Reflections from a faith perspective on issues and people in the news.
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Good morning. When societies argue about definitions, it can sound technical, the sort of debate lawyers or policymakers care about. But definitions are about something deeper. They show what a society is prepared to recognise, and what it refuses to ignore. This week the government introduced a non-statutory definition of anti-Muslim hostility. Predictably, the conversation has turned to questions of free speech and its limits. Those are important questions. But definitions of prejudice carry another purpose. They tell us whose dignity we are prepared to defend. As a rabbi, I hear these debates with particular sensitivity. Jewish history contains long periods when hostility towards Jews was so normal it barely needed a name. The word antisemitism only entered common language in the nineteenth century, though the prejudice itself was far older. Naming something does not solve it. But it does change the silence around it. I was thinking about that while sharing an Iftar meal during Ramadan. Around the table were Muslims, Jews and others, gathered to break the fast together. Among them was Maoz Inon, an Israeli peace activist whose story carries immense grief. On October 7th his parents were killed when Hamas attacked their home in southern Israel. Many people in his position might understandably turn inward. Instead Maoz has chosen something more demanding: continuing to work for a shared future between Israelis and Palestinians, insisting humanity must survive even deep violence .What struck me that evening was the atmosphere in the room. Everyone arrived with a strong sense of who they were, Muslim, Jewish, secular. No one was asked to soften their identity in order to sit together. In Jewish tradition there is a phrase, b'tzelem Elohim, that every human being is created in the image of God. If every person carries that divine imprint, dignity is not something we negotiate depending on who we agree with. It becomes something we are bound to protect in one another. The debate about anti-Muslim hatred is therefore not only about Muslims. It is about the kind of country we are still trying to become. A Britain confident enough to protect open debate, but serious enough to recognise when prejudice corrodes our common life. Around that Iftar table it felt possible to glimpse that Britain. Not one where difference disappears, but one where faith and identity are brought honestly into the room. Because perhaps the real contribution of religion in public life is this: the insistence that dignity is not a limited resource. And that a confident Britain will be built not by setting identities aside, but by bringing the best of them into the same room.
Good morning. Justice delayed is justice denied. But justice rushed is no bowl of cherries either. In July, Lord Leveson warned that "fundamental" reforms to the jury system in England and Wales were needed to "reduce the risk of total system collapse." But yesterday, a leading barrister argued the judiciary is not diverse and is unrepresentative of the communities it serves, which can be intimidating to victims, witnesses and defendants. On the surface the debate looks like a face-off. There's pragmatism, which says, ‘Forget juries for sentences under three years, and realise complex fraud trials are beyond a jury's comprehension'; and then there's principle, which says, ‘The jury system is foundational to our whole understanding of justice.' But in reality, principled opponents of change point out that, according to a think tank, only 2 percent of cases may be affected while pragmatic proponents say justice is about more than a set-piece trial. Beneath the surface lie further dynamics like the nature of a legal career and the lack of people wanting to become judges. Above the Old Bailey stands a bronze statue of Lady Justice. Personifying justice implies it's an absolute – that justice can definitively be arrived at, whereupon other blessings will follow. But justice is not an abstract goal – it's a set of conventions, arrived at through striving for social order and well-being. Pure justice is an idol; there's very little that's pure about human relations gone so badly wrong as to involve the courts. Justice is a system, not an ideal; a best attempt, not perfection. Establishing good conventions is the heart of justice. Those conventions, far from being luminous and eternal, are always in need of updating. But that moment of refining is a very sensitive one. Because conventions, whether in law or in any other institution or relationship, rest on something more fundamental. And that fundamental quality is trust. Criminal cases arise when the trust that underpins all civilised society has broken down, and it seems a person has acted in a way that undermines the confidence we place in one another to function and interact together. Justice is a process by which that trust can be restored, involving a balance of accountability, judgement, punishment, mercy and rehabilitation. When the psalmist says, ‘Oh, how I love your law! It is my meditation all day long,' he's saying well-being lies in a balance of giving each their due, which in his case includes giving God God's due. But to create new conventions, that work for victims as well as authorities, means recognising that justice is about restoring trust, in the system – and in one another.
