This is the fourth of my pieces on religion.

I write these words as the sun sets over the Solway Firth. From the window before me I can see across to Scotland, where Criffel rises gently to hide its peak among the flat bottomed clouds which shield it from an otherwise blue sky. It is Saturday 1 January, 1994, and it has been a crisp and clear day. Earlier I walked out to Grune Point where the cormorants' nest may be seen, out in the middle of Moricambe Bay. The air was still, and there were few other walkers abroad. On days such as this, in such a splendid location, one cannot fail to appreciate the sheer joy of being alive and being here.

But is there a hidden danger in such an idyllic setting? Can the overwhelmingly large inputs which bombard the senses in this area of outstanding beauty somehow distort one's sense of reality? I believe that we can fall victim easily to shifts of perspective readily arranged by our ever-active and imaginative brains, when we are at our most vulnerable at times like this.

As I look down over the surface of the water, a seagull skims the waveless millpond, its reflection warning it to maintain its distance. Oyster catchers follow the falling tide, and far away a small boat hugs the Caledonian coast. The pebbles upon the beach are arranged neatly in order of size, and near the water's edge the sand is flat and golden.

The spectacle is perfectly proportioned, and has the appearance of a masterpiece of organisation. The boatman is several miles away, steering his craft between the sand banks, and the seagull is much nearer. The boatman surely cannot see the seagull from such a distance, but I can see them both, following their every movement. I can see much more besides - houses and buildings are as dots on the shore opposite, and behind them the hills form a softly undulating backdrop.

It is easy to imagine that the entire scene has been designed for my benefit, and that of others like me. I agree that it requires a high degree of egocentricity to suppose that I am somehow better able to see than is my seafaring friend near the opposite shore (he can probably see dozens of seagulls which are too far away for me) but the temptation is strong. Such thoughts, however, did not push their way into my conscious mind until I saw something else.

High in the almost cloudless blue, just a few minutes ago, I caught sight of a shape which really had no business to be there. It was a near vertical cylinder of perfect white cloud, a spectral drainpipe illuminated in the westering sun, hanging without any apparent means of support. As I watched, I fancied I could make out the features of a wraith-like face within the cloud. It was positioned in the exact centre of my field of vision, and I imagine it would have been directly above the boatman. It was more or less at that moment that the central heating boiler, hung on the wall in the kitchen behind me, chose to emit a sudden and disturbingly loud clanking and clattering, lasting only for a few seconds.

It would require very little persuasion to believe that the whole thing was more than coincidence; that just as the immensity and beauty of nature was busily impressing itself upon my consciousness, someone somewhere decided to underline the point with a little display of divine intervention. Indeed, a supposedly intelligent colleague told me once that she had been riding on the back of her husband's motorcycle, through some of Scotland's most beautiful scenery, and had looked up to see a cloud resembling the face of an old man. When she blinked and looked again, the face was gone. She told me that she believed she had seen God. The woman is no crank; nor was she converted instantly to Christianity. She believed that she had seen God, for she is, and was, already a Christian.

Lacking the post-natal conditioning which this lady had enjoyed (resulting, of course, in her proclaimed Christian status) I failed to draw a similar conclusion from my "vision". I appreciate it for what it was: an unusual cloud formation, activating my brain's store of recorded face-shapes (we all have them - stare at a patterned cushion or roughly folded curtain for a few moments, and you will see faces too). The boiler has a habit of clanking from time to time; the coincidence with the appearance of the cloud was perhaps sufficiently unlikely not to happen again this year, but nevertheless it happened. We really cannot expect to live for seventy years or more, and be totally free from coincidences! One or two truly amazing things are bound to happen during our lives, and very occasionally something really staggering occurs (a tumour goes into natural regression; somebody wins a fortune on the pools). We all get to hear about such occurrences because of the instant global communication available to the news media. Therefore we can sometimes feel that we have all shared in the wonderful experience, and risk reaching completely the wrong conclusions.

