I’ll be giving a talk on how philosophy saved my life, at the beautiful St James’ Church in Piccadilly, at an event called Alternatives, on March 24. You can book tickets here.

It’s one of my favourite churches, with an amazing sculpture by Grinling Gibbons in it. Should be a brilliant evening, with lots of interactive exercises (though no compulsory audience participation!)

PeterOwenJones

Excited to be launching the Philosophy for Life course this week – tomorrow at Manor Gardens, a mental health charity in North London; then on Thursday at Saracens rugby club; then on Friday at Low Moss prison. I’ve been having fun making some material for the course today, including this poster and a ‘Deidre’s Photo Casebook’-style montage called ‘Socrates’ Case-Book’. I’m hoping to launch the course for other companies and organizations later this year.

page0001 3

No Comments

When I was six, my best friend Joe and I could give ourselves head-rushes by contemplating the size of the universe. We let our imaginations rise from the Earth, to the Solar System, to the Milky Way, and then stretched our imaginations as far as they would go to comprehend the universe. Then we’d wonder what was beyond that, and for a second we’d feel a sort of dizziness at the mystery in which we found ourselves.

Plato and Aristotle agreed that philosophy begins in this sort of childlike wonder at the weird fact of being here. And the American theologian David Bentley Hart argues in a new book, The Experience of God: Being, Consciousness and Bliss, that we need more of this wonder, and if we follow its glinting, it will lead us to God. The evidence for God is all around us, Hart says. We are saturated in the supernatural. We have just forgotten how to see it, because we have lost a capacity for wonder, and because we have an impoverished idea of God – and this goes for many Christians as well as atheists.

Hart, who is an Eastern Orthodox theologian, has decided that the conversation between New Atheists and Christian fundamentalists has become so moronic that he must re-state the basic character of God, as understood by the great philosophers and mystics of Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism and Sikhism. He wants to show that materialism is a far less reasonable philosophy than Classical Theism, that it misses out fundamental aspects of human experience, and is fatally lacking in wonder.

Classical Theism, as stated by the likes of Aquinas, Augustine, the Church Fathers, the Upanishads, Avicenna, Maimonides and others, focuses on three experiences of God: being, consciousness and bliss, or sat, chit and ananda according to the Upanishads. I’ll go through them one by one, trying to sketch Hart’s position (the Classical Theist position) as briefly as possible.

Being

Western modernity’s great error is to mistake God for a being among other beings, rather than Being itself. This is a category error born of the Enlightenment, when the Deists – startled by the success of the Newtonian mechanistic philosophy – redefined God as a sort of cosmic watch-maker shaping matter into order. If you wanted to find evidence for God, you should look for it in the things of this world – in the exquisite design of an eye, for example, or the feathers of a peacock. In chess terms, this was the equivalent of giving away your Queen. As soon as rival explanations of natural processes arose, like evolution or geology or the Big Bang, it seemed to render the God hypothesis redundant.

5eff246e7ac4ba2c7785bed9d0214848Contemporary New Atheists and Christian fundamentalists are both still labouring under the Deist mistake of seeing God as just a very powerful being among other beings in the cosmos. This is to mistake gods with God. There may be many gods out there, who exist in the cosmos and have a beginning and end – Shiva, Thor, Zeus, Dr Manhattan, even the Spaghetti Monster may all exist or have existed at some point, or not. But this is nothing to do with God, as understood by Classical Theism.

The God of Classical Theism is Being itself. He is the Absolute Being on which all contingent beings must rely for the gift of their existence. Our ideas of Zeus or the Spaghetti Monster, by contrast, are closer to what Plato called the Demiurge – some local enforcer who runs things in a corner of the universe but who is really just another being, and who will pass away like all beings. The God of New Atheism, the psychopath prison-guard at whom Christopher Hitchens shook his fist, is really this Demiurge, what Philip Pullman called The Authority, not the Ocean of Being in which all things find their being. The God of Christian fundamentalism is also a mere demiurge, as is the chatty physiotherapist who passes for God in Christian evangelicalism.

