You must all think I’ve expired.

Well, I haven’t. Been busy. Working, mostly.

Until very recently. Now I’m not working, I’m off here for a few weeks:

Photo by Mary Frances Giles

I don’t have anything intelligent to tell you right now. Instead, how about something that makes our intelligence and self importance seem somewhat ridiculous?

You know how humans are the only creatures to intelligently use tools AND have a sense of fun and leisure? Yeah, you’re wrong. Sledding crow:

This is a stream of the questions running in my head all morning.

How do you fight a rape case if you have lied in your past? How do you fight a rape case if you have been sexually active? How do you fight a rape case as a woman who wants a future in journalism, politics, banking, international affairs? How do you fight a rape case and ever hope to be taken seriously again or be perceived as anything other than a raped victim?

How do you fight a rape case as a woman in places like Congo where there are no real courts and no one is held accountable? How do you fight a rape case as an illegal immigrant with no rights in that country? 

How do you fight a rape case if you still believe rape is your fault, if you don’t even know what rape is, if you are afraid of upsetting your boyfriend/husband, or afraid of getting him in trouble because he will be more violent to you?

How do we get men to stop raping lesbians or independent or highly sexual women as a “corrective act” rather than addressing the forces and powers they are truly angry at? How do we get men to understand the impact of rape: how the external bruises are internalised and remain for ever?

How do you speak out against rape and not be called a man hater, a gold digger, a slut? How do you convince women to speak out when their character is called into public question?

How do you speak out against incest or childhood sexual abuse if your mother is sleeping with the man who is abusing you, and you know she loves that man or will not believe you? 

How do you speak out against the adored, handsome, powerful, charming company president/caring psychotherapist/honoured history professor/visionary film director when you risk being despised by those around him? How do you speak out against the charismatic leader of the party or country when to do so jeopardises the standing of the party, the country itself, and could let the opposition take power?

How do you press charges for sexual harassment and not worry about losing your job, or being seen as weak or unable to protect yourself or hang with the guys and “take a joke”.

When do we stop separating how we treat women from our vision of a free, equal, just world – ie how do you call yourself a socialist, an intellectual, a leader, a freedom fighter, an anti-apartheid, anti-racism, pro-earth champion, and not make honouring women a central part of that equation?

How do we create a real dialogue between men and woman about violence: what it does, how it hurts? How do we stop saying that women who are opposed to violence hate sex? When do we stop seeing them as the same thing?

I am a man, and as such I’m not sure if you will allow me to be a feminist. But these questions haunt me as well, and I want to see them answered. I want us, as a society, to honour women and treat them as equals. I want to see sexual harassment, objectification and subjugation removed. I want us to treat rape as what it is – the worst of all possible crimes.

How do we do that?

There aren’t many woods in central London (OK, Bow is the edge of Zone 2, but its still more central than not), but Cemetery Park is a little oasis of wonderfulness, tucked inside a triangle of railway lines and behind an abandoned mental asylum. Once a cemetery it was then abandoned to become an overgrown tangle of woodland and wild flowers and is now maintained as a park and a nature reserve and a place of real shelter from the urban jungle. It’s very existence does wonders for my mental health.

The woods are my favourite place to go and have a smoke (every so often – wouldn’t want to get addicted now), and really take the edge off having to get up and go to work in a morning…

Work. I haven’t told you about work, have I? Since about November (January, really), I’ve been working for myself. This has been a challenge and an adventure, and I’m not entirely sure what I think about it. It is really too early to tell if it has been a successful endeavour or not.

I style myself as a ‘Freelance Copywriter’ although, to be fair, I don’t exactly have a website or business cards yet, so I could call myself anything. A ‘digital handyman’ might be appropriate… Over the last few months I have worked on a variety of things, projects long and short, well paid and not, but that basically fall into two camps: I write reports for some people, and help build websites for others.

It’s been an interesting process. I love having variety in what I do and who I work with. I love having projects that I can focus on for a time, and abandon when complete. I’m not so hot at motivating myself to look for work and do business development, and I really struggle with not having security of income and workflow. The last two months have been very busy (which is good), but I have no work lined up for July and August at present (which is not).

