions are able to connect almost everything we come across in life with our moral sense and with our identity, our loves and our losses…

The Philosopher Alain de Botton has done some important work in this area. He points out how our museums and galleries often fail to engage and inspire us because they fail to exhibit their art works and artefacts in ways that make them relevant to the passions and purposes of their visitors. I highly recommend his book Religion for Atheists and his TED talk on Atheism 2.0. I would add that museums fail, therefore, to reflecton their collections in ways that make them meaningful to us.

We can also learn a great deal from the way religious organisations conduct their reflective gatherings (for example, their liturgical services), and from their varied and reflective approaches to pastoral care. We can learn from the way they mark rites of passage, lifecycles and seasons and from the way they give meaning to our travels in pilgrimage. We can learn from their approaches to the scheduled or habitual contemplation of our actions and experiences, through journaling, prayer, meditation and the mindful or imaginative reading of texts.

Examples of Reflective Practice

For example, prayer may be seen as a form of reflective practice, like journaling or blogging, rather than as a real conversation with a supernatural being. The person who prays puts into words and a new context (sometimes a public context in religious services) their feelings and thoughts about the things they have heard about or experienced. In the process, they reflect on this information and experience in ways that can change their own attitudes and behaviours over time.

The production of creative works is also a form of reflective practice, since our creations arise from our observations, impressions and reasoning about what we experience of the world, of reality, of life and humanity.

Secular Liturgies as Reflective Practice

Thus, the process of creating secular liturgies is itself a form of reflective practice, as much as reading or hearing them is a means to facilitating reflective practice. By Secular Liturgies, I mean the writings and other expressions, such as rituals, meditations and creative art-forms, which are read or take place at private or public secular liturgical gatherings.

Secular Liturgies arise from and encourage reflective practice. They explore, celebrate and convey secular values, values of compassion, truth, freedom, equality, courage, tolerance and responsibility. They capture and communicate the latest information and research that can help to advance well-being and alleviate suffering. They make secular cultures more resilient in difficult times, and inspire us to meet our global challenges.

Secular Liturgies: A Broad Concept

While Secular Liturgies include, more obviously, writings and readings which are morally and/or intellectually instructive. They also include words, exhibitions and activities, which are indirectly helpful to us by creating spaces for reflection or socialisation, or by creating rituals which can instil healthy habits, practical wisdom and critical thinking.

“A story, a poem, a dance, the process of painting a picture, a journey, a piece of music, a period of silence, and even the shipping forecast- these may all be described as liturgy!”

Liturgies in Daily Life

‘Liturgical moments’ can of course be integrated into everyday life. They define and reinforce the values, goals and cultural identity of groups, from the tattoos and graffiti of youth subcultures, to the word-art found in the homes and workplaces of the aspirational classes. Therefore, the SLN explores ways of incorporating elements secular liturgy into home, working and leisure environments. We are thinking, for example, about the role of places, spaces and buildings in influencing (and being influenced by) liturgical events.

Our thinking is also informed by people such as Thaler and Sunstein, the Nobel Prize Winners in economics, whose famous book “Nudge: Improving Decisions About Health, Wealth and Happiness”, explained how environments can be created which positively influence human behaviours without us even being aware of it.

Goals of Secular Liturgy and Reflective Practices

So, the goals of our secular liturgies, reflective practices and secular liturgical events are to help us to do the following

Firstly, to question, learn and overcome our cognitive biases…by cognitive biases I mean of course the gap between how we ought to reason and how we actually reason. No doubt you’re familiar with the ground-breaking work done in this area by another Nobel Prize winner in economics, Daniel Kahneman, which you can read about in his book Thinking Fast and Slow.

Another goal is to help us engage with, teach and instil secular ethics. Reflective practices demand honesty, freedom, tolerance and equality, secular and humanist values, which often stand in contrast to those of religious power structures.

Secular Liturgies and liturgical events also help us to better appreciate the natural world and our place within it, in contrast with the way traditional religion so often sets us apart from our natural origins and even from the needs and pleasures of our bodies.

Secular liturgies and liturgical events enable us to enjoy our most pleasurable and health-giving psychological states; emotions such self-transcendence, mindfulness, wonderment, awe and love, which lead to positive changes in our thinking and behaviour.

And secular liturgies and liturgical events cultivate empathy and compassion for others, through the understanding of ourselves and humanity that comes from sharing stories and building relationships and community through meaningful socialisation.