To Hart, the Classical Theist argument that God is the reality in which beings find their existence is far more rational and persuasive than the materialist position that nature magically produced itself out of nothingness. A universe of contingent beings must, logically, be supported by a non-contingent absolute reality (apparently). Contemporary physicists who say the Big Bang renders God otiose are failing to explain the miraculous transition from non-existence to existence. The universe may have arisen from quantum fluctuations, but such fluctuations are still a form of existence. The God of Classical Theism did not merely push ‘run programme’ and then put his feet up, like the God of Deism. He is the ever-present, ever-necessary Ground of Being.

Contemporary thinkers, says Hart, exhibit a marked lack of wonder at the weird fact of Being, with a few exceptions like Heidegger, Wittgenstein, and me and my friend Joe. Existence ‘just is’, say the naturalists, refusing to countenance any super-natural explanation for nature. To wonder at being is to sense the supernatural, the Beyond which makes beings like us possible.

But we may want to ask questions of this Absolute Being. Who are You? Where did You come from? If You’re so perfect, why did You create the cosmos? What do You want with us? Is existence really such a gift? The God of Classical Theism is less chatty than the God of fundamentalism or evangelicalism. We can’t comprehend Him or His reasons for creation. The best way to consider Him is through apophatic or negative theology, withdrawing one’s mind from created beings to consider Being itself. And yet He is not entirely remote, because consciousness and bliss give us means to reach Him.

Consciousness

Our minds are fitted to the cosmos. Through the divine gift of rational consciousness, we can comprehend the universe and ourselves, and find meaning and intelligibility in both.

Consciousness is ‘a reality that defeats mechanistic or materialist thinking’. According to materialism, the universe is entirely made up of mindless matter. So how did it give rise to human minds, which possess reason and intention, and everything that matter apparently lacks?

Brain-As-ComputerOne materialist solution has been to try and argue that we are not really conscious at all. Our minds are mechanical automatons. Consciousness is either a helpless epiphenomenon or an illusion. It is best described using metaphors of non-conscious machines, like computers or cameras. These, Hart thinks, are fanciful and even fanatical attempts to sacrifice the obvious fact of consciousness on the altar of materialism.

But what about Libet’s famous brain-scan experiment, which seemed to show neurological movements a few milliseconds before people made a choice to move their finger: doesn’t that show our conscious choices are unconscious and automatic? No, says Hart. It’s not clear what it shows, but it may show an unconscious readiness or potential to act, which precedes a conscious choice to act on that potential or not. We need more than one experiment to explain away the everyday miracle of consciousness.

Another materialist solution is to suggest that rational consciousness arose through ‘emergence’, but this commits the ‘pleonastic fallacy’ of suggesting something radically different like subjective consciousness could emerge by gradual steps from mindless matter.

Others have suggested rational consciousness emerged as an evolutionary adaptation. But why should evolution have led to rational minds capable of knowing the truth about the cosmos? Why is that adaptive? Isn’t it far more adaptive to be swaddled in comforting illusions – in which case, how can naturalists trust in human reason, including their own reasons? Materialism ends up in a sort of ‘radical absurdism’, a distrust of all reasons, including materialism.

Well, perhaps – but couldn’t one make the argument that rationality is adaptive, because our illusions can kill us? And while the existence of mind is an embarrassment for materialists, the existence of matter is also something of a quandary for mentalists. Still, I personally agree with Hart (and with all those Big Minds of Classical Theism) that the weird fact of rational consciousness is not an illusion, nor is it a fluke. It’s a gift.

Bliss

The final argument for God, according to Classical Theism, is bliss, by which Hart means our ecstatic longing for transcendent absolutes, such as Truth, Beauty, Justice and Love. We are driven by an insatiable hunger for these moral goods. This longing cannot be accounted for by materialist or evolutionary explanations, they are supernatural – they point beyond nature to God.

