Two days ago marked the anniversary of an important landmark on the road to equality for LGBTQ people. It has been fifty years since the Sexual Offences Act was passed, which partially decriminalised homosexuality in England and Wales. Despite great leaps forward for LGBTQ people, the last five decades have sadly not been an unimpeded march of progress: Only this week, Trump announced via Twitter that trans folk are no longer welcome in the US military. Meanwhile, Russia is denying the torture and murder of LGBTQ people in Chechnya. Despite all the progress made in some nations, the big and small injustices and indignities endured by one of the world’s most misunderstood and beleaguered minorities, continue apace.
So in light of all this, I’ve been thinking about how my own views on homosexuality have changed over the years, and I’ve been meaning to write a post about it for a while now. I’ve been remembering back to the homophobic attitudes I not only encountered when I was a Christian, but even held myself. People of all religious persuasions and none can be homophobic, of course, but most of my firsthand experience of homophobic remarks, attitudes, and actions occurred when I was a Christian. Read More
A couple of months ago, my mum told me that a colleague had confided a shocking secret to her: a man they both knew, who was well-known and respected in our community, had sexually abused this woman decades ago when she was a child. Although shocked, my mother had believed this woman’s account straight away, and had never doubted it.
I didn’t say so, but my horror at hearing that this man was a child abuser (thankfully now tried and found guilty) was mixed with my pride in my mum for believing the victim. I wasn’t proud of her just because she believed the woman, but rather because of the reason she gave for believing: “She came across as a very bitter person.” It might sound odd to say that I’m proud of her for that, but it’s because too often, someone’s bitterness is used as a reason to dismiss them out of hand. An example that springs to mind is that of televangelist Lori Bakker insisting earlier this year that most of the women who participated in the Women’s March on Washington had been abused as children: Read More
My fiancé and I had a visit this weekend from my aunt. She stayed for three days, during which we took in a few of London’s finest museums. I rate the Imperial War Museum very highly, but the Natural History Museum has got to be my favourite. We managed to spend a couple of hours there, at the dinosaur exhibition and the human evolution exhibition. For reasons I can neither comprehend nor defend I hadn’t ever seen the human evolution exhibition before. It was wonderful. To me, human evolution has got to be the most enthralling subject in the world. I’m exhilarated by the thought of having a connection to something so similar, yet alien; that mind-blowing sense of recognising oneself in something so physically and cognitively foreign. It is the same reason why, when people get to know about cephalopods, they become fascinated by them. I think it’s also why I love having pets and love learning about animals. And then there’s the great question of why we’re here and the other humans aren’t. How did we survive and thrive so well while they died out?
Three days ago, the centre of my wonderful home city, London, became the scene of a terrorist attack in which four innocent people were murdered and many more were injured. The aim of the attacker was to incite terror, so it was immensely satisfying to visit the centre of town the very next day and see for myself precisely how hard he’d failed. London is a huge and resilient city and, as always, the city centre was jam-packed with shoppers and commuters, tourists and photographers, buskers and dancing Hare Krishnas. Walking the pavements from Regent Street down to Embankment, I didn’t for so much as a moment remember to feel afraid – that is, until I approached Trafalgar Square. A sliver of anxiety ran through me as I saw that dozens of police vans and personnel in high-viz vests had formed a formidable ring around the iconic plaza, where crowds of people had come together to remember the victims. The police kept a protective watch as the crowd observed silence, lit candles, and gave strength to one another.
I’m a fan of watching formal debate. One of my favourites is William Lane Craig and Shelly Kagan debating and discussing the question “Is God Necessary for Morality?”. I was struck by how poorly Craig argued his case in comparison to his usual performances, but then the loosey-goosey format didn’t seem to play to his strengths. I’d never heard of Shelly Kagan before but after hearing his passionate defence of animal welfare I’ve decided that I probably love him. Anyway, the discussion made me think about some things: Meaning and morality, the priorities we hold, and the different ways I thought about them both pre- and post-deconversion.
At the outset, I’m content to admit that I either didn’t fully understand Craig’s argument because I need to listen to it again, or because of a divergence of perspective on what constitutes an adequate reason to care about morality that makes our respective understandings of this issue fundamentally irreconcilable. So if what I write appears to be a strawman, it’s unintentional.
After I “came out” as an atheist, I started noticing something about the responses I got from Christians. Here’s the kinds of things people would say:
“How sad that you don’t believe anymore!”
“Doesn’t it make you miserable to think that your life doesn’t have any purpose?”
“Wouldn’t you like to believe that there’s a God who really, really loves you?”
“But Christians are happier than atheists!”
It’s a bit of a paradox: people don’t really change, yet we are capable of huge, life-altering changes in our beliefs. I’ve previously written about the change in my beliefs and moral perspective on abortion. The biggest area of change, though, has been in my beliefs about the supernatural.
On Saturday I joined 100,000 other people in London, and over 3 million people worldwide, for the Women’s March. Like a lot of other people who took part, I’ve never marched before or even held a sign in protest before. And I’m sure, if you asked us newbies, we would have a variety of explanations for what the orange man in the White House had done to rattle us into action. Judging by a lot of the signs declaring that “This Pussy Grabs Back!” or some variant thereof, a lot of people were just furious that an unrepentant, self-confessed sexual predator had been elected to such a globally significant office. Other signs, such as those bearing the CND logo, protested Trump’s apparent love of the bomb. And still other signs proclaimed no particular agenda other than a general anti-Trump sentiment, such as the banner that proclaimed only one word: “Dickhead”.
And OK, fine. Dickhead, bellend, Trump stinks. Trump’s done enough to deserve all of these and more. However, the march organisers said it wasn’t specifically an anti-Trump protest, and frankly, I wouldn’t have shown up if the agenda was simply a festival of hate directed at one particular “short-fingered vulgarian” – there are, after all, plenty of terrible leaders in the world who warrant tens of thousands of angry people in the streets.
I think, instead, that Trump was just a catalyst for protest at the kind of politics he embodies, and the kind of world he and his administration – and so many other administrations worldwide – seek to create. In particular, this was a global protest against the global phenomenon of misogyny.
Just some thoughts about moral struggles and such.
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A few evenings ago I stood frozen in the dairy aisle of the supermarket, my mind racing, torn between two different butters. These innocent -looking little packs of rich yellow dairy produce had triggered a moral dilemma as my various values clashed and fought for supremacy. Read More
As a child, I loved Halloween. It wasn’t just all the sweets, or the dressing up, although they were big parts of why I loved it. It was the thrill of running around the neighbourhood in the dark crunching through piles of leaves. It was knocking on doors and meeting strangers. It was preparing and practising my song or joke or whatever I’d chosen to earn my handful of monkey nuts and mini Mars bars. And it was the closing in of the night as it grew darker and colder and spookier.
If October 31st fell on a school day, all the kids would come in dressed up in costumes. That is, until one parent objected. So as not to single out one child, this meant that all of us were prohibited from wearing costumes on Halloween. Somehow, I gleaned the information that the parent, whoever they were, had objected on religious grounds – and I remember wondering “What’s the harm in having fun and putting on costumes?”.
Over the years, I’ve learned that this parent wasn’t the only person to object to Halloween. I’ve encountered a number of people who think it promotes evil and immorality to children, usually (if not aways) on religious grounds. A good example of the reasons some people feel his way about Halloween can be found here, in an article by the Reverend J John titled ‘Six reasons why I believe Halloween is far from harmless‘, published in 2013 in The Mirror.
I thought I would have a go at defending Halloween, and explaining why I think it’s such an important and exciting holiday for children, responding to various arguments I’ve heard for why some people think it’s harmful. Read More