The most amazing thing about all this? Every single job I have had in the last 6 months has come through friends. Some have been current friendships, some have been new acquaintances that have become fast friends, some have been old friendships rekindled through need for work. But every piece of work has been, at least in terms of initial introduction, found through personal contact and based on me as an individual, rather than on a resume or application form. That has been a revelation.

So I press on. I don’t exactly have a better idea of what to do with myself, and I think this experiment needs to be run for a while to determine its success. It has created within me a very short-term view of life: I live for the next day, the next piece of work, the next contact, the next payment into the bank account. I feel unable to plan, but am not sure what plans I would make, if I did. After effectively living out of a suitcase for almost three years now, you’d think I’d be comfortable with that…

Ah yes, that. I guess I am as stable as I have been for a long while now. I have been back in London since October, and living where I am now since mid-November. Which is pretty stable, really. I live with my oldest friend, his wife and their housemate. We’re an odd bunch, but we get on very well (most of the time). I have a door to close and a bed to sleep on. It is just that that door is to the home office, and the bed is a futon sofa.

AJ & T have been incredibly generous to me, giving me space in their home office for a ridiculously low rent and even allowing me to work on the house in lieu of rent when work was/is scarce. But the reason the rent is low is that it is the home office, and I need to vacate it when work has to be done. My clothes are in a wardrobe now (yay!) but the rest of my stuff remains in boxes in Birmingham. It is far less temporary camping than most of the last three years, but it still feels like camping.

I long for some space of my own, and I long for a sense of stability. Place. Home. I don’t know what that looks like though, or where it would be. I am back in London because of friendships and work, but almost every day I wish to be somewhere else. Somewhere slower and greener and more permanent. I’m not sure that place exists just yet. I am living successfully enough where I am right now, but am not convinced I could live elsewhere in London just yet. My current bank balance certainly doesn’t think so…

Other parts of life, outside of work. I am embroiled (increasingly so) in a marvellous and somewhat chaotic social enterprise called Sweet Notions. It is an entertaining outlet, something I give time and energy to (in lieu of cash) and, increasingly, it is community to me. A wonderful, disorganised, passionate and slightly bonkers bunch of folks, trying to make a difference and having a lot of fun along the way. It’s like church, with less pretension and more alcohol (so maybe like church is meant to be). I seem to have gone from being an occasional spare pare of hands to ‘most regular meetings attendee’ and ‘unofficial sounding board’. These are not bad things to be, but I am trying (and failing) to resist more formal roles…

This year has also been about trying to set up a consultancy firm with AJ and a few others. A lesson in many things, first and foremost that of frustration. Starting things is hard, especially when you are all busy people. The dreaming and conceptualising is fun (always a favourite), but actually agreeing and compromising and sacrificing egos is hard. It may or may not yet happen, but I have enjoyed(?!) the process of creating a company and will be proud to see it done, even if there isn’t a place for me in the end result.

That is largely it, really. I still take photos and watch films and spend time with friends and, very occasionally, write. Life has become more insular in a lot of ways, as I get slowly drawn back into the vortex of London Life. I have slowly lost touch with friends far away, and I am very sorry about that. Communication has lapsed, as has this blog. My confession is that, after staring at the laptop all day at work, I rarely want to look at it when I get home. So blog posts don’t get written, emails don’t get sent, and I can’t remember the last time I was on skype…

I spent a couple of weekends getting to know a wonderful young fashionista from Sheffield last month. I’m not sure there’s anything more to say than that, but it was bloomin’ fun while it lasted…

I keep hoping that a little more stability is round the corner, but I think the reality is that this is my life right now. I am here, in London, working for myself and doing the day-to-day thing. I might feel like a lemming sometimes – running forward at a pace, not knowing what is ahead – but perhaps that isn’t as bad a thing as it sounds. This is where I am, and learning to be here (and not wishing I was somewhere else) is not a bad thing.