Good morning. This week sees in the Sikh New Year, and I find myself reflecting on the nature of new beginnings and fresh starts. For me and my husband, this is particularly apt, as we have been blessed with the recent arrival of our baby daughter. Before we got married, my husband and I paid our respects at a gurdwara near Amritsar dedicated to Baba Buddha Ji, one of the most venerated figures in Sikh history. According to legend, those who go with a deep faith will have their prayers for a child answered, just as the 5th Guru's wife did when she visited Baba Buddha Ji's home some four centuries earlier. Now it's finally happened for us. As a married gay Sikh man, it's somewhat of an understatement to say that the journey was neither simple nor straightforward. Her birth was only possible through the extraordinary generosity of a surrogate, someone who's become a dear friend to us and whose compassion allowed us to become parents. She wanted to make our dream come true, and in doing so, changed our lives. Surrogacy remains controversial for some. There can be fears about it being exploitative or ethically dubious, and it can involve large amounts of money in some parts of the world, creating an imbalance of power. In the UK however, surrogacy has to be altruistic from a legal perspective, with only reasonable expenses being allowed to be paid. The Sikh faith teaches that sewa, or selfless service, lies at the heart of a righteous life. It's the quiet act of giving without expectation, of sharing what one has for the benefit of others. Even though she isn't Sikh herself, from my own approach to the faith, I can see that our surrogate embodied that spirit perfectly. She gave of herself, physically and emotionally, so that we could have a child. For my husband and I, her sewa has become the bridge between hope and reality. In the scriptures of the Guru Granth Sahib, the 5th Sikh Guru says “Whoever has good destiny inscribed on their forehead, applies themselves to selfless service”. The opportunity to help others is seen as good fortune, something that one should actively seek out, and not as an obligation to carry out begrudgingly. For some, that service could be making food in the langar kitchens at a gurdwara. For others, it can involve humanitarian work internationally. All important and meaningful tasks, all forms of worship in their own ways. So as the Sikh New Year gets underway, we begin our new chapter as parents, and our own parents begin their journey as grandparents. We will forever be grateful to the sewa given by our surrogate, without whom none of this would have happened. Despite the odds, hope and love has still managed to find a way to shine through.
Baroness Louise Casey was refreshingly frank on this programme the other day. As chair of the independent committee on adult social care, she set out some of the grim realities of the present crisis.Many families whose frail elderly members have dementia or other complex needs will identify with her description of the battle to get help as ‘horrendous': for those with no one close it must be worse. The system relies on exploitation of its workforce, she said, with many earning less than the minimum wage, not reimbursed for travel expenses or getting no holiday pay. Cross-party support was essential for fundamental change.As continuous medical advances mean more of us live longer than previous generations, and often further away from loved ones, it's not a new problem. That makes it no less of a scandal when some of our most vulnerable are left feeling that they no longer matter. Exhausted families and friends, neighbours, campaigning organisations and community groups of all kinds do what they can – and so do many politicians.But for them Baroness Casey sounded a note of caution: ‘I'd warn any political party to be a little careful about throwing stones until we actually know what we are doing.' Which is, of course, to ask the question what have you actually done about it? Do you honestly think you've made a difference for good? Be careful about throwing stones – that immediately took me back to a vivid story in the gospel of John. As Jesus is teaching in the temple in Jerusalem, a woman is set before him. She's been caught committing adultery – no mention of the man. He's challenged by religious leaders and legal scholars, trying to trap him, to pronounce on whether she should be stoned to death. There's a very long pause, and he says: ‘Let him who is without sin among you throw the first stone at her.' One by one, they all go away, beginning with the oldest…presumably because they've been reminded how much they've messed up in their long lives, and maybe realising that if they condemned her, they might be exposed as hypocrites.I don't think any of this means that we've no right ever to utter criticism. Every society needs people who will reveal uncomfortable truths about those who abuse their power, expose mistreatment of the weakest, speak for those allowed no voice of their own. In the interests of truth, verbal stones may sometimes need be thrown, as the Hebrew prophets demonstrated.Jesus refused to condemn the woman, offering her a new beginning instead. But he didn't condone the men's hypocrisy either. He reminds us to reflect on our own actions, before standing in judgment on others.
