Sunday, 31 March 2013

Let's get rid of the Atheists


WHO NEEDS TO BE AN ATHEIST?

Yesterday I awoke to the the News that George Carey, an ex-archbishop of something-or-other, was criticising David Cameron. Good, I thought, another voice against the evils of this government getting some coverage. What would he pick on? Just the general theme of the persistent attack against the most vulnerable in society, exemplified by the massive wave of unjust welfare cuts about to be implemented next week? Or something more specific? The bedroom tax? The destruction of the NHS in England? The war being waged against disabled people? The proliferation of food banks? There are so many to choose from.

And which of this raft of defenceless targets did he seek to protect? Christians. Because they are a "persecuted minority". Said the man with a protected seat in the state legislature (along with a bunch of his colleagues) during the bank holiday weekend given over to a religious festival. I've forgotten which religion that is, but maybe George could remind me? This is a group so persecuted that the head of state is also head of their organisation, has it's own shows on the BBC and is able to indoctrinate thousands of children through the medium of the oxymoronic 'faith schools'. I could go on....

I'm sure various churches do a lot of good work helping their communities. But many christian organisations, notably the Church of England, have ongoing problems with misogyny and homophobia. If they really were being 'persecuted' then maybe they should look in the mirror first and see if the reasons lie within. Should Mr Carey want to learn what it's really like to be part of a downtrodden minority, in this case one that he himself has contributed to oppressing, he might want to start with this article published on the same day his whinging was reported.  That's what persecution looks like George.

How many religions are there in the world? I saw a figure of around 4,500 and, although I've no way of checking if that's anywhere near correct or not, it does sound plausible. I know of no human society which didn't come up with some form of supernatural belief system as it developed. The moon, the sun, forests, mountains and rivers. Gods as animals, gods as humans, families of gods, single gods. Heavens, hells, reincarnation, eternal spirits. There are and have been so many variations and combinations of things people will set their stall by. What does this tell us? Whilst acknowledging that a proper answer to that question could fill a book, I can see two basic alternatives. Either there is some kind of supernatural force out there, and all these variations reflect human efforts to understand that fact from within their own social contexts. Or it demonstrates a fundamental need of homo sapiens to find explanations for the world around them. If the data isn't available then making something up will do. Stories are in our DNA.

If the former were true there is one thing missing. I'm not aware of a single belief system which sprang up, spontaneously, in more than one geographic location. Many have spread from a single starting point (often through military and/or political conquest, but that's another story....) and are now considered 'major' religions. If any of these were objectively 'true' I would have expected that their development could have taken place without that kind of external assistance. So at best it seems we can say they are all equally misguided.

Other forms of supernatural belief have come and (largely) gone. There was a time when most people in this country would have sworn to the very real existence of witches. There are still some societies where those beliefs remain mainstream and we saw how horrendous the implications can be in a case here last year.  

How many people in twenty first century Britain would say they believed in witches? Far fewer than 1% I'm sure. Does that make the rest of us awitchist? No, because we don't choose to define ourselves through our disbelief in something which was quite clearly made up in the first place. You won't find people calling themselves afairyists or asantaists, will you? So why do we need the word atheist? Isn't about time it disappeared and was replaced by  ..... I don't know, how about 'rational'?

So no George, there is no such thing as 'aggressive secularism' (it does sound a bit like people have taken to punching vicars, doesn't it?). There is simply the tide of history and the advancement of knowledge over ignorance. As science becomes better and better able to explain the world around us and the workings of the human body, so there is less and less need for supernatural explanations. This is not the same as saying that we no longer require our myths and stories, and religions can provide a part of that. But they should no longer be allowed to dominate and influence government in the ways they have in the past.

Far from being persecuted it's about time the church was disestablished and lost its state funding. Stop trying to fight a rearguard action and accept that you must adapt to a new, more secular world. Giles Fraser, one of your own, has it right, as he showed in this BBC interview recorded in response to Carey's statement.

So let's get rid of the 'atheists'. If religious people want to have their own labels then that's fine by me. Just so long as they can begin to accept that we are the default. We're what's 'normal' nowadays.


FOOTNOTE Having written the above I then read at item showing that some churches are making a stand on the important issues, a reminder that, even by christian standards, George Carey may just be the teensiest bit out of touch.....