So, for now, I will live my life and enjoy the joys it has in it. I will enjoy the friendships I have here, the opportunities for coffee and food and wine with good company. I will enjoy the variety of work I have right now, if not the insecurity. And I will treasure and relish the little patch of wilderness on my doorstep, and the fact that I have to walk through it each day, on my way to work…

That’s my life right now. Consider yourselves updated.

“At present, the UK uses the ‘first past the post’ system to elect MPs to the House of Commons. Should the ‘alternative vote’ system be used instead?”

On May 5^th the UK goes to the polls again. There are elections for the Scottish, Welsh and Northern Island regional governments, and to many (but not all) of the local councils. And there is a nation-wide referendum on the voting system used for national parliament elections. This post is going to be all about that, so non-UK readers may want to look away now…

Despite being one of the oldest established functional democracies in the world (the “mother of all parliaments”), the British are very rarely asked their opinion on the mechanisms of our democracy. The last referenda were for the establishment of the Scottish parliament and Welsh assembly, over a decade ago. We have never voted on our voting system before. Where other systems are used (as in elections to the other regional parliaments/assemblies) they were imposed with the new body – there was never a separate question as to by which means said body should be elected. So now, for the first time, we are being asked the question above: should we choose ‘yes’ or ‘no’?

I’m always a little loth to tell people how to vote, but I’m not going to pretend I don’t have a strong opinion here. I do. So I might as well spit it out.

I intend to vote ‘yes’. I think everyone should vote ‘yes’. People should only vote ‘no’ if they honestly believe ‘first past the post’ (FPTP) is the preferred electoral system.

Yes, I know that there are a lot of questions not being asked here. We are not being asked if we would like an alternative voting system – we are being given a specific choice between two systems. We aren’t being asked if we think the current system is unfair, or if we would prefer a more proportional system. AV, for all its benefits and faults, is not Proportional Representation. We are not being asked if we would like more coalitions, more consensus politics, reform of the House or reform of the Lords.

Just if we prefer AV to FPTP.

Lets be honest, very few people think AV is the best electoral system. It is Labour’s preferred system, and the only reason Miliband is campaigning against it is because he thinks it will give him advantage in the council elections. A move to AV has been Labour policy for years, mainly because it increases the possibility of them winning Tory marginals in London and the South East. AV means that those who naturally vote for smaller parties might benefit the larger party with 2^nd preference votes. It reduces (but does not eliminate) the need for tactical voting among 3^rd and 4^th party supporters.

Here’s a video explaining the two systems in question (in case you’re confused).

The Problem

In this country, we have an effective two-party system. Although there are many, many political parties governments, regionally and nationally, tend to swing between the Big Two. The current coalition government is the first such government in my lifetime. It is only the second such government in my parents’ lifetime. They don’t happen very often. Why? Because FPTP benefits the two party system.

Under FPTP the candidate with the majority of votes wins. Seems fair, right? Well, it is. Except that, in a multi-party system, the majority of votes might not be a majority.

If you have only two parties, A and B, then FPTP makes perfect sense, as whoever has the most votes wins. It even works reasonably well when you have three parties. But in most UK constituencies at a national election you have 4, 5 or more parties standing, often with independents as well. Suddenly it is conceivable, even likely, that more people will vote for all the other parties than for the guy wins. And this is even more likely to be true at the national level, on average votes across the country.

In all the UK national elections from 1950-2010, no single party has everwon a majority of votes. The highest proportion of votes was 49.7%, by the Conservative party in 1955. Yet, thanks to FPTP, majority governments have been formed in all but two of the elections in that 60-year period.
[sources from here and here]

That’s good, right?

Well, one of the best arguments for FPTP is that it tends to return ‘strong governments’ ie, majorities in parliament. The whole British political system is built on an adversarial, two party system, where the government is formed by the party of the majority, and the minority votes against majority (in almost all cases). Except that it isn’t. Not any more.