As a dog lover and an ordained Christian, one of the questions I've been asked the most is, “Do dogs have souls?” It's a question which is often accompanied by grief and loss, but which also expresses a hope which is so vital to cling to, especially in these turbulent times. It's a good time of year to be thinking about this, as Crufts, the world's premier dog show, opened yesterday for its annual event. It might seem trivial to spend four days celebrating all things canine, amidst the backdrop of the volatile situation in the middle east, but perhaps that's, at least in part, the point. Dogs, with their reputation for simple joy, faithfulness, and love which is unconditionally given, are living proof that there is another way for humans to be, one in which it's possible to enjoy a flourishing relationship with other creatures, for all that we struggle to model this with one another. It's certainly true that humans forge strong, unbreakable bonds with their dogs, and when that bond is broken by death, it can be unexpectedly painful. When my dog died I was given a card which included the poem about Rainbow Bridge, which describes the pets who've gone before us, waiting in a utopian afterlife for their owners to die too, so they can be reunited. This is folk eschatology, hopes and yearnings about what happens when we lose those we love. It's the theology of last things. In the febrile, dangerous times we're living in, it's unsurprising that people might want to imagine a place which might be free from cruelty. A place marked by peace and the harmony of co-existence, like that described in the book of Isaiah. Here we are given a prophetic vision of the end times, one where all creation will be reconciled in a restored world. No predators or prey, the lion lying down with the lamb, the leopard with the goat…and a little boy leading them all. For Christians, this redemption and healing is only possible because Jesus went before us; living, dying, rising again. He is the reason for our hope in the midst of life and death, and a love which lasts beyond it. In a world where the strong still regularly overpower the weak, a world where lions devour lambs, it gives comfort and hope to imagine something radically different. Martin Luther apparently said to his dog, "Be thou comforted, little dog, Thou too in Resurrection shall have a little golden tail.” I don't know whether or not my dog had a soul, but she was a soul. Sweet, faithful, infuriating at times, and much missed.
Good morning. The appearance of a special planetary parade at the weekend was eclipsed by the coverage of the intense military operations in the Middle East that began on Saturday. But, it reminded me of an extraordinary astronomical alignment recorded by sages in India some millennia ago; seen then as an ominous portent of social and spiritual trends they believed would unfold in the times to come. Some of these seem prescient, or at least indicative, of persistent human psychology. They included warnings that wealth, not character, will confer status. To be poor will be seen as unholy. The law will be defined by power. Trade will thrive on deceit. Hypocrisy will become a virtue and audacity accepted as truthfulness. The sages foresaw that ordinary citizens would have to bear the resulting injustice and hardship. In response the most valued Vedic texts were compiled to re-balance such corrupting tendencies. For instance, the Bhagavad-gita describes that when we fear our interests or security might be frustrated or taken away, we behave irrationally, often lashing out in anger for revenge or retribution. The Gita cautions that this is a daily challenge for each of us. It says we must apply measured discriminative intelligence rather than act on our emotions, fears and biasCarl Jung made a similar point: “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” The world is watching closely as events develop in the Middle East. Despite being shrewdly orchestrated by intense military analysis and coordination, will the result, as Jung said, seem like fate? A result that can neither be predicted, nor planned. The Gita asks us all to rise above emotional reactivity; and to act in wisdom, free from the belief that unless things go completely our way, there can be no acceptable result or compromise. Today, there is a special observance in my Vaishnava tradition; the commemoration of the birth in 1486 of Sri Caitanya, a powerful social and spiritual reformer. In one of his most cited statements, he rejects being associated with any divisive identity of caste, communal or religious affiliation. Rather, he says, I wish to be known simply as the servant of the servant of that God who serves all those who are innocent, oppressed and who have no other shelter to deliver them from fear and want in this world. I pray that it will be measured conscious wisdom, and not unconscious fate, that delivers a welcome outcome to the current conflict.