How, for example, can we account for our longing for Beauty? Darwinian explanations are utterly unconvincing. Take E.O Wilson’s argument that our love of poetic symbols can be explained by evolutionary psychology – snakes are powerfully emotive symbols in poetry and myth because snakes were a threat to our ancestors. Come again? How does that reductionism explain all the incredible ways humans have shaped snakes in their imagination, from the ouroboros of the Middle Ages to the emperor of DH Lawrence’s poetry?

Others have tried to explain our love of landscape painting as evolving from our cave-man need for water and shelter. Other evolutionary psychologists, like Steven Pinker, have simply dismissed our love of music as an evolutionary spandrel, like our love for cheesecake. No sacrifice is too great for the altar of materialism, not even beauty.

Shelter, firewood and water: perfect!

Those materialists who care more for beauty have tried to fit it in to a materialist philosophy by simply smuggling it in and hoping we won’t notice. Hitchens, for example, said he was a materialist but he also thought ‘there is something beyond the material, or not entirely consistent with it, what you could call the Numinous, the Transcendent, or at its best the Ecstatic..without this we really would merely be primates.’ Adam Gopnik, writing in the New Yorker, also argued for a sort of ‘materialism plus the transcendent’. But materialism plus the transcendent is not materialism at all, it is transcendentalism. Sam Harris, when he talks about ‘self-transcending moments’ of spiritual experience, is being incoherent – how can an automaton transcend itself?

The best way to understand our longing for beauty is not to reduce it down to chemical or evolutionary processes, but to follow it up to what it points to, beyond the limits of nature. Beauty ‘is the movement of a gracious disclosure of something otherwise hidden… In the experience of the beautiful, and of its pure fortuity, we are granted our most acute, most lucid and most splendid encounter with the difference of transcendent being from the realm of finite beings.’ Beauty affords us ‘our most perfect experience of that existential wonder..which lies always just below the surface of our quotidian consciousness’.

I agree with Hart – it’s a pity that the only academic discipline which considers our longing for beauty to be a transcendental impulse is theology. There has been a terrible failure of nerve in the humanities over the last fifty years, a timid unwillingness to think beyond materialism, which perhaps explains the smallness of most post-war art and literature. The choice between the optimistic materialism of the Sciences and the winsome materialism of the Humanities is no choice at all.

Our longing for truth and integrity would also appear to be a transcendent impulse – and one that plagues just as many atheists as theists (Einstein spoke of the ‘conviction, akin to religious feeling, of the rationality and intelligibility of the world lies behind all scientific work of a higher order’).  But why should we trouble ourselves about truth, or justice, or integrity or any other transcendent good in a materialist universe? Why assume the universe is intelligible?

true-detective-S01-about-16x9-1Take the atheist hero of HBO’s True Detective, Rustin Cohle. He thinks human consciousness is a ‘tragic misstep in evolution’, we are all just puppets of our genes, slaves to our delusions, not really ‘persons’ at all. So far, so orthodox materialist. And yet Rust burns with an ardor for truth and justice, he is convinced the world is intelligible, that crimes are solvable, and he prides himself on his moral integrity. In all these respects, he is not really a materialist, he is a transcendentalist. If he was really a materialist, if consciousness was really an irrelevant sideshow in a universe of mindless matter, why get worked up about truth or justice? Hart writes: ‘To seek the good is already to believe in God, whether one wishes to do so or not.’

To be a coherent materialist, you must do away with all your transcendent illusions, all your primitive longing for goodness, beauty, truth and so on. They are the detritus of the Christian past, a cosmic joke, the gibbering of a madman mistaking the shadows on his wall for angels.

The consolation of atheism

Hart evidently has little time for New Atheists (he finds AC Grayling particularly irksome) who he blames for mistakenly converting the method of empirical science into the metaphysical ideology of materialism. It is, he suggests, an irrational, fanatical ideology, which perhaps provides an emotional consolation of sorts to its believers – the consolation of thinking yourself a superior intellect surrounded by fools, the self-righteous certainty of thinking the world would definitely be a better place if only everyone accepted they are mindless automatons, the consolation of never having to wonder what is beyond your conceptual cage.