A Diverse Network

The SLN connects those with shared values and goals but often very different cultural backgrounds and identities.

Our network consists of humanists, atheists, agnostics, free-thinkers, sceptics, the nonreligious, the ‘spiritual but not religious’, Unitarians, British Quakers, liberals from other denominations, and members of progressive religious reform movements such as Progressive Christianity, Progressive Hinduism, Progressive Islam, Humanistic Judaism and Secular Buddhism.

Together we can learn so much more about other cultural perspectives and gain a far better perspective on our own cultures. We can draw immense wealth from the repositories of culture and reflective practises that those from the progressive streams of the world’s faith and philosophical traditions can provide.

A ‘Big Culture’ Approach

We therefore take what I call a ‘big culture’ approach. This is a critical approach which sifts the golden nuggets of wisdom from the world’s philosophical and religious traditions, in terms of both their thinking and practice, leaving dogma and superstition behind.

We have to ask ourselves which parts of our inherited cultures – the literature, the objects, the rituals and traditions – conform to our secular values and goals, and which must be consigned to museums and archives? We must navigate through controversial issues of cultural remix and cultural appropriation, intellectual property and respectful reuse, and the engagement of marginalised heritages. I am especially keen to showcase aspects of marginalised heritages in our SLN events.

Progressive Religious Reform Movements

The Progressive Religious Reform Movements are ideally placed to offer up to wider society the positive and useful aspects of the faiths out of which they have arisen.

They have left dogma and superstition behind and are currently going through a process of repurposing their stories, traditions and rituals, and finding a new purpose and place in society. They are passionate about retaining, and indeed, reclaiming, the philosophical insights and practical wisdom they have inherited.

This is something the keynote speaker at our launch event on the 8thof June at Exeter Central Library explored in greater depth. Our keynote speaker was the Rev. Dr. Roger L. Ray, founding pastor of The Emerging Church and author of Progressive Faith and Practice and Progressive Conversations. His sermons reach an audience of several thousand through podcast and video and can be found on iTunes under the title Progressive Faith Sermons and on YouTube on the channel CCCSPRINGFIELD. Unfortunately, there was a problem with our camera mic on the day but if you have good hearing or sound boosting technology, do check out the recording of his talk, which is linked to from the 9thJune blog post on the event. He is shortly giving a similar talk in the US, which he intends to record, so there will be a better video available soon.

Call for Submissions

Finally, how can you get involved? How can you take part in this exciting mission? Well, apart from keeping an eye out for our experimental liturgical events which will be advertised via the website and social media, you can…

Join us in writing secular liturgy and choreographing innovative liturgical events along the Nine Themes.

You can send us your secular liturgical extracts, poetry, short stories, personal accounts and other creative nonfiction, short dramatic scripts and extracts, short films, art-works, music and cultural heritage content and objects.

You can submit articles relating cutting-edge academic research in relevant fields.

If you are a practitioner in a relevant field I would love to interview you!

And you can join our FB Forum and real-life Forum thinktank meetings, where you can… share ideas for readings from original creative writing, established novels, poetry, works of philosophy and other literature, and share ideas for reflective activities for secular liturgical events (e.g. new or adapted rituals, meditations, art-forms, films, community feasts, tea ceremonies, dance routines, multimedia, art exhibitions, songs, musical compositions and cultural heritage objects of the real or digital kind)


Harris Manchester College, University of Oxford

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My Week with God by Connor Hansford

It’s day one of my monastic getaway and I am sitting on an ordinary bench in a very extraordinary garden. I started to get interested in gardening before I entered the monastery, so I am able to identify some of the flowers I can see: there are some foxgloves, alluring but deathly poisonous; below them, cosmos, blue and star-like; on either side of the path delphiniums, blue and fluted; in the grassy area near the entrance to the garden are bleeding hearts, so-named because they look like… bleeding hearts; on the wall roses, full and red. Walking along the gravel, past the media building and the plastic likeness of the exterior wall of the grand abbey church, I can see fuchsias and myriads of other plants and flowers whose names are unknown to me. I sit down heavily on a bench a few metres from the canal and watch the midges and the pond skimmers dance and fritter in the setting sun. It is May, a week after submitting my final piece of coursework for university, and this is Buckfast Abbey – a nineteenth-century Cistercian abbey built on the site of a much older Cistercian abbey that was destroyed by King Henry VIII during the dissolution. That is to say his troops destroyed the original abbey: the King himself was busy fighting the French and impregnating various notables, then chopping off their heads. I think, as I listen to the birds and the far-off tumult of the River Dart winding its way to the sea, “God, I miss my family.”