While the UK national parliament is still shaped like this, none of the regional bodies are. All of the others use either AV or PR to elect their representatives, and as a result have coalition- or minority- governments as the norm. So it’s not as if the Brits are unused to more representative forms of government…

And that’s the problem with FPTP; it’s not representative. In 1997, when Labour was elected with a majority of 179 MPs (a massive landslide), only 43.2% of voters actually voted for them. In 2005 they still had a majority of 66, despite their vote-share sinking to 35.2%. This is because FPTP means voters of smaller parties (or even the opposition, in safer seats) are essentially disenfranchised. Only the guy with the most votes wins, so everybody else’s vote doesn’t really count.

My vote has never counted. I’ve never voted for the ‘big two’ in a national election, but no-one other than the big two has ever stood a chance of winning in any of the constituencies I have voted in. So my vote has, essentially, never counted. The reality may even have been worse, as my voting for C may have enabled A to win, even though I would never, ever want them to be in power (because voting for C took possible votes away from B).

So does AV solve the problem?

Yes and no. AV gives voters the opportunity to rank our preferences, meaning that people can put smaller parties as their 1^st choice without fear of being disenfranchised. I could vote for C (or even D) and, by putting B as my second choice, know that my vote could still prevent A from winning. Hopefully.

It’s really not perfect. In many constituencies, the traditional ‘safe seat’, the incumbent MP wins with more than 50% of votes anyway, so AV is unlikely to have an effect. And you could argue the AV actually increases the likelihood of ‘least worst’ candidates getting elected. We’d end up with a parliament full of unobjectionable mediocre-ness. A whole parliament of Milibands. Scary.

And, of course, there is the fact that, under AV, hung parliaments and coalition governments are more likely to occur. And people aren’t very happy with the current lot…

Why you should vote ‘yes’

So, there are lots of imperfections about this referendum. It’s not the question we’d like to be asked, and the Alternative Vote is not the alternative system we would like to be given. But, it is the question we have before us, and it is an opportunity to change our democracy, if only a little bit. I think you should vote ‘yes’ on May 5^th, because:

• The current system isn’t representative – around 30% of voters don’t vote for the ‘big two’ parties. Their votes and opinions are largely unrepresented at a national level
• It’s better than a poke in the eye… – AV may not be our preferred alternative voting system, but it is an alternative. It is a change to something that is slightly fairer, and that change is better than no change at all
• We might not get a second chance – the only reason we have this vote, is because the last election did not return a majority. Electoral reform has been ‘on the agenda’ for a generation (or more), but this is the first time we’ve had a vote. That’s because it’s not in the interest of incumbents to change the system which brought them into power. There is a real danger that a ‘no’ vote will take electoral reform off the table until there is another uncertain election result which, on past performance, might not be for another 20, 30, or 40 years.
• This might lead to further reform – yes, it’s a bit of a reach, but for those that desire a form of proportional representation, voting ‘yes’ is your best chance. AV increases the likelihood of smaller parties having a voice in parliament (or at least at election time), making it more likely that the question of electoral reform could return in the near future. Also, a successful implementation of AV would make it harder for naysayers to argue that the public can’t handle further change.

But isn’t Coalition politics a bad thing?

A lot of people seem to dislike the current coalition government. They are especially pissed off at a certain Mr Clegg for going into government with the Big Blue Toff Mr David Cameron. They think that was a bad idea, and are feeling a little hurt and disenchanted.

Fair enough. If you vote oranges and get apples, you have a right to feel a little peeved, especially if the leader of oranges has helped the apples form a government. But voting against AV in the referendum because you’re feeling narked? Grow up!

Voting against all coalitions because you dislike this one is a little daft, don’t you think? Especially as, if this coalition hadn’t happened, all you would have had was a minority apple government, which isn’t much better (and could have been worse).

Coalition government actually works very well all over the world. It works in Scotland, and Wales and incredibly, unprecedentedly successfully in Northern Ireland, where it is ensuring peace and stability after generations of conflict. It is the norm in most European nations. Coalitions mean that the full desires of any one party are unlikely to occur, but a moderate mix of policies from all coalition parties are likely instead. Which doesn’t seem so bad, does it? We’re just not that used to it, yet.

As peeved as you are with Mr Clegg, remember that next time it could be Lib-Lab, or Lab-Green (or even Lab-Tory). And that at the next general election, it is very likely that the Very Annoyed Students of Sheffield will see him lose his seat anyway. Be careful, when choosing how to vote, that you don’t end up throwing the baby out with the bathwater.