Perhaps – although Lord knows there is a great deal of fundamentalist Christianity in the US which makes even scientistic materialism look the height of common sense. And there are many thorny issues which Hart does not consider at all, such as the problem of evil. Does this Absolute Being care for individuals at all? Is there any point in praying, other than as a contemplative practice? Is evil merely a Platonic illusion? Is existence really such a gift? Do our transcendent longings really find a blissful home in God, and if so, why have so very few humans found that home, while the rest of us have only the unfulfilled longing?

The former Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, writes that Hart ‘sets the record straight as to what sort of God Christians believe in and why’. But I’d suggest both Hart and Williams are far more Platonic / Eastern Orthodox than most American or British Protestants, for whom God is a Person one can petition for everything from back-aches to parking spaces.

Nor is Hart’s admirable ecumenicalism at all typical of modern Protestants, who usually insist (with some Biblical accuracy) that the only way to God is through Jesus. Hart is obviously a fan of Aldous Huxley’s Perennial Philosophy, and has a similar interest in the ideas and practices of the great mystical traditions. But if Hindu and Sufi mystics can also get to God, why did Jesus need to die, why must we have faith in his resurrection? Is Jesus just one being among other beings, rather than the Ground of Being? Hart may answer these questions in other books, but in The Experience of God he barely mentions Jesus, while Plato shines through every page. I know very few Christians who are into Plato. If anything, the direction of Protestant theology is to downplay the Hellenic aspects of Christianity in favour of the Hebraic.

300px-Socrates_in_Nuremberg_Chronicle_LXXIIvWhat I like about his book, finally, is the sense that reason and revelation are not enemies, that they both point to God. There has been a tendency in the last century to think we can only reach God through irrationality, through ecstasy, through the unconscious or right-brain or drugs or what-have-you. Hart, following Plato, argues that our reason also reaches towards God. Our longing to make sense of the cosmos is a sort of ‘rational ecstasy’ as he puts it. It is an encouraging book for someone like me, who came to Christianity via Greek philosophy, because it suggests they are much closer than I realized.

17 Comments

FutureLearn_823185Yesterday I interviewed Simon Nelson, CEO of FutureLearn, which is the new UK platform for Massive Open Online Courses (MOOCs). The interview is for a New Statesman piece I’m writing on adult education, but it was so interesting I thought it’d be useful to publish the whole thing here. How can academics get their research turned into a MOOC, and potentially reach a huge global audience? Turns out you only need £10K or so.

Thanks for your time, Simon. So FutureLearn is live but still in beta-mode. When does it start for real?

We are live already, with a quarter of a million people registered and thousands learning on dozens of courses. The beta-tag is to show that we’re still in development. We have put down the foundation of a great service.

Is this the only UK MOOC platform?

Yes, it’s the only UK MOOC platform working with universities. There are several US ones, the two working with universities are Coursera and EdX. The French government has launched one called FUN, Germany has launched one called Iversity and there are similar platforms in other parts of the world.

Who funds you?

We’re 100% owned by the Open University.

Can universities make their own MOOCs in-house and then put them on FutureLearn?

Some of the content can be made in-house but the design of the courses is done using our tools and technology, and an approach we’ve developed.

I see – so FutureLearn is not just a platform, it’s very involved with making the courses together with the universities?

Yes. We’re enabling universities to make great courses, drawing on the Open University’s expertise in distance and online learning. We also aim to help train partners in the principles of online learning through social media, online assessment and so on.

What kind of principles should academics be aware of in making a MOOC?

Simon Nelson, CEO of FutureLearn

Simon Nelson, CEO of FutureLearn

For a start, we encourage them to think of the web not just as a distribution platform for lectures but as a different creative canvas, using rich media like audio and video, linking out to different environments to encourage people to research further. We work very hard to prioritise social features. Our belief is that people learn better together. The web has now got to the stage where the majority of online users feel comfortable with social tools.

What kind of social tools do you use?

On every page of FutureLearn courses, there’s an opportunity to comment, ask and answer questions, as well as the ability to Like comments, follow lecturers and so on. It’s still rudimentary, and we’re focusing on improving that side of FutureLearn.