Have you ever gone to a National Trust property – Chartwell, say, or Coleton Fishacre, both absolutely gorgeous houses – and thought, “I wish that screaming kid would fall in a pond and drown”, or “Christ, I wish those old buggers on the veranda would stop talking about Brexit and just piss off”? Me too. Well Buckfast Abbey feels rather like a dream in this regards: there are no bored children, no Conservative old biddies, no amateur historians declaring that they know this, that and the other: no, there is just peace. And it’s really pissing boring.

It’s my first night at Buckfast, the air is fresh and warm and filled with the sounds of birds and water, so why am I crying like a demented person? For the past three years Plymouth, with its hideous post-WWII architecture and myriads of overwhelming crazy people, has driven me almost to distraction. Couple this with two irritatingly masculine housemates, two rats and a leaking lead valley, and by the time I arrive at Buckfast I’m just about ready to drop. The monks’ gardens to the rear of the abbey church offer me a private sanctuary where I can shove off these mortal coils and get to grips with learning the names of birds and trees using the two Collins guidebooks I recently bought from Waterstones. The food, frugal but sufficient, is nice and filling: the window in my room is leaded so that when I peer longingly out over the wide drive leading from the abbey proper to the monks’ gardens, I feel like a Daphne Du Maurier heroine awaiting the return of her handsome piratical lover. And that’s precisely the problem. My boyfriend, Glenn, isn’t here.

Glenn and I have been together for two-and-a-bit years. Undeniably there are times when I wish he’d shut up and vice versa, but his absence from this place of peace and beauty is troubling to me, so troubling in fact that I start to violently weep. The reason: this place is like heaven, except its perfection is prohibited by the absence of my beautiful boyfriend and my lovely mum, Ria. A few days later, in the monks’ calefactory (or common room), I tell the administrator (interim abbot) who looks, incidentally, like a schoolmaster from a Kingsley Amis novel, “Surely a part of a thing’s wholeness, its perfection, is our capacity to share it with those we love”. I’m paraphrasing. The administer smiles knowingly, then says: “Sometimes even I miss turning to someone else and saying, ‘isn’t this beautiful?’”. That sums it up nicely. The gardens here are heavenly, Eden-like if you prefer, but the reason why Adam was not alone in The Garden was because perfection is attained through shared experiences, and because he needed to get a leg over in order to create the human race. Apparently. I love my boyfriend and my family, without whom even Eden seems… incomplete, imperfect. Incidentally one wonders how God – if he exists – could possibly oppose homosexuality when my first thought upon entering the monastery is: I miss my boyfriend. So there’s that.

Another reason why I went to Buckfast was because I thought that technology was having a negative effect on my mental health. I read a book, Ten Arguments for Deleting Your Social Media Accounts Right Now, and it got me thinking: maybe I should delete my social media right now, maybe just maybe Facebook and Twitter and Instagram are the reasons why everyone feels so depressed all the time. I think that’s a part of the reason, but I think there’s more to it than that. My bedroom at Buckfast had in it a walnut writing desk, a single, squishy bed, a wardrobe and that’s it. There were plug sockets, so I could charge my phone, but no Wi-Fi signal, so I was required to turn on my 4G, except when I was out and about. The accoutrements of most hotel bedrooms were noticeable by their absence: a TV, for example, and a clock radio. There wasn’t even a hairdryer: all the drawer of the bedside cabinet contained was a likeness of the Virgin Mary. Ditto the walnut writing desk and the mantel above the fire: the Virgin Mary, it seemed, was a common theme, to the chagrin of the trio of Anglican lay preachers who were also staying at the abbey. Apropos of my tearful revelation in the garden and contra to my misgivings about social media, my smart phone proved to be an invaluable bedfellow during the wee small hours when my enthusiasm was at its lowest ebb and I was beginning to wish I had brought something cheerier than John Wyndham’s The Chrysalidsto keep me entertained for the remaining six days of my stay. Social media, I determined, can be a problem, but it is also, first and foremost, a blessing. Without regular contact with Glenn and Mum, monastic life would’ve driven me quite loopy.