But won’t AV be very expensive?

No. No-one who knows about these things expects AV to cost any appreciable amount more than FPTP. Only idiots and scaremongers think otherwise.

Isn’t AV more confusing?

Really? You really think that putting a 1, 2 or 3 beside a candidates name is more confusing than putting an X? You already do it in regional elections, European elections, mayoral elections… All the confusion is with the counters, and I think they are paid well enough to know what they are doing.

Isn’t AV a championing of mediocrity?

So one friend has argued. Um, maybe. But I for one don’t think that’s a bad thing. I would rather have a moderate, cautious middle in power than a pendulum swinging between radical reformers. I think a lot of damage has been done to our health and education systems, in particular, by that pendulum’s swing.

Couldn’t you have said all of this in a shorter, punchier fashion?

Um, yes. Sorry. But I’m on holiday…

Here’s a summary:

• AV or FPTP is the vote on the table. Of the two, I think most of us would say AV, and should.
• It isn’t more expensive, it isn’t confusing
• AV is fairer and more representative than FPTP
• A ‘yes’ vote opens the door for further electoral reform in the future
• A ‘no’ vote will likely close it for a generation
• If you want to ‘punish’ Nick Clegg, wait for the general election or, if you must, use the council elections. This vote isn’t about him.
• Coalition politics actually works really well around the world. We should have more of it, not less.

I find the argument of these two gentlemen entirely artificial and, indeed, the very premise of the question ridiculous. To set science against religion as if they were alternates is a truly false dichotomy. Science no more can explain the meaning of life than religion can tell of the inner workings of a star. To suggest otherwise is to misunderstand the philosophy of science, indeed to misunderstand philosophy in general.

Science is concerned with process, with the how of something. How does this work, what is its purpose and where did it come from? It is a method of exploring the practical nature of the reality around us; its functionality. It starts with a curious examination, postulates a theory and then experiments to examine the effectiveness of said theory. If a theory stands up to experiment, if it seems an effective model and explanation for the observed ‘thing’, then the theory stands. If not, it is rejected.

Scientific theories stand only as long as they remain the best theory available. They are frequently supplanted, however ‘right’ they might have seemed in the past. There is always a revision, an improvement, an alternative. As such science cannot be said to deal in facts, only in observable results and in current theorems. It is a realm of questioning, questing and searching; of scepticism and disbelief.

Religion, in many ways is the opposite. Although there are far more parallels than contradictions between open religious dialogue and modern scientific thought. Religion deals primarily in the why of the world, and specifically in the whys of human behaviour. Religion is the enculturation of cultural history and social norms; it is the framework of explanation that allows morality to develop.

Primarily, religion seeks to provide stories around which individuals can gather, to find common ground and a shared sense of identity. It seeks to answer questions that are completely beyond the scope of science: ‘why are we here?’; ‘how should we live?’

Perhaps my argument is too esoteric. Let us try an example:

Near my home in the village where I live is a duck pond. Every now and then, when deep in thought about this matter or that, I like to wander through the village, wave to my neighbours and say my cordial helloes, and to sit on a bench by the duck pond and marvel at the ducks.

I should start by saying that both science and religion are quite capable of joining me in marvelling at said duck, and are both perhaps quicker than an old philosopher at excepting that the duck is indeed there before them. A scientist would ask “is the duck observable?”, conclude it is, and move on to other questions. Likewise the priest or theologian. It is the old philosopher who gets bogged down in questions relating to whether he can believe the evidence of his own eyes… But I digress.

The scientist may ask “what is a duck?” and muse on its biology and microbiology, its place in the great genealogies of fauna, its importance to the biodiversity of the duck pond. To the scientist, this question is functional; how does the duck itself function, and what function does the duck have within the life cycle of the duck pond and its environs. If the scientist were to ask “how did the duck come to be here?” the question would be asked in the context of local ecology, migratory patterns and evolutionary history.