How involved is the teacher, once the MOOC has been made and launched?

We encourage educators to be active in social environments during the course of the MOOC. The advantage of MOOCs compared to other online courses is that MOOCs are events, with a start date and end date. So learners join a cohort who go through the course together. We’re trying to find ways to motivate and reward learners for staying with it.

Do MOOCs ever involve offline communities?

We don’t facilitate that actively but they sometimes spring up naturally.

You could include links to things like meetup.com to help facilitate that.

Indeed.

How long do MOOCs typically last?

It can be anything from six weeks to eight weeks to the two-week ‘mini-MOOC’ model. The optimum level is perhaps six to seven weeks.

One of FutureLearn's new courses

One of FutureLearn’s new courses

And there would be perhaps one session per week?

We try to make sure each week has a topic area and a learning outcome. The week is structured into activities and steps. The steps could be a video, an article, a piece of audio, a slideshow, or a test / assessment.

How long are the videos typically?

They vary wildly. In some cases one minute long, in some cases 10 minutes. The sweet spot is somewhere between that.

Really? Because a lot of academic lectures on iTunesU are between an hour and two hours!

Yes. We prefer to see things broken up into manageable chunks of learning.

Who pays to make the MOOC?

Universities pay for the use of the platform and for our help in making it. They bring excellence in educating and we bring a background in digital media and online development.

Could universities build their own MOOCs and still host them on FutureLearn?

Absolutely.

_70896739_shakespeare_hamlet_carousel_rd

Another FutureLearn MOOC

How long does it take to make a MOOC?

It could be a few months or less.

Do universities make the video in-house or do you do that?

Some may do it in-house, others do it through us.

Do some MOOCs incorporate things like animation?

Some do. It’s quite useful.

What’s the typical budget?

As a guideline it might cost £20K – £30K to create and run a MOOC. That’s just a guideline. You could do a very good MOOC for £10K.

Really? So it’s a lot cheaper than TV, say, where for a BBC series you’re looking at £100K an hour.

Yes, we’re nowhere near that in terms of the volume of video or the production quality of TV.

So we shouldn’t accept a MOOC of the production standard of, say, Kenneth Clark’s Civilisation anytime soon?

It’s a direction of travel I’m interested in. My background is with the BBC [Nelson managed the launch of the BBC's iPlayer among other achievements]. Part of our training and support is in the ability to deliver new forms of story-telling. I hope you’d see varying approaches to that. Story-telling in TV is not just about video content, it’s about making a narrative journey and using the connecting power of the web. The second point I’d make is that we have other non-university partners, including the British Library, the British Council and the British Museum. We’re working with them to make MOOCs, to access their academic expertise and their digital archives.

How about making MOOCs with the BBC, who obviously partner up with the Open University on lots of projects?

Yes, we’re talking to the BBC, which is mo_68474711_bbcdavidre and more interested in online learning. A recent BBC innovation, launched in January, is IWonder, which are basically short learning guides. The BBC launched one about the First World War for example. When I worked there, I was in charge of all online learning and activities. There is so much educational value locked into the BBC archives, and I’m passionate about bringing it online.

How about working with independent MOOC makers?

Yes, there are some independent TV companies who are very interested in this area. There are lots of independent production companies sitting on incredible archives, which they don’t know how to open up. Even if they do, putting it out there is one thing, curating content is another. I’d love to be seen by those media organisations as a bridge between their archives and online learners.

What’s the payment model for learners? 

Our model is that our courses will be free to anyone anywhere. We or our university partners may charge for additional services, such as purchasing a statement of participation or taking an exam in a test centre. Most MOOCs aren’t marked – that’s the idea behind letting thousands of people access them.

Are other MOOC-makers charging?

There are a variety of models. We have solid financial backing from the OU so don’t need to go down that route.

Why would universities pay £20K for something they give away free?

For a range of motivations. Firstly, it’s the best way to market to students. Secondly, universities know this is potentially a game-changer, and they need to experiment and innovate in online delivery. MOOCs are widening access and opening up institutions worldwide. They may be intrigued as to whether this will grow into a significant part of higher education. If so, they should get in to the market now.