A couple of weeks prior to my stay, I wandered phoneless through Plymouth Central Park: I was alone and unimpeded, save for two aforementioned Collins guidebooks on trees and birds respectively. I looked down from observing a squirrel in the branches above me and saw two young people walking towards me, their heads bowed in supplication to their glowing mobile phones. At the time, I remember, I smiled wryly: my smile, innocent though it seemed, was, underneath, mocking and superior, as though I had never walked underneath a tree while idly checking my emails, etc. They could have been twins awaiting news about an ill relative, or students waiting to hear back about a job, or they could just have been on their phones for no other reason than because that’s what they happened to be doing at that particular moment. Who cares? As I said, without my phone, monastic life would have driven me quite loopy. I enjoyed the monks’ gardens and the walk along the River Dart, and these experiences were not tinctured by my phone. It is not the presence of these technologies that causes anxiety, but rather an absence of nature and the outdoors: I was calmer at Buckfast than I had ever been before. Why? Was it because God was in that garden?

Ah, God. I went to Buckfast for two reasons: firstly I wanted some peace and quiet where I could get on with some creative writing away from the distractions of Plymouth, and modern life more broadly. And secondly, I wanted to connect with something Other. In the car on the way to the abbey I told Glenn and my chauffeur for the duration, Josh, that the trick with experiences like this was to go into them open-minded, but not too open-minded. The man who is too open-minded may never leave a place like Buckfast: he may get swept up in the Latin and the theology and attribute his feelings of peace and oneness to a benevolent higher power, like the monks. This is a fallacy, in my opinion. I should like to make this clear: unless a person’s religious beliefs threaten to negatively impact my life or the lives of people I love, I think people should feel free to believe what they like. I judge not the monks of Buckfast for committing their lives to a rigorous and immovable schedule of eat, pray, pray, eat, pray, sleep, but it is worth remembering that gentlemen like these have a vested interest in self-validation. This was the phrase that came into my head as I followed the swirling robes of Brother Daniel into the monks’ calefactory after lunch on the third day. Just because a man is old and dresses a certain way, that does not mean that everything he says is gospel. As the administrator administered me with a cup of too-pale tea, I recalled the notorious Milgram Experiment in which participants electrocute other participants on the orders of a malignant experimenter, dressed in a white lab coat. As in Milgram, so in Buckfast.

“I felt more spiritual as a walked towards the abbey doors yesterday evening and saw the setting sun through the trees than I did in the church itself,” I told the administrator sternly. He smiled warmly and told me this was symptomatic of spiritualism “with a small ‘s’”. People, he said, are attracted to spiritualism “with a small ‘s’” because it’s easy and doesn’t demand anything of them. This, I am afraid, is bollocks. My family are descended from the Cree tribe of Native Americans, wherefrom derives my own spirituality and many other things besides. Native American cultures demand, first and foremost, that people respect nature: on this account, Christianity has been scandalously lax. “If there is a God,” I told the administrator, and this is a bloody massive IF, “then he is in the trees, the shrubs, the plants – God is not white stone, or gold, or what have you. You can’t find him by sitting in a draughty church listening to ten old men singing in Latin. If you want to know peace and harmony, you have to get outside.” I didn’t say that in as many words, but it’s what I think. The monks at Buckfast attend six services each day. This means that each of the 152 psalms is consumed over a period of one week. Guests of the abbey are not required to attend any of these services, except midday prayer, which takes place in a small chapel in the abbey cloister. There is one monk, an old man who cannot walk except by using a walker or a stick, who suffers from acute arthritis and deafness. As a consequence, he often shouts, “Oh dear”, even though his is a mostly-silent order and sounds of any sort reverberate like gunshots  in the heady stillness of the monks’ enclosure. On one occasion, another monk grimaced hatefully when his brother oh-deared during midday prayer, even though the service concerned love and charity and forgiveness, and I thought: what an absolute crock of crap. How can you preach love and kindness, then scorn an elderly gentleman for daring to exclaim during prayer-time? Bollocks to it. I looked at the crucifix on top of the altar and thought: that is nothing more or less than some metal, moulded to look like a cross. I was gripped, suddenly, by an unfamiliar clarity, as though a veil had been lifted and I could see the world clearly for the first time. One of the other guests, Keith, told me that the point of Latin mass was not to listen to the words, or to try and understand, but to allow the words and the melody to wash over you like a river. This, I reflected, was also bollocks. Some of the singing was relaxing, but not more than a song by Enya, or a ditty by Bieber, depending on your personal preference. And as for not understanding, it doesn’t work like that. If you represent an ideology and you want people to engage, then at the very least we should be able to understand what you’re saying, even if we are unable to understand what it means.