The scientist may indeed marvel at the duck. He marvels at the incredible complexity of its microbiology, or the way it perfectly fits within the ecology of the duck pond; the interoperability of the duck’s various ‘systems’ and the interdependence of the duck with the many other life forms within the ecosystem. He marvels, then, on the functionality of the duck, its physical nature and its place within the physicality of the cosmos.

The religious man looks at the same scene in an entirely different way. Religion is less concerned in the nature of the duck than it is in the story of the duck. What can be learnt from observing the duck and the duck’s behaviour? How can these stories be applied to our own lives for our moral betterment, or to more closely define our society or culture? How does the very existence of the duck point towards the nature of the universe and our place within it?

If the religious man asks “what is a duck?” he muses on its created nature; he asks how different the duck is from himself, or from God. He asks, more importantly, how the duck came into being, and why. The answers to these questions may be myth or conjecture; they may be deeply rooted in tradition and cultural heritage or they may be wild speculation; indeed, the answers to this may be impossible to know. But in asking his ‘why’, the religious man goes where the scientist cannot, to embrace the existential nature of the duck, and what it might or might not say about the existential nature of the man.

When the religious man marvels at the duck, he marvels in its beauty. He marvels in the beauty of the duck, in the beauty of the duck pond, and in the way that they so obviously complement each other. He marvels that he is there at all, to witness this beauty and to appreciate it. He marvels at the gift that such a moment can be found, with ducks, duck ponds and men to marvel at them.

While both men might ask “is the duck good to eat?”, the scientist thinks in terms of taste and nutrition and digestion; the religious man in terms of the morality of the act. While they may both ask “am I like the duck?” the scientist thinks in terms of genus, and the theologian in terms of how his nature is similar or different from that of the duck.

My point, friends, is that the questions are different, as are the questioners. They stand on entirely separate mountains, looking at the same subject from entirely different perspectives. And, quite often, they are found to be looking at entirely different things.

My colleagues here will stand before you and try and argue the right of their perspective to describe the nature of our universe, and the unsuitability of their rival’s. Science, you will hear, has explained away religion entirely and obviated its need. Or perhaps you will here that religion can be argued in terms of proof, and that that proof is evident around us…

Poppycock.

My contention before you today, friends, is that there is no basis in philosophy for this argument. A scientist cannot stand in the physical realm and speak to the nature of the spiritual; he does not possess the necessary tools. All the tools he has are based on what is observable and testable and he cannot observe, and certainly cannot test, what is beyond the veil.

Likewise religion has misguidedly wallowed into an argument that it is ill-equipped to fight, and certainly cannot win. The stories that we tell ourselves of existence, our existential musings in the dark of the night, are vital to our very humanness; they are what lift us up above the animals around us and mark us as different, separate. But those stories, those musings, those wonderings, however fresh or ancient, are unable to explain to us the inner workings of a duck, or a cell, or a star. They may ponder on the purpose of such things, but can tell us little about their function.

In this fight both camps have made the same mistake: they have conflated the how and the why. This is a grave error, and yet it is the foundation of tonight’s debate. Science has an incredible capacity to gradually discover the nature of the mechanism of our existence, to find explanation for the many steps in the long and complex journey that brought us to this place. But it is entirely unable to tell us why we are here at all. There is no tool in the scientist’s toolbox that even begins to tell us why, although it may one day offer theories as to why we ask that question.

Similarly religious thought, deeply suffused with attempts at explaining the ‘why’, at looking beyond the physical realm into other possible realities, at examining the nature of the human soul, is ill-placed to begin to satisfactorily answer the ‘how’. All it can do is regurgitate the stories that have been told in the past; stories that, however acceptable then, are simply insufficient now.

Both streams of thought do themselves a disservice by seeking to attack the other. They belittle their own usefulness in order to enter a realm where they can both quarrel. Science has little that is useful to say about morality, or the construction of society, and is in fact necessarily amoral in its questing approach. Likewise with religion, which can only make itself a laughing stock by arguing for the ‘how’ in old stories that are… well, beyond their usefulness in that regard, shall we say.