The point which I seek to make is this. Every one of us has had, or will have, some kind of unusual experience which certain people would define as religious or supernatural. What we make of such experiences depends almost exclusively upon our existing beliefs. Those who were trained early in life to believe in God will see their experience as religious in nature. An atheist will see his experience as a rare coincidence brought about by pure chance. The person favouring the religious interpretation will invariably, however, use an account of their experience as a means to persuade others to their way of thinking. But we have, I hope, seen that their way of thinking is based not upon seeing queer shaped clouds or hearing of miraculous cures, but on what they were told when they were children. So now, deluding themselves that their beliefs are de novo and supported by observable evidence, they will proceed to abuse the absolute trust placed in them by children, and fill their receptive minds with the same indelible garbage that was programmed into them years ago. And their nonsensical explanations of things which they have seen will appear to strengthen their arguments in the eyes of their charges.

If you are a Christian, you may well now be saying, "You accuse Christians of using accounts of chance experiences to persuade others to their way of thinking. Is that not precisely what you are doing?" Well yes, I am. But the important difference between what the Christian is doing and what I am doing is this. The Christian is starting from a set of beliefs acquired as a young child, and seeking to strengthen actively those beliefs in preparation for the indoctrination of others. He already knows all the answers, and is using his account of a religious experience purely for illustration, disturbingly effective though that illustration may prove. I am doing no such thing. As a child I received no religious conditioning, and nor did I receive any instruction in atheism. I do not favour a Christian explanation of the world and everything in it, because having examined such an explanation I find that there are other, vastly preferable explanations supported by overwhelming evidence. I am encouraging everyone to examine available evidence for themselves, and to permit others (especially children) to do the same. If a child sees a strangely shaped cloud, and asks about its significance, then it should be given a sensible explanation. It does not need some know-all to use the question as an opportunity to instil religious belief. If the child is going to favour a religious explanation of observable phenomena, than it will be able to do so for itself upon reaching a suitable developmental stage.

I think that, if all religious text and persuasive propaganda were to carry an 18 certificate rather than the present PG, the number of those seeking to promulgate falsehoods would drop markedly within a couple of generations.

School assembly

This is the third of my pieces on religion.

There is still more. Since I wrote the last two pieces on this subject, the Secretary of State for Education has announced a review of the national requirements for the teaching of religious education in state schools. His statement comes in response to those who have long complained that the teaching of religious matters in many schools is inadequate.

Inadequate? By whose standards? Is it really true that children are given too little exposure to Christianity? (Recently a parent expressed to me her view that my class of ten and eleven year olds should be taught in more detail about the Bible. When I asked her why, she said, "Because we are Christians.") Is it also true that too little is taught about other major religions? I think not.

Since the Education Act (1944) every local education authority has been legally responsible for the provision of an agreed syllabus for religious education. These documents are given automatic legal status, and consequently every school managed by the publishing authority is bound by their terms. National requirements include a daily act of worship which must be "wholly or mainly of a Christian nature" together with some timetabled teaching.

I have taught for six years in Hertfordshire. The county guidelines for RE are detailed and comprehensive. They cater more than adequately for Christianity; major world religions, and other aspects such as reverence for nature etc., and being nice to one another. County advisers and inspectors are employed to assist schools in the effective delivery of the material. The syllabus itself was drawn up by a team of educationalists and others with considerable relevant experience. Why is it now deemed inadequate?

Part of the answer lies with the Christian lady quoted above. Interviews with parents such as she are not uncommon. Almost unheard of are conversations like this (unfortunately fictitious) one.

"I think you should teach your class nothing about the Bible."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because we are atheists."

Am I correct in assuming that you do not find this state of affairs surprising? It is accepted, is it not, that the Christian lady has a valid point (or at least one which will cause numerous heads to nod) while the fictitious atheist is out of line? After all, the law requires that schools teach Christianity, but says nothing about the views of atheists. It is almost as if their point of view were somehow less worthy than that of religious advocates.

