Even Dawkins does Christmas

It's the cultural prestige of religion that gives it access to power and buttresses its claim to spe

In his leader column for the New Statesman, Richard Dawkins makes a sharp distinction between religion as a cultural legacy -- as expressed in such cosy familiarities as Christmas carols and the King James Bible -- and religion as a living, and he would say pernicious, social force. The one, he thinks, is both traditional and "freely embraced by individuals". The other exercises "a real domination" over culture and politics.

Government, he maintains, "forces religion on society, in ways whose very familiarity disarms us" -- by which he means such things as bishops in Lords, the Charity Commission's assumption that religion is in the public interest, above all the inexorable spread of faith schools.

I can see where he's coming from. Indeed, I've written here before about the anomaly of a growing "faith school" sector in an increasingly non-believing society. And, like him, I can relate strongly to the cultural aspects of traditional Christianity without believing a word of it. Nevertheless, I think he's missing something significant.

The cultural prestige of religion -- in this country, this means especially Anglican Christianity -- is what gives it the access to power, what buttresses its claim to speak on behalf of morality, what causes politicians to want to embrace it in the first place. The bishops' seats in the House of Lords, which would appear to be safe from proposed reforms to the composition of the upper house, are a legacy of history just as Handel's Messiah or school nativity plays are legacies of history.

The Christian bits of Christmas are no less Christian because they are cosy and familiar. As soon as you wish someone a "Merry Christmas" you are inviting anyone from a doorstepping evangelist to a Thought for the Day contributor to remind you that the "true meaning of Christmas" centres around the birth, allegedly in Bethlehem, from an inviolate virgin of the Saviour of Mankind.

Dawkins wants to have his Christmas pudding and eat it, I'm afraid. He complains about the United States, where the constitution separates church and state, that "rival religions" have long fostered a "tiresome" avoidance of the C word (except, that is, in Bing Crosby's "secular carol" White Christmas, which the good professor rightly abominates).

But the US is also a country in which no presidential candidate could ever admit to being an atheist or even agnostic, where the equation of religious belief with personal morality is accepted almost without question, where (according to a recent study) atheists are considered less trustworthy than rapists.

The US might not have state-funded faith schools or bishops sitting ex officio in Congress, but religion is if anything even more deeply interwoven with culture over there than it is in Britain with its established church.

American politicians no less than British ones "believe in belief" -- nor is there the embarrassment factor that led Alastair Campbell to instruct Tony Blair not to "do God". If there's a difference (and of course there is) it's that while American politicians appear to believe in belief itself -- their own and other people's -- British politicians tend to confine themselves to stressing the social utility of religion.

Dawkins laments the "depressingly large number of intelligent and educated people", themselves perhaps non-believers, who "still vaguely presume without thinking about it that religious faith is somehow good for other people, good for society, good for public order, good for instilling morals, good for the common people."

There's nothing novel about such an assumption, of course. Politicians have been thinking along these lines since the days of the Roman Empire. As Edward Gibbon described the situation then, "The various modes of worship which prevailed in the Roman world, were all considered by the people, as equally true; by the philosopher, as equally false; and by the magistrate, as equally useful."

Is the assumption in any way justified?

Dawkins is right to point out that religion makes a poor philosophical foundation for morality. Fear of eternal damnation, as he says, is a "contemptibly immoral motive for being moral". And in fact research suggests little difference between the basic moral intuitions of religious and non-religious people. (This is good news for believers, by the way, as it suggests that their moral behaviour is not, after all, the result of their fear of divine displeasure, but comes rather from the innate ethical sense they share with most normal human beings.)

Nevertheless, and even allowing for the peculiarities of particular creeds, religious teaching has tended to provide a good approximation of proper ethical reasoning -- good enough for the relationship between religion and morality to have become well-established over many centuries. Religion is not morality, but if its teachings had strayed too far from innate human moral sensibilities it's unlikely that it would have survived.

What we're seeing today, in fact, in issues such as gay rights or the role of women, is religion engaged in a game of moral catch-up with secular ethics. Only those that successfully adapt will have a secure long-term future. The process might almost be called Darwinian.

Equally Darwinian, of course, is the way in which religions have managed to inveigle themselves into people's ethnic and social identities in so obstinate a way that even as anti-religious a campaigner as Richard Dawkins, a man who believes fervently in disbelief, feels irrationally impelled to stand up and sing "O come all ye faithful".

Even he, it seems, has been infected by some version of the God meme.

Richard Dawkins guest-edit of New Statesman

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The World Cup you’ve never heard of, where the teams have no state

At the Conifa world cup – this year hosted by the Autonomous Republic of Abkhazia – ethnic groups, diaspora communities and disputed territories will battle for footballing glory.