I will say this though, before I yield the floor to this pointless debate. While I see tonight’s argument as entirely false, I do not see science and religion as entirely separate. Quite the opposite, in fact.

The scientist and the religious man at the duck pond may indeed be one and the same. There is plenty of space within humanity to look for beauty, morality and mechanism within a scene. In fact, it is essential that there is. It is necessary for us all to ask ourselves both whether the duck is good to eat, and if it is good to eat the duck. To do otherwise is to reduce ourselves to a mechanistic level that denies the higher faculties on which science necessarily relies.

Science can examine the biochemical, psychological and sociological nature of mankind and determine the many factors at play in a man’s decision making. But when a man raises a gun to shoot another it is our religious tendencies that much judge who or what is to blame and what kind of justice might be applied. Science, you see, has no concept of justice at all.

It cannot. You cannot form judgment on what is ‘right’ by experiment; ‘rightness’, whatever that may be, is not observable. But that does not mean it is not knowable. Science, by detailed process of observation and experiment may determine what is the favourable outcome in a human endeavour, but it can very rarely provide explanation of why the outcome is favourable. It is the scientist’s religious tendencies that provide the explanation of said favourability.

I am rapidly losing the goodwill of my audience, so I will desist in my interruption. But first let me end with this thought:

The fact that we dislike or disprove of a particular narrative does not remove the necessity of any narrative at all. The fact that we raise science up to the level of a religion does not make us any less religious in our convictions. We have simply found disfavour with one dogma and replaced it with another.

I am not interested in arguing in favour of dogmas, on either side of this debate. I am simply here to remind you all of the nature of philosophy, and the very necessity of both moral and practical philosophies. They are both of equal necessity to us as individuals and as a society. It is unacceptable to equate them, or to say that only one side is needed, just as it would be to say that we only need women, and not men. In fact, such an assertion would be ridiculous, as is the one before you tonight.

And with that, I yield the floor…

““You shall not take the name of the LORD your God in vain.”

I never do. But let me explain something. Most people think that The Third Commandment means that they shouldn’t use his name as a swear word, e.g. shouting, “Oh God!” when they stub their toe instead of, “Oh Fuck!”

This is not the case (although I love the idea that God would rather them shout “Fuck” than “God”. That makes him cool in my book. But no.)

The commandment could equally be, “You shall not take the name of the LORD your God in ‘vanity’,” e.g. when your enemy is hurt or defeated saying, “that’s God’s wrath,” or when you win an award saying, “thank God.” This is using his name in vanity. It’s suggesting that you KNOW that God helped you win that award because you deserved it more, or because he was on your side. It’s always tickled me that God would have a favourite actor at The Golden Globes.”

Ricky Gervais theologising… I kind of like his interpretation, although I’m not sure I would have made the same call in the past. Yet there is something fitting here, even amongst the deliberate flippancy. I, like Ricky, have become very wary of people who say that they know what god does or doesn’t think on any matter. At the very least it’s arrogant. At worst it is putting your own opinions on a level (or above) that of god. And that doesn’t sound like a good idea to me…

Whatever your understanding of the origins of man, few can argue that for time immemorial mankind has gazed up at the stars in the sky above with awe and wonder. We have looked at the vastness above us and wondered; wondered what these slow-dancing lights could be; wondered what it would be like to reach out and touch them.

At first these lights were gods or spirits, or pinpricks in the firmament revealing the light of another realm. Then, as observation and curiosity led to increased understanding, they became celestial spheres engaged in an intricate dance through a vastness of nothingness that few minds could begin to comprehend. Mankind became aware of his smallness and insignificance, in the face of a distant and hostile sky. Yet, rather than being disheartened and lowering his gaze, his sense of curiosity and wonder only increased. And man desired even more to reach out and touch the stars.

The greater our understanding of the material nature of reality, the harder that dream became to realise. The enormity of the challenge of rising out of the gravity well; the hostile nature of the environment (or lack of it) beyond the comforting embrace of our atmosphere; the vastness of the distances between even the smallest and closest of celestial bodies. And yet try we did.