But maybe the atheist has a genuine concern for the welfare of her child. Perhaps she has considered the matter of religious education at great length, and has come to the conclusion that it does positive harm to developing minds. Maybe she is unhappy for her child to be exposed to the attractive and superficially plausible, but woefully inaccurate, ideas contained within the Bible about the universe and man's place in it. Doubtless she would rather her child be allowed to develop free from such influences, until said child reaches a level of experience whereby he or she may make in-depth evaluative judgements. If, at such a time, the child decides that Christianity is a realistic option, then so be it.

What of the Christian parent's viewpoint? Why is she not happy to follow the example of the atheist? After all, the atheist is not advocating any kind of conditioning or indoctrination. She is not asking that Christianity be vilified or criticised in any way. She is simply asking that it be omitted from her child's education in its early years. Clearly the Christian finds this unacceptable. After all, she has said as much. Not only does she want a staple diet of Christianity for her child (and all of its classmates); she wants the input level increased over and above that already required by the law.

The Christian parent is asking that a group of children be made to study the Bible. The Bible is a highly persuasive document, employing all manner of tricks intended to train the reader toward a particular way of thinking. Children are extremely receptive individuals. Lacking in knowledge and experience, they nonetheless thirst for information, and never tire of asking questions designed to determine the limits of the world (how long, how high, what's the fastest, etc.). A set of beliefs such as that laid out in the Bible instantly answers a good many of those questions. Therefore we cannot escape the conclusion that the Christian parent wishes such ideas to be placed in children's minds.

It seems incredible that the law, in a democratic country such as this, should support those who advocate indoctrination. Even though the number of actively religious people is declining, public sympathy as reflected in the media still takes the Christian parent's side. It is considered acceptable for an adult to stand in front of a group of children and argue powerfully for the existence of God. It is far less acceptable for an adult to argue before an audience of children that belief in God is an unnecessary anachronism which serves to hamper our understanding and appreciation of the wonderful world in which we live.

Last month I witnessed a school assembly at which the vice chairman of the school governors addressed a group of children who were about to transfer to secondary education. This is an extract from his speech which will live in my memory for a very long time.

"You may or may not believe in God. I do. He has given you that choice."

As I was sitting at the back of the room, no-one (with the possible exception of the speaker) can have noticed my open mouthed incredulity. The learned old fellow was arguing, quite seriously, that atheism is explained by the divine gift of free will. Not can be explained; or might be explained: is explained. He may as well have said, "God exists. If you don't believe in him then you are wrong. I believe in him so I must be right." If this is not indoctrination, then I am at a loss to know what is.

Some may argue that parents such as my fictitious atheist could, if unhappy with the teaching their child receives about the Bible, withdraw said child from religious education lessons. Surely, then, the parent would be happy? I think not. How many of the child's classmates would also be withdrawn? I contend that few parents would have thought about the matter in the same depth as did the imaginary lady, while more than a few would find, if honest with themselves, that they shared her reservations about the usefulness of religious teaching. Most would take no action because they would not wish their child to stand out from its peers. The results of undue attention drawn to children are all too well known. Others become curious about, and even jealous of, the perceived asymmetry between themselves and the child who does not have to go to RE lessons. The right of withdrawal will become effective only when exercised by a majority of parents. I hope that we will not have to wait for long.

Much, if not all, of the current moaning about religious education comes from Christians, unhappy that more time is not devoted to misleading and confusing children by means of myth held up as fact. Why is it that these people have an axe to grind? Could it be that for some reason they feel that it is better for children to be educated in a Christian way than in some other way? Perhaps they know, against the better judgement of other parents, what is best for every child. If you are a parent, and you are unhappy about the current status of religious education in schools, then for heaven's sake say so. If you take this advice, and if you look forward to the day when seemingly plausible, seductive lies will no longer be spread with the blessing of the law, then I assure you that you will be in good company.

