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There are two separate articles attacking me in the current issue of Humanism Ireland.

The humanists are always having a bash at me; it’s because I am a humanist and they are not.

It seems that fundamentalist movements like this are always more annoyed with people who nearly completely agree with them, but won’t go all the way, than they are with the people they declare to be their real target.

I write about religion from a premiss that makes no sense to a fundamentalist atheist. That is, that some religions are better than others; that there is diveristy and much to be fascinated by in the history of religion; that religion is human and that you can not be a humanist without caring to understand religious motivations – given that religion is not a fringe lunacy in human culture but has been, for probably ten thousand years and more, practically all of it.

So, I argue, if you want to set yourself up as a critic of the baneful influences of religion on people and society, it helps to read about religion, talk to religious people and think about religion. It is not enough to simply sneer at it.

And if they want to attack my articles and books, they should try to understand the motivation behind them and not just read them through a filter that says: he thinks Dawkins is a prat, therefore he must be a prat himself.

I do think Dawkins is a prat. I do think that fundamentalist atheists are as annoying and simplistic as any other kind of fundamentalist.

I don’t believe that religion can be identified as a failure to grasp the theory of evolution or the Big Bang; that it is only a primitive mind’s response to lightning.

One article corrects me with the assertion that Dawkins and the new atheists broke a taboo on talking seriously about religion in the public domain. This is nonsense; they did perhaps break a taboo about celebrating atheism and sneering at religion.  And there is value in that. A religious idea is still just an idea and has to be defended in frank and open discussion or it has to slink coyly away.

But the new atheists are wrong about many of their charges against religion, and they are wrong because they don’t empathise enough with religious people to have any sense of what drives them and divides them.

That’s how they end up with nonsense like Christopher Hitchens’ claim that a revulsion at menstrual fluid is part of all religion. It isn’t.  For all we know there are Irish presbyterians who drink the stuff – it’s just not something they talk about.

Then there is the review of my book, Empty Pulpits.

I am happy when people review my books. I would rather have a frank attack that makes its point well than a sychophantic review that doesn’t, and I have had both.

So, fair dos.  Nail me where you can.

But to attack me for name dropping because there are lots of sources cited! Usually having a lot of sources and interviewees is a credit to a book.

‘I came away dizzily wondering if this was the literary equivalent of one of Hollywood’s Biblical epics, with their “cast of thousands”‘. Really? Too many people quoted in my book? I must remember to keep the numbers down next time to please humanists, for if there is one thing a Belfast Humanist can’t stand it is diversity of opinion and outlook.

‘Malachi adds a dose of mysticism to the brew and decides that the Irish know more about it than the new atheists..’.

No I don’t. I make no claim to their being a particularly Irish insight into anything other than into their own experience. That experience is of being saturated in and dominated by religion until recent times. If you are Irish and middle aged and were once a Catholic, you can remember a religious childhood that precedes the liberation of attitudes in the Second Vatican Council.  What’s contentious about saying that?

Why shouldn’t the memories of those who have lived in a religious culture feature in the discussion about religion?

So it turns out that I am a ‘daylight atheist’ and ‘a lapsed Catholic who can not completely shake it off’ and be as confidently free of religion as the humanists are.

Well maybe I am still immersed in ideas about religion and tilted in different directions by those ideas from day to day.

That is not about a failure to have the courage to stand on the solid ground of reason; it is about the clearest understanding that there is no solid ground.

Humans disappoint the humanists, with their superstitions and diverse religious cultures.  Humans will only measure up to Humanist expectations when they are as logical as Humanists are.

There will be time enough to be logical when we really do understand the universe we live in.

Neitzche said that ultimate truth, if we could grasp it,  might turn out to be of no human value.  What is a humanist to hang on to then but humanity? Revere that, in all its complexity and colour and you might be on safer ground than revering a logic that is still not fully informed.

In the mean time, let’s give the fundamentalists a hard time and be wary of flattering them with imitation.

But on the subject of beards, I am struck by the thoughts of another blogger,

“Why? Why do we expect men to be clean-shaven?

It isn’t just because we like to kiss / be kissed by clean-shaven men*, because since when did the sexual or romantic preferences of women get to dominate cultural norms? Since when did our ideals even get taken into account, let alone become an oppressive social requirement? Since never, is when.

[* Anyway, kissing someone with a proper beard can be just as nice a feeling – albeit a different one – as kissing the smoothest face there is. And at least with a decent beard you won’t be caught unawares by stubble. Ouch. Maybe we like to kiss smooth men because we can close our eyes and imagine, subconsciously at least, that we are kissing women. Hehehe, evil laughter. Another possibility is that we like smooth men because they remind us of when we were girls kissing boys, and we like to pretend that we are still just a girl, just kissing a boy. That would make sense – the men win too if we believe we are girls kissing boys, that none of it is very grown up or meaningful; if we deep down understand kissing as a time when we are girls and they are boys, then we won”t act as full-grown women or make grown-up demands on the other person… Hm, stuff.]