For a great part of the last century, amid the warmongering and petty argument, the death of the last empires and the casual, callous subjugation of the environment, some of the best and the brightest of men (and women) worked to reach up and touch the stars. Weapons of war were bent and twisted to a new end as deadly explosive force was harnessed (often spectacularly unsuccessfully) in an attempt to lift a few mad, brave fools off this mortal coil and into the heavens.

Fifty years ago today, the first man to ever leave this earth was lifted into orbit on the top of a Russian Vostok rocket; little more than a glorified firecracker. Yuri Alekseyevich Gagarin, tied securely in a tiny capsule, orbited the earth once, experiencing weightlessness and looking down on the sphere of the earth below. As no one, except perhaps the gods, had ever done before.

The American Alan Shepard followed less than a month later, and since then more than 500 men and women have been lifted into orbit and sometimes beyond. Not one of them has touched the stars, but they have all been lifted into the firmament and achieved the nearest possible reality of a dream of man that is so old it is primal.

I don’t think I could describe to you quite how proud I am of this Russian, of his countrymen who strived to send him into the heavens, and of their compatriots in the United States. There are many ends of the race of man that trouble my heart and fill me with shame. This is not one of them. I cannot tell you enough that I think this aim, to dream, to question, to reach beyond our bounds to fight against the shackles of our mortal nature is of vital importance. Reaching to the stars – dreaming that we can and giving our all to achieve that dream – is what makes us human.

Yuri Gagarin is a cypher, who represents the best of what it is to be human. To be made only ‘a little lower than the angels’. He represents the questing drive that has taken us from African campfires to the very ends of this earth, and is beginning to see us look beyond. This is definitely an anniversary to celebrate.

Update: Kester Brewin has some thoughts on this anniversary which I think are wonderfully complimentary. He goes further, saying that this day marks the birthday of ‘Planet Earth’ as a cultural concept. Have a read if you liked this and want more!

Of course, in recent years the tape has died, the CD is dying and the MiniDisk is all-but-forgotten; it is the MP3 that is in ascendancy, and these files are shared quickly and easily across the ether between friends and colleagues all over the world. Services such as YouTube, LastFM and Spotify make it easy to share music you don’t even own (or haven’t even pirated), meaning that a new age of sharing is upon us.

I love having people share music with me. I have some dear friends (Anna and Julia especially) who are masters of the craft of the mixtape, putting together great compilations that have introduced me to whole new worlds of music. Unfortunately, playlist making is not a skill that I really possess, so I have to rely on the generosity of others. I have tried, but I get so absorbed in one song that I find it almost impossible to be thinking of another at the same time, let alone know if they would conveniently segue…

So, how is it that in the last week or so I have found myself putting together two different playlists? I’m not sure, but it has something to do with my new workspace, and a music-obsessed owner/manager/boss and the wonders of Spotify. Casual, end-of-the-day conversations have turned into a world of link-swapping, laughing and compiling. And it seems to be working. Why? Because we’re doing it thematically…

I have two playlists on the go, and I’d like to ask your help with them both. They are themed as follows:

• Non-evil Children’s Choirs – most of the time, the inclusion of a bunch of singing children ruins a song and even brings you to the point of wanting to vomit. They have such a capacity to ruin a song with cheese and schmaltz that they must be evil! Except when they are not – so Another Brick in the Wall or You Can’t Always Get What You Want provide wonderful exceptions to the rule. So far, we have those two, Yo La Tengo’s Nuclear War, Dead Man’s Bones’ Lose Your Soul and a few others. I’ll try a link to the full list, here.
• Creepy Lovesongs – So, Every Breath You Take (aka ‘the stalking song’) is a perfect example, as is Elvis Costello’s I Want You – love songs that, when you stop to listen to the words, really creep you out. Today’s top addition to this list is Death in Vegas’ Aisha, but I need more. Full list here.

So, any additions? I know many readers of this blog have near-encyclopaedic knowledge of music, so surely you can think of a few tracks to add (and make me seem more capable at this than I really am). All suggestions welcome.

Oh, and if any of you is thinking of putting together a fresh mixtape, drop me a line… I’ll send you my address