School collective worship

This is the second of my pieces on religion.

The story continues. I happened to witness a school assembly the other day. The audience comprised receptive, attentive and well behaved 4 to 11 year olds, some two hundred and thirty in number. The speaker was an experienced head teacher. The subject matter was a Bible story - the feeding of the five thousand. The head teacher, explaining carefully that a very large number of people faced starvation, drew attention to recent television news items from locations such as Sudan. She pointed out that the Biblical version had a happy ending, because each of the thousands of people was fed as much as they could eat. There was even enough food left over to fill several baskets. The source of the food? A very small number of fishes and barley loaves. Each time the "waiters" took food out to the starving people, there was still as much remaining as there had been before. The supply was literally endless.

As I listened, my horror diluted somewhat by countless repetitions of this story in the past, I heard something especially awful. The head teacher summed up the tale by stating, "Five thousand people fed from that tiny amount of food. Incredible, but it happened." (my italics).

There was a tangible sense of awe in the room. The quiet was velvet smooth and ocean deep. The inaudible but nonetheless discernible fidgeting, breathing and general ticking-over generated by large groups of children was suddenly and completely suspended. It was as if something just below the level of conscious auditory perception had been turned off - you notice it only when it is no longer there. And the atmosphere was tinged with the unmistakable thrill of adrenalin.

The message slammed home, finding its mark for sure in a significant proportion of the minds focused upon the story. The children had all heard Bible stories before, but... they are only stories, aren't they? Even if some of them did really happen, it was a long time ago and very far away. But here's someone we know, trust and respect, telling us it really happened! Just like in the countries we see on the news! Gosh!

Once it has been accepted that the events depicted in the story actually happened, it requires but a simple step to accept that the deity responsible for such a miracle is capable of literally anything. Including, of course, creating the world and the rest of the observable universe, answering prayers, forgiving sins, etc.. The religious virus is in place, ready to filter experience and observation to suit its own perception of the world. Should it show signs of failing in its mission, an injection of guilt, shame or fear should serve to revitalise it. Such is the basis of organised religion.

It is a consequence of the bias which I outlined in the previous chapter, that behaviour such as that demonstrated by the head teacher continues to be acceptable. Were you or I to stand up and state that the feeding of the five thousand as depicted in the Bible did not happen, then I would be surprised if complaints from parents did not ensue. Few voice their objection to the perpetuation of this asymmetry, but many actively support its continuation. Indeed, it is supported by English law.

Recently I shared these views with a colleague. She agreed with me that the head teacher was wrong to state that the events actually took place, but she felt that I would be equally wrong to state that they did not. Why, for goodness' sake? Because, she said, the two viewpoints were of equal merit and no-one was to say which was correct. Everyone should have the freedom to decide for themselves.

Asinine, blinkered arguments such as this do little to restore my dwindling faith in the capacity for rational, ordered thought. So if Fred says a dead man rose up from his grave, and Bill, upon hearing of it, expresses doubt, their viewpoints are automatically equally valid? If I were to assert publicly that the moon were made of blue cheese, should my voice be heard as loudly as the man who will point out that it is actually made of moon rock? Of course not. It is manifestly untrue that, in any given dichotomy, both sides deserve equal credence.

So what makes the religious dichotomy so special? Why is it that the most fantastic, misleading nonsense is held up in equal opposition to basic common sense? The answer lies in the ages of precedent to which I referred before. Mankind does indeed have a darker side, of which it ought rightly to be thoroughly ashamed. Let me explain precisely what I mean.

Most of us have been afraid of the dark at one time or another. If not this, then I am sure if we are honest with ourselves that we will find some shred of superstition, albeit dormant. Evolution has fashioned our patterns of behaviour in such a way that we look continually over our shoulder. This was but one of the many ways in which our ancestors ensured their survival. Some of those who begat us must have been saved from digestion at the hands of hungry predators, purely by over caution and the consequent avoidance of potentially dangerous circumstances. We are designed to see ghosts and hobgoblins in every corner. To summarise, belief in things that go bump in the night is a positive survival advantage. It is built into every one of us.