So anyway – if the pressure to shave isn’t for snogging purposes, why is it?”

Allelujiah

The cool atheists – as distinct from those of us for whom this is a phoney argument – are in a flap over the prospect that some people will think Leonard Cohen’s Allelujiah is a religious song.

This follows the news that X Factor winner Alexandra Burke will record it for Christmas, singing it like a spiritual.

Cohen has a way of mixing sexual and religious imagery that would scare the faithful but bewilder the determinedly unspiritual too.  The ‘real’ message of Allelujiah is despair at the prospect of love which is nothing more than a ‘broken Allelujiah’. I’m not sure who’s supposed to be cheered by it, if anybody. And KD Lang’s rendition is the one I love most.

It seems that he has heard this discussion himself before and doesn’t like his words being appropriated for causes.

This version of Allelujiah posted on Youtube and sung by Malvasio, replaces some of the verses with this message:

There’s a blaze of light in every word,
It doesn’t matter what you’ve heard,
The Holy or the broken Allelujiah.

And even though it all went wrong
I’ll stand before the lord of song
with nothing on my tongue but
Allelujiah

Or does anyone know if these are Malvasio’s words?

Whose Telling Porkies?

We are getting mixed messages about pork; we are being told not to eat it but also that what  has been eaten so far has done no one any harm. Apparently it is a confidence issue, not a health issue.

One commentator on RTE said yesterday that eating pork now would present as great a risk of cancer as smoking one cigarette.

And besides, only one tenth of the pork in the country is contaminated.

OK: there is a one in ten chance that a cigarette has been pureed into your dinner. Do you still want to eat it?

Wee Rosie Hughes ….

Wave is a support group for the bereaved of the Troubles and they are holding a carol service in Belfast on December 9, before a Christmas tree with 3,700 lights, to represent the dead. They invited me to their rehearsal last week.

An Important Book

An Important Book

It is one of those unnerving reminders of the passage of time that most journalists talking about Maria McGuire, the day after she was outed as a Tory member of Croydon Council had not heard of her before.  Her defection from the Provisional IRA in 1972 was a huge story at the time and her book – glibly dismissed as ‘kiss and tell’ – opened the door on meetings of the IRA leadership at the very height of their campaign like no other book has done.

McGuire admits to her naivete so can hardly be damned for it.

Her contribution to the writing of the history of the IRA is massive and something that journalists should be glad of; it is not something they should be sneering at.

As for Peter Latham, the man who outed her and thereby exposed her to the danger that an IRA death sentence against her will be revived; he has trifled in more serious matters than her knows for a local political advantage. The risk of Maria Gatland (as she is now known) being shot is low – about as low as the risk to Mark Gartland and Sean O’Callaghan. I don’t see them relaxing their security.

But there is another principle: that people should not suffer for what they did in youth, if they have themselves reassessed those things and moved on from them. There are many others who were in the IRA in the early seventies and went on to distinguish themselves in other ways.  Why should they be harassed now?

We have Gregory Campbell in the papers demanding an apology from Maria Gatland. If he had read her book, he would know that he already has it.

Bishops discussing the BVM

Here’s one I enjoyed doing for Sunday Sequence: a debate at the Church of Ireland Chaplaincy at QUB on whether Anglicans or Roman Catholics (‘papishes’) have the better understanding to the real nature of Mary of Nazareth.

Can Violence Come Back?

This is a slightly edited version of a talk I gave on November 5 from a panel discussion at the Institute of Irish Studies in Liverpool, on Ten Years After the Agreement.

Last week, a seminar I was invited to participate in with police officers was cancelled because the security risk was too great. The police are waiting for an attack. The chief constable says that dissident groups are competing to be the first to kill a police officer. Of course the optimism of the peace process predicts that such groups can gain no traction within Northern Ireland society now. That is a presumption that many are eager to test. The popular understanding is that such groups cannot function because they cannot achieve popular support of the kind that the Provisional IRA had. But the IRA had means of contriving popular support and had an enemy which, at the beginning, wasn’t alert to the need to prevent that.
The Provisionals were never able to rally popular support around an armed struggle for a united Ireland.
But they were able to mobilise popular support and sympathy around other issues, most notably, of course, the hunger strikes.