Could MOOCs be made through corporate sponsorship?

There are a variety of ways that the cost of making a MOOC could be off-set.

So there you go. Interesting stuff eh? My own thinking is that a FutureLearn MOOC would be a great way to reach an enormous audience, and it doesn’t cost that much to make one. I’m interested to know if funders like the AHRC might help academics fund the cost of making MOOCs. For an academic like me, who is also looking to make money, it raises the interesting question of whether I’d want to give my ideas and teaching away for free…Is there a way to make online courses and charge for access? Perhaps to give away the first session free and charge from then on? Or perhaps MOOCs could be seen as a good way of reaching a big audience while promoting your book and media presence? Share your thoughts or ideas in the comments.

 

5 Comments

Last Sunday I was on my way to Holy Trinity Brompton (HTB) for their 7pm service. On the way, I went into a second-hand book store on Kensington Church Street. I picked out a book called The Revelations, thinking it was about spiritual experiences. It turned out to be a novel about someone who lives on Ken Church Street, who goes to a church based on HTB, which turns out to be a sinister cult. So I bought it and read it.

The novel centres around a church called St Botolphs on the Kings Road (HTB is on the Brompton Road) full of good-looking and affluent young Christians, led by a charismatic vicar called David Nightingale (Nicky Gumbel) who runs an evangelical programme called The Course (Alpha). It advertises itself as being a series of open discussions about the meaning of life, but it’s really just promoting evangelical Christianity. Participants have a meal, sing some Christian rock songs, listen to a talk by David, then go downstairs to have a discussion in small groups. Half-way through the Course, they go on a Retreat to the countryside, where they’re encouraged to open up to the Holy Spirit and speak in tongues. The Course also has a financier-figure called the Earl (Ken Costa) who builds lucrative connections with the City.

The author, Alex Preston, did English at Oxford shortly after me, then left to work in the City, like me. Well, I worked as a financial journalist, he worked in a hedge fund. He wrote a book about the vacuous materialism of finance, called This Bleeding City, which was a big hit. The Revelations is his second book, inspired by his experience of doing the Alpha course at HTB.

Preston leaves us in no doubt that the Course is a harmful cult. Nightingale is fixated on the Course’s success. The Course leaders are put under intense pressure to convert people. The participants are carefully monitored and information kept on them. Everything must be done for the sake of the Course.

Nightingale prides himself on his success (‘I’ve built something astonishing here’) and dreams of being a ‘tele-evangelist….beamed out on prime time to the homes of a million fawning fans’. The Earl, meanwhile, only cares about the money, and gets back-handers from his links to Course-connected hedge funds.

The Course’s ethics are riven with hypocrisy – it’s fine for rich converts to be ruthless in business, as long as they give 10% of their income to the Course. Sex before marriage is a definite no-no, but the Course helpers still shag around and then feel guilty. One of the main characters’ sexual promiscuity leads to her mysterious disappearance, which is then covered up in classic cult fashion – nothing must damage the expansion of the Course.

What Preston has created is a portrait of a secular self-help programme like Landmark Education, where all the focus is on promoting Landmark, getting people signed up to Landmark, hyping the reputation of Landmark, making money for Landmark. I wrote about Landmark in my book. It then threatened to take legal action against me, saying I’d left after day two of the three-day introduction so wasn’t qualified to write about it. Landmark certainly does keep careful tabs on who attends and when they leave.

But HTB seems to me a different kettle of fish. It’s part of the Church of England, not its own profit-making entity. The Alpha course is free. They don’t take your phone number and don’t follow up if you drop out, as many people do. They don’t care if journalists do the course and write about them, and I don’t think they’ve ever sued a journalist (a sure sign of a cult). I blogged about Alpha while doing the course, at times critically, and it was never mentioned.

