Snakes and ladders

How a strong faith became blunted and then returned

When I was a child, eternity terrified me. Lying in bed in the pitch black, my mind was haunted by the thought of the afterlife. The expansiveness of it appalled me, the absence of time or space and the prospect of only future would send a chill down my spine.

I attended church with my parents from babyhood. By my teenage years, the bible was a familiar world to me, the god of purity and love angry at a sinful world but resolved to redeem it through self-sacrifice.

The characters of the bible were as real to me as England’s old kings and queens or as Liverpool’s strikers. Many of the sixty-six books had sunk beneath my skin. Aged nine I quizzed my parents for six months before taking the faith on for myself and was convinced by the character of Jesus himself. This was enough.

I moved to a boarding school at thirteen and discovered how effectively the English establishment had blunted Christianity, and how unpopular biblically-minded preachers (we had one or two) could be.

Traditional forms of church and Christianity were acceptable, even appropriate (we went to chapel three or four times a week), but Jesus himself was often admired more as moral compass than global saviour.

Boarding school was a rum time that I just about muddled through. But it was while there that I allowed my faith to be compromised. At university my spiritual hypocrisy continued, despite a few key boundaries remaining in place. I still attended church but Jesus made little difference to the way I behaved; I had been Anglicised and deadened, though not yet destroyed.

My studies in literature attacked my beliefs head-on, and absurdist drama, which struck such a deep chord in me, posited a new world view of utter emptiness. To me it was an honest kind of atheism, a recognition that a Godless universe was just a haphazard arrangement of atoms, with no space for meaning or moral absolutes. Its ungarnished honesty impressed me. But it was this same sense of lack that, in time, made it hard to reason. Why should this meaning vacuum so irk us if we were simply atomic accidents? Why were we hard-wired to judge human behaviour by moral absolutes, to fear death or to seek narratives?

My return to true faith came in stages and suffered setbacks. What propelled it was neither reason nor ambition but simple awe at the person of Jesus Christ that walked across the pages of the four gospels.

His incomparable beauty convinced me again that this story could never have sprouted from a human imagination locked in utter emptiness, nor from a mythmaker trying to placate pedestrian human fears.

There was no man who spoke words like these or showed love like this, choosing to die to save those who had had demanded his crucifixion.

Eternity’s depths remain as inscrutable as ever, but fear of them has become less prominent in my mind’s eye than what St. Paul called "the depths of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God".

Alex studied French, then Chinese before pursuing a career in journalism. He now works for Trusted Sources, a political and economic risk consultancy, where he is a China analyst
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How the row over Jackie Walker triggered a full-blown war in Momentum

Jon Lansman, the organisation's founder, is coming under attack. 

The battle for control within Momentum, which has been brewing for some time, has begun in earnest.

In a sign of the growing unrest within the organisation – established as the continuation of Jeremy Corbyn’s first successful leadership bid, and instrumental in delivering in his re-election -  a critical pamphlet by the Alliance for Workers’ Liberty (AWL), a Trotskyite grouping, has made its way into the pages of the Times, with the “unelected” chiefs of Momentum slated for turning the organisation into a “bland blur”.

The issue of contention: between those who see Momentum as an organisation to engage new members of the Labour party, who have been motivated by Jeremy Corbyn but are not yet Corbynites.

One trade unionist from that tendency described what they see the problem as like this: “you have people who have joined to vote for Jeremy, they’re going to meetings, but they’re voting for the Progress candidates in selections, they’re voting for Eddie Izzard [who stood as an independent but Corbynsceptic candidate] in the NEC”.  

On the other are those who see a fightback by Labour’s right and centre as inevitable, and who are trying to actively create a party within a party for what they see as an inevitable purge. One activist of that opinion wryly described Momentum as “Noah’s Ark”.

For both sides, Momentum, now financially stable thanks to its membership, which now stands at over 20,000, is a great prize. And in the firing line for those who want to turn Momentum into a parallel line is Jon Lansman, the organisation’s founder.