There is a drawback associated with such a natural defence system. Brains which are capable of believing and imagining on a large scale, are susceptible to contamination by all manner of other stuff. Couple this with the fact that young humans depend utterly upon older humans for nourishment, care and guidance, and you have a dangerous cocktail. The older humans can easily invoke the ghouls and hobgoblins, and the young humans will swallow them whole. If the beliefs instilled are (a) superficially plausible; (b) seductive and (c) apparently held by elders, then they will stick. Our failure to recognise that this is the root of all religious belief, constitutes a serious fault. If, on the other hand, some of us are able to recognise this but fail to do anything to stop it, then I have demonstrated the existence of the darker side to which I referred.

This is the first of a series of hitherto unpublished pieces that I began some fifteen years ago. As I've recently added the scarlet A to my blog, perhaps I ought to blow the dust from these essays and post them. Here we go then.

As I write these words, early in the closing decade of the second millennium, I face despair. This despair comes from the sense of inevitability that my lifetime will be too short to see the eradication of the most widespread, and longest established, infectious mental illness ever known. Mankind continues to show signs of gradual recovery from this scourge, but I fear there is little hope of a clean bill of health for some time to come. The reasons for this I hope to make clear.

The world news, in the late autumn of 1992, is dominated by war, terrorism, starvation and disaster. This predominance of misery reflects a most unfortunate state of affairs on our planet. Even so, I am sure we would all agree that the enormous proportion of media time devoted to reporting such matters is more than justified by their importance in human terms.

During the last few weeks, however, such items have been displaced from the headlines by a wholly different tale. The issue to which I refer is the debate concerning the ordination of women by the Church of England. Few of us can be unaware of the vociferous protestations from both sides, reported ad nauseam by radio, television and newspapers. For some time, editorial columns and magazine programmes could find room for little else, as each side endeavoured to turn the tide of public opinion in its favour.

Among the arguments advanced were those which appeared to confuse the debate with a separate issue concerning equal opportunities. I must make it immediately and abundantly clear that the subject of equality is a centrally important one, affecting us all. Neither sex may be considered "better" or "worse" than the other. The vast majority of occupations are equally suited to both sexes, while a few clearly require one or the other by their very nature.

The debate on the ordination of women is not about equality. It is about whether or not one half of the world population may consider itself eligible to perform the utterly useless (if not downright harmful) functions over which the other half (until recently) held an almost total monopoly. When faced with the question, "Do you think that an individual of one sex is more suited than an individual of the other to the task of placing his or her hands upon the head of another individual and uttering a string of words, whereupon the latter individual may go forth and do likewise to others?" I suggest that your answer would be to ask what difference it would make. I would like to guess that few of those who voted against the ordination of women would consider themselves sexists (or even be considered sexists by those who continually demonstrate their fondness of calling people sexists) if a different matter were under discussion. I feel sure that they would not feel moved to vote against the employment of women bus drivers or women doctors. They would claim to see women priests as being entirely different from women bus drivers and women doctors, and that is why equality has little or nothing to do with this debate.

What, then, does the ordination debate concern? The answer is that the whole issue is a symptom of the mental illness to which I referred in my opening paragraph. It is called religious belief. Those who suffer from it are prepared to display a complete absence of common sense and objectivity in many matters. Instead they claim to state their case (whatever it may be) with complete authority, because of their professed faith. As if that in itself were not bad enough, the rest of us are supposed to accept what they say without justification! Both camps in the ordination debate regularly invoke faith, and/or the will of God, as a key note of their "arguments". It is impossible for a rational observer to take sides in a debate based upon such uncertain ground. If anything, the very existence of the debate serves to point up the sheer illogic of religious belief. As that is a fact with which much of humanity is already conversant, the debate performs no worthwhile function and therefore does not merit the amount of media coverage devoted to it.