Good MorningViewed from the comfort of our kitchens and living rooms, global conflict can all too readily resemble a twisted form of spectator sport. Commentators describe the flow of action, their remarks interspersed by expert analysts, who seek to clarify exactly what has happened whilst offering opinions as to what might next ensue. As news about the Israeli and American attacks on Iran began to break on Saturday morning, I found myself drawn into speculation about possible military and political outcomes. Who might win and who would lose. Would the UK be drawn into the conflict, and if so how? It being a Saturday in Lent, later that morning I joined my wife in her church for a seasonal practice known as Stations of the Cross. Helen, the priest leading our devotions, invited us to reflect on each of fourteen traditional images. These mark successive moments in Jesus's journey, from when he's condemned to death to the laying of his body in the tomb. The reflection jolted me out of spectator-mode and reminded me that ….. Whatever the political outcomes of events in and around Iran may be, ….. the cost in human suffering, in lives destroyed, in minds and bodies left permanently maimed, will be immense.My thoughts turned to the many Iranian Christians I've come to know and admire, and who are active members of my churches here in Manchester. I doubt if any of them will be mourning the death of the leader of a regime that has brutally ruled their homeland for almost half a century. But many have family members and friends still in Iran, whose lives are now at heightened risk. I thought too, of the Jewish community who live in the streets surrounding my home in Salford. Alongside their heightened fears for loved ones in Israel, they know all too well, in the aftermath of the recent terrorist attack on Heaton Park Synagogue, that actions of the Israeli government can expose them to reprisals here at home.The Stations of the Cross remind me that even as Jesus journeys, literally, to Hell and back, there are moments of comfort and consolation, where humanity breaks through the horror. Simon of Cyrene helps carry Christ's cross, Veronica takes up a cloth to wipe blood and sweat from his face. Both saw something more than the political machinations that were manoeuvring Jesus to his death. They focused, rather, on the human being caught in the centre of the suffering. As events continue to unfold across our screens and airwaves, we cannot avoid politics, but we can, perhaps, follow their example, refuse to be mere spectators and keep the need for human compassion in response to human suffering at the forefront of our thoughts.
Good morning! It seems like everyone's at it - Muslims, Christians, and soon Jews will be too. Don't be alarmed - I'm talking about fasting. On Ash Wednesday, some Christians began fasting for Lent, which can involve giving up certain foods. This week Jews will observe the Fast of Esther confirming what the Qur'ān says that it's not just Muslims who fast, but so do others. My wife and I, like many Muslims have the mammoth task of waking everyone up at 4 o'clock for suhūr - the pre-dawn breakfast as we prepare to fast from dawn until sunset. No food and drink in between, and yes, not even water. At sunset families, friends and neighbours get together for iftār - the breaking of the fast. It's a joyful time uniting everyone – you don't have to be Muslim to get involved.This Ramadān I was invited to JW3, the Jewish centre in London. Lanterns and flowers adorned the tables, bunting saying Ramadān Mubārak hung from the ceiling.. It was a wonderful time to meet old friends and make new ones. It renewed my hope for peaceful coexistence as we learn about one another to cultivate mutual respect. As we said our goodbyes, many Jews came and appreciated my talk and said how much it spoke to them also. They delighted in our similaritiesThe Qur'ān says that the purpose of fasting is to help us become God consciousness, pious, righteous and God-fearing. The spiritual dimension of fasting is most important. The fasting of the tongue - not to backbite, lie or swear. The fasting of the ears and eyes - see no evil, hear no evil. Seeking purity of the mind and cleansing of the heart from hate, anger, revenge and all the spiritual ills and replacing them with goodness, love and forgiveness. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said that God is not in need of our hunger and thirst, but He's after our piety. Many a fasting person gains no spiritual benefit from their fast except the pain of hunger and thirst, he warned. During the day, I sometimes find myself all alone in the house, but I don't go and help myself to a sip of water or a secret bite because I know that although my family may not be around to catch me, God is watching. Like speed cameras and CCTV make me try my best to be on the right side of the law so should my awareness of God's presence prevent me from doing any wrong for I will have to answer to Him.