Lansman, who came into politics as an aide to Tony Benn, is a figure of suspicion on parts of the broad left due to his decades-long commitment to the Labour party. His major opposition within Momentum and on its ruling executive comes from the AWL.

The removal of Jackie Walker as a vice-chair of Momentum after she said that Holocaust Memorial Day belittled victims of other genocides has boosted the AWL, although the AWL's Jill Mountford, who sits on Momentum's ruling executive, voted to remove Walker as vice-chair. (Walker remains on the NEC, as she has been elected by members). But despite that, the AWL, who have been critical of the process whereby Walker lost her post, have felt the benefit across the country.

Why? Because that battle has triggered a series of serious splits, not only in Momentum’s executive but its grassroots. A raft of local groups have thrown out the local leadership, mostly veterans of Corbyn’s campaign for the leadership, for what the friend of one defeated representative described as “people who believe the Canary [a pro-Corbyn politics website that is regularly accused of indulging and promoting conspiracy theories]”.

In a further series of reverses for the Lansmanite caucus, the North West, a Momentum stronghold since the organisation was founded just under a year ago, is slipping away from old allies of Lansman and towards the “new” left. As one insider put it, the transition is from longstanding members towards people who had been kicked out in the late 1980s and early 1990s by Neil Kinnock. The constituency party of Wallasey in particular is giving senior figures in Momentum headaches just as it is their opponents on the right of the party, with one lamenting that they have “lost control” of the group.

It now means that planned changes to Momentum’s structure, which the leadership had hoped to be rubberstamped by members, now face a fraught path to passage.

Adding to the organisation’s difficulties is the expected capture of James Schneider by the leader’s office. Schneider, who appears widely on television and radio as the public face of Momentum and is well-liked by journalists, has an offer on the table to join Jeremy Corbyn’s team at Westminster as a junior to Seumas Milne.

The move, while a coup for Corbyn, is one that Momentum – and some of Corbyn’s allies in the trade union movement – are keen to resist. Taking a job in the leader’s office would reduce still further the numbers of TV-friendly loyalists who can go on the airwaves and defend the leadership. There is frustration among the leader’s office that as well as Diane Abbott and John McDonnell, who are both considered to be both polished media performers and loyalists, TV bookers turn to Ken Livingstone, who is retired and unreliable, and Paul Mason, about whom opinions are divided within Momentum. Some regard Mason as a box office performer who needs a bigger role, others as a liability.

But all are agreed that Schneider’s expected departure will weaken the media presence of Corbyn loyalists and also damage Momentum. Schneider has spent much of his time not wrangling journalists but mediating in local branches and is regarded as instrumental in the places “where Momentum is working well” in the words of one trade unionist. (Cornwall is regarded as a particular example of what the organisation should be aiming towards)

It comes at a time when Momentum’s leadership is keen to focus both on its external campaigns but the struggle for control in the Labour party. Although Corbyn has never been stronger within the party, no Corbynite candidate has yet prevailed in a by-election, with the lack of available candidates at a council level regarded as part of the problem. Councilors face mandatory reselection as a matter of course, and the hope is that a bumper crop of pro-Corbyn local politicians will go on to form the bulk of the talent pool for vacant seats in future by-elections and in marginal seats at the general election.

But at present, a draining internal battle is sapping Momentum of much of its vitality. But Lansman retains two trump cards. The first is that as well as being the founder of the organisation, he is its de facto owner: the data from Jeremy Corbyn’s leadership campaigns, without which much of the organisation could not properly run, is owned by a limited company of which he is sole director. But “rolling it up and starting again” is very much the nuclear option, that would further delay the left’s hopes of consolidating its power base in the party.

The second trump card, however, is the tribalism of many of the key players at a local level, who will resist infiltration by groups to Labour’s left just as fiercely as many on the right. As one veteran of both Corbyn’s campaigns reflected: “If those who have spent 20 years attacking our party think they have waiting allies in the left of Labour, they are woefully mistaken”. 

Stephen Bush is special correspondent at the New Statesman. His daily briefing, Morning Call, provides a quick and essential guide to British politics.