The reasons why we tolerate the continual barrage of meaningless coverage are twofold. Firstly, the illness of religion is still widespread (although diminishing). Secondly, it is generally accepted that as decent, considerate human beings, we should all respect one another's beliefs. The second point is all well and good, but many of us need to look critically at our own beliefs (something which I do daily, before you say anything!). If we find those beliefs to be arbitrary, or illogical, or based upon blind faith and nothing else whatever, or based upon some chance experience, then we should be extremely suspicious of them. We should be equally suspicious of anything which we believe purely because someone else told us to. This leads me to my most important point.

Religious belief is a dangerous disease. It has arisen spontaneously and independently, several times during the course of human history. It, or some other kind of superstition, will (initially) arise inevitably in any intelligent mind which focuses its attention upon questions about the origin and purpose of life. But we have the power to cure the disease in our own minds, provided we do so before it has become so completely established that it stifles rational thought, replacing it (as in so many cases, even today) with a state of mind which requires nothing to be supported by evidence. (Such a state of mind is, of course, highly seductive - one of the reasons why religious belief still persists.) If a person is unable to rid his own mind of the sickness of religion, then that remains his own problem. If, however, he succumbs to the temptation (perhaps the most diabolical symptom in the repertoire of the disease) to spread the infection into the minds of others, then he is certainly guilty of an immoral act. This is particularly true when the target minds are those of children.

Children are born fresh into a world of which they try their best to make sense. This is not a simple task, and it takes them many years. They are assisted in their Herculean labour by something called education. Essentially, education is a kind of acceleration of achievement; a key to further the progress of mankind by building upon the good work of others.

Eventually, during its development, a child will begin to ask ultimate questions. We must consider very carefully our responses to such questions. Young children are prepared to believe almost anything they are told, especially when the information comes from a trusted individual such as a parent or teacher. Beliefs acquired at an early age become more or less fixed (if they did not, learning would be nigh impossible). If we implant a series of superficially plausible but utterly truthless beliefs into young minds, often before the salient questions are even framed, then we can do real damage. Frequently I hear children as young as five years of age (and as old as eleven) singing a modern hymn which begins, "Who put the colours in the rainbow?" If you read the complete lyric of the hymn for yourself, you will see that it seeks to foster a sense of wonder at the beauty, complexity and order of the world and the living things within it. That in itself is not a cause for concern - indeed it is commendable. It encourages us, as Richard Dawkins has put it, to shake off the "anaesthetic of familiarity" which can so easily dampen our appreciation of the wonders all around us. But there is a nasty sting in the tail. The words state, clearly and unequivocally, that God is responsible for creating everything. They do not encourage any form of enquiry or debate. Indeed, one verse delivers a clumsy and ignorant sideswipe at neo-Darwinism, with the words, "It surely can't be chance!" That the lyricist fails to understand Darwinian evolution, wrongly assuming it to be based solely upon "chance", is his own affair. But something particularly sinister is at work when the seeds of that same misguided ignorance are sown in the fertile ground of innocent young minds.

Suppose you or I were to get to our feet on next hearing those words issue forth from the mouths of children. Suppose we were to cry, "Enough of this! What about the evidence of our eyes and ears? What about common sense? This stuff has been parroted as though it were unquestionable truth for, quite literally, ages. Let's hear another point of view for a change."

I think you can imagine the response. Those with sufficient of an axe to grind would act rapidly to silence us. Apologies would de demanded. Appointments would probably be reviewed. Disciplinary action would be all but inevitable.

You see, the goal posts are not of equal separation. Those who daily promulgate falsehoods, no matter how underhand their methods of persuasion, no matter how cunning and wily the means by which they seduce developing minds, have the backing of two thousand years of shameful precedent. The rules, both unspoken and as laid down in English law, are still weighted heavily in their favour.