According to Professor Hannah Fry, people's lives are enriched by artificial intelligence. It makes problem-solving easier, helps medical diagnosis, and can improve productivity. Yet as she points out in her new BBC2 documentary, AI Confidential, there are risks: that jobs will be lost to AI; that we might lose the bedside care that comes with human diagnosis as machine intelligence takes over. She also warns AI provides what she calls emotional junk food that demands nothing of us, by offering AI romantic partners. And then there's tech grief, highlighted in a recent EastEnders storyline, when video and voice notes are used to create an avatar of a dead character to console his father. Real mourning is put on hold. But it seems to me there's another risky aspect of AI – that it rewrites temptation. Temptation is traditionally thought to be about testing will-power. Take Lent and Ramadan, currently being observed by Christians and Muslims. If a Muslim fasting all day has a little snack at lunchtime, or a Christian giving up sweets for Lent, eats chocolate, they've failed in their discipline. But AI is a different, and remarkable tempter, encouraging people not to fail in some way but take the easier option that in some ways seems sensible. Why read a book, for example, when AI can give you a quick summary, or make the effort to cook for dinner guests when AI can help locate a fancy restaurant in seconds and order a takeaway. And instead of the regret that comes from conventional temptation, AI offers something else. It's all too easy to console yourself that you have done something good. You've saved time. The easy option has advantages. The Desert Fathers – early Christian thinkers who retreated to the desert – did so because they believed a hard life was good for them. They believed it brought them closer to God. And with temptation, even if you give in to it but then regret it you can grow as a person by learning something about yourself. Pope Leo who has expressed concern about the impact of AI on humanity has now urged priests to resist the temptation to use the short cut of AI to write sermons. AI might be clever, but there's something lacking in AI preaching: it doesn't come from the heart. Perhaps this Lent and Ramadan, it might be worth not only giving up something that tests our will, but pondering something that appears helpful yet is temptation on another scale, reducing our need to think. After all, as Descartes said, I think, therefore I am. What am I, if machines have seduced me to do so much less thinking for myself?
Good Morning. I'm enjoying the warmer weather this week, and in London atleast, a bit of sun. However as we begin to dry out, there is one weather story you may have missed. Today and yesterday a plume of red-tinged Saharan dust is blowing across the United Kingdom in the high reaches of our sky, as reported by the Copernicus Atmosphere Monitoring Service (CAMS for short.). This is apparently not uncommon for this time of year, even if it can lead to what the over-dramatic among us call a ‘blood rain,' actually just a dusty residue left on our cars and windows when the sun finally appears. I remember the last one in March of 2022. Today this plume of dust is likely to lead only to a more vibrant sunset for those of us with clear skies. And the so-called ‘blood rain' is a completely normal, if not everyday thing – no need to run to doom scrolling or talk of ‘portents of judgment'. That said, people living in times of difficulty have always looked for signs not least in unusual cosmic events. In the Gospel according to Matthew in chapter 16, Jesus addressed this directly: ‘…You know how to interpret the appearance of the sky, but you cannot interpret the signs of the times.' He meant signs that were more social than meteorological. His further point was that we shouldn't be distracted by the sensational from what is right in front of us. Listening to the news I have become so taken up with scandalous abuse of power and the offence of some world leaders using racial epithets or national slurs, that I fail to see other ‘signs of the times' closer to home: the continuing high cost of housing, or lack of access to timely care, the background anxiety that seems to make our day to day interactions more fraught – and my complacency in the face of these. There are other signs as well, of hope however tenuous: a child learning to read or sing or play an instrument, people willing still to give time to volunteer or vote or help a neighbour. These matter too. In an 18th century sermon John Wesley spoke about the power each of us has over our attention. He said God ‘…made you free agents; …you have sufficient light shining all around you; …be assured God is not well pleased with your shutting your eyes and then saying, "I cannot see." So today, as the red dust plume moves over our heads, maybe we can take back control of our attention, to see signs of hope as well as harm and heed them both.
100 years ago this year, on a grey January day in 1926, the very first public demonstration of a new piece of technology was given in Soho, London by John Logie Baird. Called by its inventor a televisor, it would soon become a ubiquitous presence in flats and houses across the world known as a television. It's been reported this week that after 100 years of the device showing content designed for it, the television is now the preferred medium for people of all ages to watch algorithm-driven content on Youtube. ….. one of the biggest creators of content in the world It's no longer the case that we, the viewers, watch only what production companies make for us. We film ourselves on our phones, upload them ourselves and watch ourselves. The Victoria and Albert Museum in London has just recognised the importance of short form video as a cultural development by exhibiting the very first video uploaded onto the platform. Entitled ‘Me at the Zoo', it's a 19 second clip that has been viewed 380 million times since it was first posted in April 2005. The fact that we are watching, even on our traditional televisions whatever we want when we want is part of a development that has been happening for some time. It's a development that reveals to us what we value, what we will pay for, what we will put effort into. It appears to tell us that what we want more than anything - is to maximise our ability to choose. It is one of the axioms of our contemporary culture that individual choice is not only desirable but essential for a fulfilling happy life. And that's of course true. At the opposite extreme, a person who is not able to exercise any choice is enslaved, something that is both immoral and illegal. Freedom to choose how we live, what we eat, what we do, is a fundamental aspect of human nature not least according to Christian teaching, which insists that human beings have had free will, from the Garden of Eden onwards, made as we are in the image of God. But Christian spiritual practice will also teach us to stay alert to the illusions and deceptions that accompany the elevation of choice above all else. And what we now know is that as we're scrolling, we're not so much acting as a free human being, but more as an impressionable consumer, subject to the power of the algorithm. Fundamental questions are raised by an ethic that pursues choice above everything else, especially when it sits in the corner of our living space. The new tipping point we've reached faces us afresh with the questions we face when we choose: in whose interest, to whose benefit and, ultimately together, to what end.