The main way Alpha is different to Preston’s Course is its focus on Jesus. It talks about Jesus from Day One. Everything is about Jesus, the Holy Spirit, and your relationship with God. In Preston’s version, by contrast, it’s all about The Course. Characters constantly say things like ‘you must keep quiet, for the sake of the Course’. There is no real sense of a relationship with Jesus, or God, or any higher spiritual reality. In fact, Jesus is only mentioned four times in the book, three times as an expletive. There is only this world, only The Course. In this sense, it reminds me of Landmark.

NickyGumbel

Humble Gumbel

Secondly, the book might lead people to think Nicky Gumbel is like David Nightingale. He’s not. Gumbel is not motivated by ‘money, money, money’ as Preston seemed to suggest in an interview. He lives in a small vicarage, he rides a bike. I have interviewed many gurus, and have a strong ego-radar. ‘Humble Gumbel’, as he is known, is not an egotist or a narcissist, despite Alpha’s global success. His humility comes from a faith in God, not in The Course or himself. And he is not the creepy control-freak that Nightingale is – HTB is far too large, far more devolved for that, even if Gumbel was an authoritarian personality, which he isn’t.

What are the fair criticisms?

Still, the book does hit some marks. HTB does perhaps have a class issue. Its leadership is public-school-dominated, although the congregation is very international. It is full of smiley pretty people, and has a vibrant social scene, which can become a bubble, an end in itself. Occasionally it’s a little too nice and clean-cut, and makes you want to swear. But the idea that the church is full of city-sharks is not true. I’ve met lots of people who go to HTB or a sister-church who work with charities like the Sophie Hayes Foundation, Tear fund, XLP, Only Connect or the William Wilberforce Trust. Alpha itself runs in 85% of UK prisons, and unlike most prison courses it can offer ex-offenders a community on the outside. It was the charitable work of Christians that first attracted me to them.

As Preston suggests, HTB is quite good at generating ecstasy through music and ritual. That freaks some rationalists out, but I think it’s important – we need the transcendent and ecstatic in our materialist culture, and there’s something to be said for getting it through singing at church rather than in a warehouse on a pill. I agree that contemporary Christian music can sometimes be ‘ripped-off stadium rock’ (although a lot of rock is often ripped-off gospel) but sometimes it is moving to hear a whole church singing together and feel the wave of sound carrying you. I love that feeling, even more when it’s directed at God rather than a rock-star or a sports team.

But perhaps the Alpha course perhaps focuses too much on encountering the Holy Spirit on the weekend retreat. A lot of people don’t feel the Spirit on the weekend, and then think ‘why not me?’ I suspect some people are just built differently, are less prone to trance states – that doesn’t mean they’re less close to God.

Alex Preston

The intellectual foundations of Alpha, by contrast, were less convincing for me. It’s Protestantism 101: ‘there was Original Sin, then Jesus paid the debt, but the Devil still makes bad stuff happen, but we have the Holy Spirit to comfort us’. That’s not enough for me. I hunger for a broader and more culturally sophisticated Christianity, as I think Preston does too. But I have never felt hampered in my ability to go and look for that. My relationship is ultimately with God, not with HTB or Gumbel and certainly not with Alpha.

What about HTB / Alpha’s attitude to sex? Gumbel has been criticized a lot for saying in the past that homosexuality is a sin. He doesn’t say it anymore, but I think he still thinks it’s a regrettable ‘lifestyle choice’. Plenty of people in HTB, by contrast, think homosexuality is not a choice and not a sin. But the church is hardly a leader in protecting gays from homophobia in others or themselves. Gumbel has said he wants the church to be ‘famous for love’. On this issue, it’s not there yet.

As for the general sexual climate of the church, Preston may have a point that the pretty girls of HTB draw in men, siren-like, to their salvation (or destruction, depending on your viewpoint). That’s often been the way in Christianity, and in other communities (how many men joined protest movements hoping for a shag?). Two guys in my group did the course because their Christian girlfriends asked them to. That’s not weird: people prefer to marry someone who shares their metaphysics, otherwise you’re basically living in different realities. Neither of them converted.

bernini-ecstasy-of-st-theresa

The urge to have sex is close to the urge to know God

There is something of a confusion of the erotic and the sacred in evangelical Christianity, as in other religions. That confusion is inevitable because, as Socrates said, the urge to sex and the urge to God are mixed up together. I remember once hearing a lady have a Holy Spirit moment at a service, and it sounded like a particularly intense orgasm. It’s because of that closeness of the erotic and sacred that, as a community, you need to be careful to protect people in it, particularly from predatory leaders.