Has Northern Irish society the resources to withstand growing paramilitarism?
To do that it must have assimilated lessons from the past.
Never to give the propaganda advantage to the insurgent group through your own ill considered military action.
Not to allow horrific deadlocks like the Hunger strikes or the Drumcree stand off to develop.
Always to make the case for a fair and balanced society. The voice of the state in the early Troubles was smug and derisive.

So how well are we doing?

We often hear people saying, if you had told me 10 years ago that one day the IRA and the Democratic Unionist party would be sharing power in Belfast, I would have laughed at you. Well there is just so long that a cliche like that can continue to pertain.
Actually what they expected 10 years ago was that, within a year, the four major parties in Northern Ireland would be governing a peaceful demilitarised society. That was the promise of that day in 1998 when the agreement was made. If there was a miracle it was then; there have been precious few miracles since. There has, instead, been conflict by other means, a protracted peace process in which parties sought to undermine and wrongfoot each other, in which the peace process itself was played to sectarian advantage until the minority, that is more extreme, parties in each community took the ascendant, having thrived on deadlock.
Well, now they are in power, and they continue to needle each other. Sinn Fein boycotts the executive in protest against the Democratic Unionist Party’s refusal to allow the devolution of policing and justice. Neither side, however, wants to crash the devolved assembly so, having created a deadlock they work to resolve it. And this becomes evidence of their ultimate good intentions towards each other.
We are still in a phase in which faith is retained only through benign readings of the manner in which problems are resolved, when those problems are created for each other by the parties themselves.

The most recent example is the management of a homecoming parade from the Royal Irish Regiment and the Sinn Fein protest against it on Sunday last.
The Secretary of State for Northern Ireland, Mr Shaun Woodward, and much of the media, invites us to read that parade as evidence of enormous progress, yet peace was maintained only with difficulty and only with the co-operation of the leaders of three and possibly four paramilitary factions.

Sinn Fein had first organised a protest march against the RIR homecoming, along a route which would have brought them perilously close to loyalist protesters from the Shankill Road and dissident republican groups bussed in from across Northern Ireland. Not only had they played a tired old sectarian card, they had planned their own parade in a manner which put them in grave danger. When Gerry Kelly announced last Thursday that Sinn Fein was changing its route, he presented it as an act of generosity and reconciliation. That change was essential to the security need that paramilitary organisations be kept separate from each other.
There was no violence on the day because all police leave was cancelled so that enormous manpower could be brought to the task of keeping factions apart. Sinn Fein’s parade was marshalled by senior members of the IRA. Loyalist protesters, including about a thousand members of the UDA, were held in check by the UDA leadership. Dissident republicans marched to a police barrier, made a speech to the effect that they would not fight today but would at another time.
So, you can marvel at the fact that paramilitary leaders can marshal thousands of people and keep them under control, and read that as evidence of a mature and stable post conflict society. Or you can take last Sunday as a reminder that there is still dangerous sectarian anger in the air.
We live still with the politics of sectarian needling and, it seems, the best that we can hope for is that parties will draw limits to how far they will go in needling the other side.
We have a mandatory coalition in government in Northern Ireland but relations between the two larger parties are tetchy.
The first minister Peter Robinson is irascible by nature. He has damaged his own standing by angry threats which he has failed to follow through with. He has a problem similar to that which bedevilled David Trimble. Senior members of his party appear to be signalling that they would oppose compromises with Sinn Fein.
Similarly, there is a worry that the leadership of Sinn Fein is no longer coherent. Gerry Adams has kept himself off the executive yet he has exclusive responsibility for appointing Sinn Fein ministers. One of those ministers, Catriona Ruane the education minister, is conspicuously inept and unpopular, yet the first and deputy first ministers have no power to remove her. The suspicion grows that Adams enjoys the havoc that she reeks.
Another of the cliches about Northern Ireland is that it is proof of progress that old enemies are arguing now about education and health. Well it isn’t. It feels much as the peace process did, like conflict by other means, conducted on a gamble that the party which most annoys the other side will reap the greater number of votes on its own side.
In this context there are two great dangers we have to be alert to. The first is simply that by treating the political settlement as a sectarian contest, Sinn Fein and the DUP risk wrecking it. For now, they may be like boxers pulling their punches. But accidents can happen. The politics of brinkmanship may one day fail, and parties that have been pampered with the illusion that there is always a solution and the compromise and a face saver available, may one day find that there isn’t.
The other danger is that violence will return. The security threat from dissident republicans is currently high. We have to assume that Sinn Fein and the DUP have already agreed on how to cope with the aftermath of a successful attack., that on that day Peter Robinson will confront those to the right of him who would make that grounds for crashing the deal and that Gerry Adams will stand firm beside the PSNI and endorse strong measures against dissident republicans.