Good Morning, Coming down from Yorkshire to London I usually walk through Marchmont Street. I often stop and look up at a Blue Plaque over a shop that was once a hairdressers. It's where Kenneth Williams spent the first part of his life. I worked with him in the late 1970's when I was a young producer with a missionary society. We were looking at new ways of getting the Christian faith to resonate with young people. I'd heard somewhere that the Ayatollah Khomeini, then exiled in Paris, was flooding Iran with messages on audio cassettes to topple the Shah. It may seem quite a leap but it prompted me to wonder if we too could use cassettes to reach out to the next generation. So we hired four famous comedians to retell the life and parables of Jesus . Soon we were in the studio with Derek Nimmo, Dora Bryan, Thora Hird and - Kenneth Williams recording a sparkling script by Jenny Robertson. Yesterday marked the Centenary of Kenneth Williams' birth – one of Radio 4's famous voices who knew the power of comedy to shock, to scandalise and to deflate the pompous. But he was also a sensitive man who prayed at the end of each day out of the depths of his own tortured soul. He excelled in recording these cassettes and captured the way Jesus himself used stories to cut the powerful down to size, especially religious ones. One of Jesus' amusing stories was told against the hypocrisy of the judgmental - of two men, one with a plank shooting out of his eye trying to pick a spec out of the other's – a comic sketch worthy of Basil Fawlty berating a hapless hotel guest! The paradox of humour is that comedy can pack a serious punch which is why the powerful, especially dictators hate being made fun of. Nor can they tolerate the freedom the media give to voice such protest. 50 years on, Iran's latest Ayatollah, while recognising the role media played in bringing them to power , now appears to be tightly controlling the internet, in what is widely seen as an attempt to stem the flow of information about a government crackdown on protesters. Memories of Kenneth Williams today make me nostalgic for a more spacious world where the freedom to speak out and even to make fun of each other were the signs of safer times. Kenneth Williams – rest in peace and in the memory of our laughter.
Good morning. There was a time in the early 2000's when you could not open a paper without seeing a photo of Tracey Emin at a party, glass in hand, staring at the camera. A moving interview with her in The Guardian in connection with her major new show at Tate Modern which starts next week reveals a very different Tracey Emin. She talks about the terrible cancer she has suffered, with many of her body parts being removed, so that life now is lived with great difficulty. At the time she thought she was going to die and then ‘Whoever they are', she said to Charlotte Higgins the interviewer, glancing heavenwards, ‘they said “I don't think she is all bad. Let's give her another go, see what she can do”' So she gave up alcohol and her 50 cigarettes a day and has since then thrown herself into her art - not only her own art but helping young artists and others in her home town of Margate. As she said ‘I have spent a lot of my life being sad, nihilistic and punishing myself mentally-and drinking and smoking. And then I realised: I could have my time back again.' No wonder her new exhibition is called ‘Tracey Emin: A Second Life.' Lent, which began yesterday is a reminder that we do not have to wait until death stares us in the face to have a second life. Notwithstanding regrets and failures every day is a new gift, a new beginning, a time to focus on what really matters to us. Tracey Emin says about those earlier years in the 2000's ‘God, was that the shallowest level of myself that I could ever be?' There is a shallow side and a deeper side to all of us. That deeper side brings into focus what we really want to do with our life, what kind of person we really want to be. If you visit Liverpool's Anglican Cathedral, the largest religious building in the country, built between 1904 and 1978, it is difficult not to be overwhelmed by its immense space and monumentality. But as you enter, just above the West End Doors, there is a total contrast-a permanent pink neon installation with the words ‘I felt you and I knew you loved me' written in Tracey Emin's own hand. Tracey Emin burst on the scene in 1988 with a work of art consisting of her unmade bed surrounded by condoms, blood and general detritus and people still associate her with this. But I like to think of her devoting herself to making new art and helping others in Margate, and that simple, pink neon installation in Liverpool Cathedral with its words ‘I felt you and I knew you loved me.'