Thursday, 28 March 2013

How I became 'that' mouse


LACK OF ALARM ALARM

I had an early train to catch yesterday morning, the 07:42 from Edinburgh Waverley to Manchester Airport (although I would be alighting at Preston). Most days (since my retirement) I'm barely awake at that time of day and if I'm thinking of anything it's about getting up to feed the cat and make hot drinks to bring back to bed. It certainly doesn't involve being on a freezing cold station platform.

So being there on time was a challenge from the off. But one I've met many times in the past (I can still recall the inhuman horror of 06:00 train appointments) so I felt confident I could recapture enough of my faded energy to make the deadline without a problem. Organisation, that's the key element. Prepare properly, know what has to be done, and build plenty contingency time into the planning. The important thing is to minimise the amount of effective thinking required during those unfamiliar hours because it's not going to be a strong point - is it?

So I did all that was necessary and/or possible the night before. Packed my bag. Laid out the clothes I'd be travelling in. Prepared breakfast. Put out the rubbish (I was going to be leaving the flat empty for about eight weeks). Set the alarm on my phone for 05:50. Getting up at that time would give me a chance to waken properly, do some stretches, get showered and dressed, feed myself and clean and tidy up before walking up to the station.
I thought.

Burns' "best laid schemes" injunction never fails because it's about human beings (and mice). And so agley they did go. All the aforementioned foresight let down through one small but crucially overlooked detail. When I set the alarm I chose one that I'd previously created. It was labelled 'Japanese GP' and I'd obviously set it to get me up in time to watch coverage of Formula 1 from Suzuka. Anyone familiar with Grand Prix racing may already be ahead of me here. Qualifying takes place on a Saturday, with the race on the Sunday. And so that was what this alarm had been designed to do – wake me up on those two days. Yesterday was a Wednesday.

I slept well. Which was probably a positive given what happened next. I woke, and gradually registered some degree of surprise that it was so light outside when it must still be before ten to six. Then I looked at the clock. 06:27. There followed a period that felt like several minutes, but was probably no more than two or three seconds, in which my brain processed this information, matched it with my expectations, and worked out the implications. SHIT!!

As you enter your forties I think most people begin to realise that their body changes with age, and most of it isn't for the best. You start to find yourself making strange little noises when called upon to complete tasks which once were performed without a thought. Like getting out of bed in the morning. Somewhere in that well honed machine that is your body there are bits wearing out, weakening, less able to twist and turn and perform as they once did. It takes time, but it's only going to get worse....

I'm in my mid fifties. I've a steady physical decline to look forward to, but the process has long since begun to impose itself on my consciousness and I know, from hard learned lessons, that making sudden or strenuous movements without warming up the relevant muscles is to invite trouble. Cats have got it right - have a really good stretch when you waken up. (Or even if you've been sitting for an hour....)

Heeding that advice didn't appear to be an option. Which is probably why, as I sat at my keyboard yesterday evening, an array of aches made me feel like a lump of unseasoned wood. The duvet was thrown back with considerably more urgency than I have managed in years. Forgetting to shave, I got myself into the shower and out again. Dressed. Started eating my fruit and cooking my porridge at the same time.

(There are people who, on reading this, would ask why I even bothered with breakfast in a situation like this. They are fools. Trust me, I know my body.)

I ate all I had planned to eat, albeit skipping a hot drink and failing to put any sort of spread on the pancakes - I can cut some corners when it comes to eating, just not many. The dishes got washed, my teeth were brushed, some basic worktop wiping performed and that would have to do. Coat on, rucksack slung on my shoulders, out the door and move as fast as my still-stiff legs would permit.

The notion of walking up the hill had vanished in the moment that the meaning of 06:27 had impressed itself upon me. A bus it would have to be. There are two I could take - the 16 or the 22. As I neared the traffic lights there was a 22 waiting to turn the corner. A much younger me briefly considered sprinting ahead to see if I could catch it at the next stop. My much older legs refused to countenance such madness. So I walked semi-briskly on, and saw a 16 pulling up. And away, long before I could possibly have reached it.

I'd got this far without panic so there was no point starting now. The 22 is famed for the frequency of its service and sure enough there was another along within a couple of minutes. Traffic being light at this ludicrous and unholy hour there were no hold ups and I was down Waverley Steps and perusing the Departures board in minutes. My train was there, on time and awaiting my presence at platform 15. I got on board, found my seat and settled in. Eight minutes to spare.

Who needs an alarm?

(I have no wish to repeat the wrong sort of alarm I experienced yesterday morning!)