We may have to see Peter Robinson and Martin McGuinness walk together in a police funeral, preferably carrying the coffin.
On that day, the survival of the agreement may depend on both the DUP and Sinn Fein displaying a consideration for the problems of the other that has so far eluded them.

Empty churches

BBC discussion on religion

The BBC has been running a series of items on the decline of religion in Ireland. They invited me onto a podcast panel and this is the end result. I thought they had pulled me in because they had read my new book, but no; just a coincidence.

Hunger

Vox Pop

I was at the premier of the Steve McQueen film Hunger last night in Belfast and recorded this vox pop with people coming out. I think their fresh responses to the film give a sense of the power of it and the readiness of audiences to believe in its integrity.

Many questions have been raised about whether this is IRA propaganda. In fact, the suicide of Bobby Sands is depicted as the fanatical resolve of a man who is past being able to share the concerns of the outside world, where even other republicans want to avert a hunger strike.

(Note for techos – the vox pop was recorded on a Marantz PMD 620 using the built in stereo mics and the manual recording level control to reduce the back ground. I think it worked well.)

I am reviewing the film for Fortnight. Here’s a clip of that review:

We see a new prisoner being admitted to a shit smeared cell and feel ourselves almost sickeningly present with him.
We follow this new prisoner through his induction into the practice of smearing the wall, pouring urine under the door, channelled by a wall of greasy foetid food, to his first secretive wank in a shared cell and his first hammering by prison officers who are trying to get the place cleaned.
This prepares us to imagine that we are going to follow the stories of these individuals through to the end but we are not. We will see the prison officer stand sweating in a light snow shower, suggestive of Auschwitz ash. We will see the prisoner learn to exchange messages and parcels in the visiting area, where they are concealed in mouths, rectums and vaginas. In one scene, a woman shuffles under her skirt to withdraw a parcel and passes it across to a prisoner who shuffles it deftly up his own hole. And the woman smiles, enjoys a joke, perhaps even imagines that this is intimacy.
For her this is novel and even fun; he is only thinking about the practicalities.
When we get to the allegedly interminable scene in which Bobby Sands debates the morality of hunger strike with a Catholic priest, it comes as a relief from the audience’s own sense of confinement in the ghastly world of filth and violence.
Sands, joking about the wounds on his face implicates the priest unwittingly in a joke about the man who has been murdered by the IRA.
There are a few difficulties in the exchange between Sands and the priest. Sands’ recollections of Gweedore include barley fields and woodland. Mine don’t. These are local incongruities, like the prison officer leaving his home in Gransha off the Glen Road, details that won’t trouble foreign audiences.
The priest tells Sands that he has become an obsessive fanatic, unable even to love his own child. He accuses him of planning his own suicide. He throws every argument a sane compassionate person could muster against a ruthless man who is prepared to march boldly to his own death and take, potentially, dozens after him.
When the camera then turns to close-up on Sands the effect is almost unnervingly intimate. Then Sands delivers his reply with a story from childhood to illustrate his own courage and individual moral conscience.
From then on we are into the story of his grotesque deterioration.

***

Just got home from Dublin to read the tirades against the above on Slugger.

Republicans will not use the word suicide to describe Sands’ decision to die because the word was used accusatively against him and was central to the argument with the church about the morality of what he was doing.
But it was a decision to die, made in the light of an understanding that Thatcher would not move before at least one hunger Striker had died. So, if I am not concerned about the need to defend the morality of the republican cause or to make their case to the church, why should I avoid the word suicide?

Because it implies despair? OK, but I don’t think it necessarily does imply despair. Is Hari Kiri suicide? It is the ending of one’s life in acceptance of a principle and may not necessarily entail despair.

We have similar pressures from Jihadis to avoid the use of the word suicide in relation to what they call ‘martyrdom operations’. Many of them are motivated by strong conviction and don’t see themselves as discarding their lives and hopes.

Maybe we should equally avoid the term suicide to spare the feelings of those people too. Indeed, maybe we should avoid it altogether since families of all people who kill themselves are entitled to consideration.

I was rebuked recently – and I take the point – for using the term ‘commit suicide’, the word ‘commit’ implying sin or offence – presumably on the understanding that the word ‘suicide’ itself doesn’t but is just a technical term for taking your own life.

Whatever – I am not going to contort language to defend the reputation of Bobby Sands.

As for whether I have simply sold out to take money from some notional master – who is this master who pays me so well? Where can I pick up the money?

And bitter? I don’t think so. I write very little about republicanism these days. But I got an invitation to this film out of the blue and went along and thought that is was really good. Worth commenting on.