HTB, unlike Preston’s church, is pretty well-behaved in this department. The sex is mainly sublimated into religious ecstasy. The curates all look like they’re in boy-bands but they don’t exploit their flock. There’s a fair amount of flirting among the single people, but on the whole they seem to adhere to an unspoken ‘no sex before marriage’ ethic, which is obviously quite out-of-step with our culture. I don’t personally follow it – my own slightly-tortured position is not to have sex with someone unless I’m open to the possibility it might lead to a baby and I might spend my life with them.

Is HTB / Alpha pressurizing?

Does HTB pressurize people in its attempt to ‘evangelize the nation’? It can do. You’re not pressured to convert, but the church is quick to seize on any success stories and use them as adverts (or ‘testimony’). Like Landmark, in fact.

After doing Alpha, I was asked to give my ‘testimony’ at some services. Not pressured, just asked. For some stupid reason (vanity) I thought this would be a relaxed conversation between equals. In fact, Nicky told me before we went on stage ‘you’ll be there for a minute so keep it really simple. Think of it like a detergent advert: before, dirty shirt, then Alpha, now clean shirt’. So I went on stage with Nicky, in front of 500 of the faithful at HTB. How was your life before Alpha? Fine. How was Alpha? Fine. How is your life now? Fine. Compared to everyone else’s testimony of miraculous redemption, mine was a definite damp squib. And I had to go to two more services and do the same thing again, St Peter-style.

Lost, saved, next!

Lost, saved, next!

It left a bad taste in the mouth and for a while put me off the church. I felt there is a risk of commoditizing people into adverts for Alpha. Don’t simplify the complexity of the religious journey to ‘lost, saved, next!’ It showed there is indeed a potential danger that Alpha becomes an end in itself, a slick marketing machine – not to get money or power, but to fish souls for God. Sometimes the fishing feels a little industrial. This comes, I think, from Gumbel’s sense that while HTB is helping the C of E grow in London, everywhere else it’s potentially facing extinction. No surprise, then, if there is a sense of urgency.

But I stress I think this is just a tendency to watch out for -  I don’t think Alpha is the super-evangelizing brain-washing machine its critics suggest. The only non-Christian in my group who became a Christian was me – and I was a Stoic theist before, so it wasn’t a big leap. People go on it because they want to find God, so it’s not surprising some of them do. And a lot of its supposedly high-pressure techniques are really just group dynamics – giving people a space to talk together, eat together, sing together, pray together. What’s weird is not that Alpha meets that basic need. It’s that secular culture fails to do so.

One of the characters in the book says that the Course answers a ‘fundamental need’ in us for community, for ethics, for transcendent experience. ‘Just become people need something, it doesn’t mean we should give it to them’, answers another.

Well, I think it does. How will our post-religious culture meet that need? Preston, now doing a PhD in English, seems to look to culture as a substitute for the church, and to ‘literary priests’ like Gerard Manley Hopkins. That’s definitely one answer, but I’m not sure it entirely answers our fundamental need for community, ethics and collective transcendent experience. Personally, I think it’s a lot better to meet that need via a centuries-old, not-for-profit, and basically friendly organisation like the Anglican Church, rather than a New Age for-profit corporation like Landmark.

abandoned-church-gary-indiana-interiorPeople of our generation, Preston’s and mine, have taken the church for granted, as this faintly ridiculous part of our cultural landscape that will always be there, like an old uncle who turns up at Christmas. But it’s close to disappearing, just at the time we may need it most. As a generation, I think we need to get over our tendency to aloofness, to individualism. We need to tend the garden before it dies completely.

******

Here’s an interesting interview Preston did with Premier radio about his attitude to HTB and faith in general. 

3 Comments