Another of the guests, Peter, told me that it was inevitable that the Holy Bible was replete with historical inaccuracies, after all the thing was put together piecemeal years after the fact. “What does it matter?” he asked. It does matter, of course it bloody matters, because if you can’t even get the facts right, then why the blazes should I entertain any of this other crap about angels and the devil, etc. And why oh why do all likenesses of Jesus resemble a hipster at a festival? He wasn’t white, he was from the Middle East. Peter tells me that Jesus’s likeness was borrowed from the Roman’s representation of the sea god Neptune, which reminds me: I’ve recently read Mythos and Heroes by Stephen Fry, and there are loads of similarities between Greek myth and Christian myth, Pandora’s box and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, for example. Coincidence? Obviously bloody not. Brother Daniel related the sad tale of monasteries that had been ransacked for non-existent gold, monasteries that heretofore provided essential alms and other supplies to the poorest people of the parish. Poof! Gone. Sad, true, but sadder than the Native Americans who were slaughtered for being savages? Sadder than the so-called pagans whose temples and beliefs were supplanted by this new and truer way of thinking? Not to my mind. And who can forget the innumerable sexual assault charges brought against members of the Catholic faith? Not I, that’s for certainty. Theists will say, “But of course it’s not perfect, nothing’s perfect”, but there is such a thing as being too imperfect, and to invalidate Native American spirituality in the way of the administrator is tantamount to a religious hate crime.

I thought that monks possess a kind of secret cookbook, which helps to prolong their lives past the bounds of reason: this, of course, is not so. The food I ate at Buckfast – trifle, spaghetti Bolognese, soup – is no different to ours: the difference, insofar as there is one, lies in the way it is consumed, frugally and in silence. Guests of the abbey are permitted to get up only once during the course of a meal. They then have to keep pace with the monks, or risk being stared down for failing to masticate fast enough. Lunch, the main meal of the day, is served hot by one of the monks in a Jesus-like display of humility and supplication. The feeling of fullness I experienced at the end of each meal was not linked to magic or to God, but to science and the fact that you will feel fuller for longer if you concentrate on eating, thereby synergising mind and body in recognition of the fact. Likewise, regular mealtimes aid digestion: obvious, right? There is no ‘the secret’. I came away from Buckfast calmer than when I entered, not because of God or a lack of technology, but because of the garden and the Eden it provided for creatures of all kinds: birds, bees, foxes, even spiders. I believe in a higher power and the ability of friends and family to stay and look over us even after they are gone, but I do not believe that this power, this energy, is any more accessible inside a church than it is outside in the garden. More and more I find myself drawn back towards so-called paganism: indeed, one of the guests, another Peter, confessed that a former member of his congregation left after receiving the cold shoulder following the death of her pagan husband. She asked Peter how “those people” could preach love and tolerance, then turn their back en massewhen she needed them the most. Religion does not make you a good person, nor does atheism make you an immoral person. If you do your upmost to be good and kind and tolerant and open-minded, then that’s enough for me, and if you’re going to worship anything, worship the Earth as my ancestors did. People spend their lives wondering: is it just Earth that provides or God as well, and for what? Meanwhile our time on this beautiful planet passes swiftly by with scarcely a “thanks for dropping in, see ya!” So make the most of your time on this earth and treasure what’s important, because the grass isn’t always greener on the other side and nothing lasts forever. And, whether religious or not, be kind to each other, for who’s to say the kid on his phone isn’t anxious or depressed, or that that ditzy shop assistant hasn’t just lost a loved one. The monks are right about one thing: the world is indeed filled with cruelty and evil, but it’s worth putting up with these things for all the good in it, so make the most of it, and if you ever stay at a monastery take more than one bloody book!

Connor Hansford

Connor Hansford is a stage-three English with Publishing student at the University of Plymouth who aspires to become a professional book editor like his hero Maxwell Perkins. Additionally, Connor hopes to one day start a small press in his home town of Dorchester where he also hopes to work on his golf swing and angling skills. Connor runs the University of Plymouth Journal INK and a WordPress blog which he updates sporadically called Memoirs of a Snowflake. Connor is a Quaker who is descended from a long line of Cree Indians.