Football's European Championship and the Olympics are set to dominate the back pages over the next few months. How will Team GB fare in Rio? Will the zika virus stop the tournament even going ahead? Will the WAGS prove to be a distraction for the Three Lions? And can Roy Hodgson guide England to a long-awaited trophy?

But before the sprinters are in their blocks or a ball has been kicked, there's a world cup taking place.

Only this world cup is, well, a bit different. There's no Brazil, no damaged metatarsals to speak of, and no Germany to break hearts in a penalty shootout.  There’s been no sign of football’s rotten underbelly rearing its head at this world cup either. No murmurs of the ugly corruption which has plagued Fifa in recent years. Nor any suggestion that handbags have been exchanged for hosting rights.

This biennial, unsung world cup is not being overseen by Fifa however, but rather by Conifa (Confederation of Independent Football Associations), the governing body for those nations discredited by Fifa. Among its member nations are ethnic groups, diaspora communities or disputed territories with varying degrees of autonomy. Due to their contested status, many of the nations are unable to gain recognition from Fifa. As a consequence they cannot compete in tournaments sanctioned by the best-known footballing governing body, and that’s where Conifa provides a raison d’être.

“We give a voice to the unheard”, says Conifa’s General Secretary, Sascha Düerkop, whose world cup kicks off in the Autonomous Republic of Abkhazia at the end of this week.

“We are proud to give our members a forum where they can put themselves on the map.

“From that we hope to give back in the long run and invest in the football infrastructure in our member nations to help them grow.”

The two week footballing celebration starts with an opening ceremony before Kurdistan and Székely Land kick off the tournament. It follows on from 2014’s maiden competition which saw The County of Nice avenging a group stage defeat to Ellan Vannin from the Isle of Man, to take the spoils in the final via a penalty shoot-out.  There were some blowout scores of note however, with South Ossetia smashing Darfur 20-0 and Kurdistan beating the Tamils 9-0 at the event which took place in Östersund, Sweden. Neither of the finalists will be returning to the tournament – throwing down the gauntlet to another twelve teams. 

This, the second Conifa world cup, is testament to the ever-expanding global footprint of the tournament. Abkhazia will welcome sides from four continents – including Western Armenia, the Chagos Islands, United Koreans in Japan and Somaliland.

Despite the “minor” status of the countries taking part, a smattering of professional talent lends credibility to the event. Panjab can call on the experience of ex-Accrington Stanley man Rikki Bains at the heart of their defence, and the coaching savoir-faire of former Tranmere star Reuben Hazell from the dugout. Morten Gamst Pedersen, who turned out for Blackburn Rovers over 300 times and was once a Norwegian international, will lead the Sapmi people. The hosts complete the list of teams to aiming to get their hands on silverware along with Padania, Northern Cyprus, and Raetia.

A quick glance down said list, and it’s hard to ignore the fact that most of the nations competing have strong political associations – be that through war, genocide, displacement or discrimination. The Chagos Islands is one such example. An archipelago in the Indian Ocean, Chagos’ indigenous population was uprooted by the British government in the 1960s to make way for one of the United States' most strategically important military bases – Diego Garcia.

Ever since, they've been campaigning for the right to return. Their side, based in Crawley, has crowdfunded the trip to the tournament. Yet most of its members have never stepped foot on the islands they call home, and which they will now represent. Kurdistan’s efforts to establish an independent state have been well-highlighted, even more so given the last few years of conflict in the Middle East. The hosts too, broke away from Georgia in the 1990s and depend on the financial clout of Russia to prop up their government.

Despite that, Düerkop insists that the event is one which focuses on action on the pitch rather than off it. 

“Many of the nations are politically interested, but we are non-political,” he says. 

“Some of our members are less well-known in the modern world. They have been forgotten, excluded from the global community or simply are ‘unpopular’ for their political positions.

“We are humanitarians and the sides play football to show their existence – nothing more, nothing less.”

The unknown and almost novel status of the tournament flatters to deceive as Conifa’s world cup boasts a broadcast deal, two large stadiums and a plush opening ceremony. Its aim in the long run, however, is to develop into a global competition, and one which is content to sit below Fifa.

“We are happy to be the second biggest football organisation,” admits Düerkop.

“In the future we hope to have women’s and youth tournaments as well as futsal and beach soccer.”

“Our aim is to advertise the beauty and uniqueness of each nation.”

“But the most important purpose is to give those nations that are not members of the global football community a home.”

George Weah, the first African winner of Fifa World Player of the Year award remarked how “football gives a suffering people joy”.

And after speaking to Düerkop there’s certainly a feeling that for those on the game’s periphery, Conifa’s world cup has an allure which offers a shared sense of belonging.

It certainly seems light years away from the glitz and glamour of WAGs and corruption scandals. And that's because it is.

But maybe in a small way, this little-known tournament might restore some of beauty lost by the once “beautiful game”.