Good morning. How do you feel about mind control? New research from a laboratory in Zurich suggests it may be possible to make people less selfish – by sending electrical currents through their brains. Forty-four volunteers were asked to divide money between themselves and an anonymous partner. Remarkably, when certain neural pathways at the front and back of the head were stimulated, participants gave more away. It sounds like science fiction. But other forms of bio-hacking are, of course, already common: weight-loss drugs, metabolic trackers, sleep technology. Medicines are routinely used to lift mood, sharpen attention, steady anxiety. So why not use science to make us kinder as well? That way, we might all become more beautiful people inside, as well as out. Just imagine it. Wellness centres offering holistic packages, body and soul: Botox top-ups in the morning, altruistic boosting in the afternoon. More seriously, researchers claim this new technology could be used for the treatment of certain brain disorders and prove invaluable for people who struggle with social behaviour. It could be just the nudge they need to become better citizens. It's a wholesome idea. Yet as I read the academic article on this impressive experiment in brain-hacking – forecasting gains in “cooperation, productivity, and cohesion” – I became increasingly uneasy. I was put in mind of Aldous Huxley's dystopian novel Brave New World, published almost a century ago, which describes a civilisation held together not by conscience but by chemistry and conditioning. A terrifying vision. Once virtue is treated as something that can be engineered, the line between encouragement and enforcement grows thin. A society might become more efficient, more compliant, even more outwardly generous, and still lose its soul. Huxley warns that people who allow themselves to be controlled may eventually come to “love their servitude”. Even if such dystopian fears never come to pass, the ambition to control our moral impulses through technology raises questions about the nature of morality. Christian thought has long distinguished between shaping behaviour from the outside and forming the person from within. Charity — what theologians call caritas — is not simply a matter of generous action. Intention matters too: affection that is freely given is what lends acts of generosity their meaning; without it, they risk becoming little more than reflexes. It's fascinating to learn that science can influence our moral behaviour, but it is fatal to confuse this fact with morality itself. The Christian vision insists that a person is more than a set of automatic responses. Morality only makes sense if it is chosen. As a society, we have already surrendered ourselves to our smartphones, our computers, and our digital habits; let's at least fight, while we can, to love one another freely.
Good Morning, In the rushed attempt to reckon with the Epstein files and what they mean, it's become hard to hear from and easy to forget the women who were actually the victims of his crimes. But if we are serious about understanding the forces that lie behind a network in which women and girls were trafficked for sex, we'd surely do well to start with the witness of their victims. Whenever these women have spoken, it is striking how eloquent they are, not just about what has happened to them, but also about the huge challenge of bringing the perpetrators of these crimes to justice. Many of them point to the heroism of Virginia Giuffre who, against massive intimidation and, according to other survivors, the cost of her life, helped to start the process that brought these crimes to light. In her memoir - Nobody's Girl – she wrote, ‘I hope for a world in which predators are punished, not protected, victims are treated with compassion, not shamed; and powerful people face the same consequences as anyone else.' I read her book whilst researching a story for an opera about modern slavery. As part of my research, I interviewed a woman who had been trafficked for sex alongside the policewoman who had rescued her from the trafficking gang. ‘Not once in 30 years of law enforcement,' the policewoman said, ‘did I meet a pimp or sex trafficker who expressed remorse. They see women as product in a business transaction.' Her words chimed with Giuffre's insight that we live in a culture that ‘tells girls their primary worth is to appeal to men,' mere objects to discard once used. Their humanity redacted. This thinking infects the Epstein files where women and girls, some reportedly as young as nine, are offered as though they were meat on a menu. They do this without shame and an entitled belief that the rules don't apply to them. The Psalmist describes this: ‘In their own eyes they flatter themselves too much to detect their sin. Even on their beds they plot evil; commit themselves to a sinful course and do not reject what is wrong.' Virginia Giuffre wanted to live in a world where victims were treated with compassion; not compassion as sympathy, but as a radical form of criticism, that says, ‘this hurt is to be taken seriously; it's not normal; and we have to act.' In his ministry Jesus sided and stood with the abused and the used. His compassion for the victim was an implicit critique of the system, forces and ideologies that produces victims. At his execution, he entered into that hurt and even came to embody it. On the cross his silence is eloquence. He redacts himself and becomes the Victim God; a witness to, and reckoning with, corrupt and controlling power. One common theme is the total lack of remorse and sense of entitlement.