But the despair to which I have referred is perhaps not absolute. One day, no matter how far away that day may be, the truth will replace fiction. Already it is beginning, all over the world. Every day we move ever so slightly nearer to the time when we shall finally be rid (to quote Arthur C. Clarke) of the "billions of words of pious gibberish with which supposedly intelligent men have addled their minds for centuries."

Morality?

Richard Harries, Baron Harries of Pentregarth, retired Bishop of Oxford, talks a good deal of sense about many issues. For instance, he is outspoken on the dangers and evils of the creationist movement currently spreading outward from the United States. However, his anti-euthanasia arguments are unconvincing. Baron Harries accepts that there are circumstances under which a person may wish to die in order to avoid pointless suffering, but he stops short of sanctioning the right of doctors or others to take the life of terminally ill patients who no longer wish to live. First, he objects on the grounds that human autonomy is not as important as the collective wishes of, say, the patient's family. But surely the patient's voice should be heard at least as loudly as the voices of those who are not suffering? And surely, if the family members truly feel for their ailing loved one, they will respect, share and desire to uphold their wish? Otherwise, they would be saying, "Yes, we know you are terminally ill and in terrible pain, but you really must be guided by us and continue to suffer because it's against our principles to pander to human autonomy." Baron Harries doesn't see it this way. Perhaps his morals have been distorted by his theology.

Baron Harries' second objection is related to, although distinct from, his first. He argues that the family could make the sick patient's last few weeks on Earth "a beautiful time" which, were the patient to be dead, they could not share. But from whose perspective is the time beautiful? Surely it is not to escape beauty that the patient wishes to die. Surely the beauty lies only in the minds of the family, who prefer a world in which their loved one is living, to one in which he/she is dead. What arrant selfishness on the part of the family! "OK, our loved one, we know you are suffering terribly but we insist that you continue to do so because we are enjoying our beautiful time with you very much." That would be a very strange kind of love.

Finally Baron Harries makes the point that to dispatch a loved one from the here and now, by helping them to end their life, would be to send them a clear message that their presence in the world is no longer valued. How presumptuous! Surely, refusal to assist the patient in his/her wish to die sends out a much stronger message: "Your wishes, even though you are the one suffering and we are not, are less important than ours, so you'll have to lump it and continue to suffer."

Baron Harries says that his objections to euthanasia are not motivated by religion in the sense that the old argument that "only God can take life" is. But his apparent inability to see the immorality of his own stance begs an explanation. I suggest that the explanation lies in his failure to subject his own morals to critical examination: a failure shared by many religious apologists. I think such people feel something like this: "I am a thoroughly virtuous person, my virtue stemming from my religious beliefs, so I do not need to examine my morals. They must be OK or I wouldn't be a religious person. So I can say whatever I like that sounds reasonable without having to think in depth about it." I think that such a feeling is a very common symptom of a religious mindset.

To be fair to Baron Harries, he adds that palliative care has come on in leaps and bounds in recent years to the extent that fewer and fewer patients find themselves in intolerable agony. Modern pain management regimes and up-to-date hospices have enhanced the quality of life of the terminally ill. But that doesn't alter the perspective of those who still find their lives intolerable and with zero prospects. If palliative care, however marvellous, is failing them, then do they deserve to have matters taken completely out of their hands and placed in the hands of those who value an abstract principle more highly than a person's freedom to choose?

Faith: entitled to respect without question?

I've just listened to this piece of trenchant good sense on my iPod. I find myself in complete agreement with Professor Dawkins. If I were to stand up and make not only a series of claims about the universe, but also a series of demands governing the behaviour of those who inhabit it, then I would expect to be called upon to justify my comments through reasoned argument. If I could not provide such justification, or if I simply refused to, then I would expect to be ignored. It is about time we all started applying that principle equitably and universally.