Good Morning. ‘Speak about hope:' I hear those words everywhere in these frightening times At synagogue, we've just read the Ten Commandments, beginning with ‘I am your God.' Two rabbis whose teachings I admire experienced those words very differently. The struggle for hope lies in the tension between their explanations. Hugo Gryn, whose warm voice, often heard on radio, I hugely miss, survived Auschwitz. He wrote: Auschwitz-Birkenau was the … perversion of all the Ten Commandments… God was replaced by a Fuehrer and his minions who claimed for themselves the power of life and death… Murder was at the heart of that culture and killers were promoted and honoured… That's what ‘I am your God' reminded him of. Nazism is gone, but tyranny, killing and contempt are at large in our world, threatening our freedoms and future. Rabbi Yehudah Aryeh-Leib of Ger, who died last century, intuited a very different voice in the Commandments. He wrote: When God said, ‘I am,' the world fell silent; every living being listened. They heard the words not from Heaven, but within themselves. They felt: “This is about who I truly am. The life-force which flows through everything is speaking to me.” In that moment, a deep awareness connected all existence, humans, animals, every breathing being, and cruelty and hatred vanished. I believe that may be what we feel when humbled by some act of kindness; when touched by closeness to another person; when silenced by listening to the birds; when we sense in woodlands: ‘These trees – some hidden life-force connects us.' A consciousness infinitely greater than ‘Me, me, me,' flows through us then. It's what Wordsworth called: A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things.Here lies a quiet, but powerful, antidote to the horror Rabbi Gryn was forced to experience, when tyrants replaced god, dictating who must live or die. Here is an understanding that motivates us to love and give. I think of my Israeli friend, who despite the violence afflicting both peoples, supported her Palestinian colleague who bravely made soup in Gaza for hungry children. I'm mindful of the Ukrainian grandma, since killed, who refused to leave her front-line home in Kherson and, despite the bombing, sent me a gift of honey. What makes people do that? I believe it's the deeper voice that calls us, beyond all differences and hatreds, to care for each other and our world. In that voice lies our hope.
Good morning. When we talk about justice, we picture punishment, verdicts delivered, sentences pronounced, the drama of a courtroom. We talk less about what justice is for, what kind of life it is meant to make possible. I've been thinking about that because I've just finished jury service. For days I sat with eleven strangers, reminded how fragile justice is, how much it depends on ordinary people listening carefully, trying to hold someone else's story without breaking it. The law, up close, feels less like marble and more like human breath. That experience drew me back to Rose Heilbron, a woman from Liverpool and one of the great figures of British legal history. My own family comes from that same stretch of Liverpool, and I imagine what it meant for girls like my mother to see someone who sounded a little like them taking her seat in the Old Bailey. Her career was marked by remarkable firsts: among the first women appointed King's Counsel, the first to lead a murder prosecution, the first woman judge at the Old Bailey. By simply being there, she changed who Britain believed could speak with authority. Her most lasting contribution came in the 1970s when she chaired a committee on the treatment of women reporting rape and sexual assault. It argued that complainants' identities should be protected and their sexual history not used to discredit them. Behind those reforms lay a conviction: justice cannot function if it humiliates the wounded. A system that deters the vulnerable from coming forward manufactures silence. That conviction feels close this week. Recently released court documents in the United States again exposed how wealth and influence enabled the abuse of women and girls, perpetrators and collaborators protected with a vigour the victims' could only dream of. Jewish tradition teaches that law exists to guard human dignity – kevod habriyot. The Bible warns: do not oppress the stranger, “for you know the soul of the stranger.” The rabbis understood the stranger as anyone made small by power, anyone whose story can be turned against them. Rose Heilbron's work lived inside that teaching. She understood that a courtroom should be a place where shame changes sides, where those exposed are finally covered, and those who abused power stand in the light. Perhaps that is what justice is for: not the last word of a story, but the first breath after a long holding of breath –a fragile peace in which the vulnerable are believed, and the rest of us are changed by having listened. Because a society is judged not only by how it punishes the guilty, but by how carefully it guards those who risk everything to speak.
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