Warring Souls

By Martin Prozesky

Warring Souls shows what happens when religious faith is governed by ethical passion ̶ and when it isn’t. It is the story of conflict between 35-year old Sarah Williams, the radical Professor of Christian Ethics at the fictitious St Mark’s College near George, and Dr Gerald Meyer, the recently-appointed and staunchly evangelical vice-chancellor, together with their supporters. The story takes place in the first semester of 2006.
The conflict includes a dramatic Easter event in the Swartberg mountains and reaches a tense climax at the end of a campus mission. Led by an eloquent missioner from Oxford, the mission is intended to bolster evangelical faith and indirectly counter Sarah’s influence. Warring Souls includes flashbacks to her doctoral studies at Oxford and her sabbatical in Cambridge, Massachusetts. It carries a vital, ethical message for all believers

Endorsement from Professor Judith Brown
"Like all good fiction which is not fantasy or escapism Warring Souls can be read at different levels. It is a story of academic life and the tensions which can erupt in apparently calm and dedicated educational environments. It tells of the political intrigue and organization which can engulf many kinds of small communities. At its heart this is a sobering story of bitterness and the potential for violence when people of faith leave their minds at the doors of their holy places”
Judith M. Brown is Emeritus Beit Professor of Commonwealth History, University of Oxford.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Martin Prozesky
• Release date: Dec 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781928276999

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Harvard Square Coffee Shop.

Thursday 16 February 2006.

JUST BEFORE NOON on an icy February day in Cambridge, Massachusetts, Larry Moore, Professor of World Religions and Philosophies at the nearby Chase Divinity School, finished his coffee and glanced at his watch. Outside his favourite coffee shop at Harvard Square a cold wind blew as the clouds began to part and a bright sun lit the previous night’s snow.

His mind went to his special South African friend and colleague, Sarah Williams. Recently back at her job at St Mark’s College in her homeland after a sabbatical at Chase, for her it would be early evening, still warm at the end of a summer’s day. Tomorrow would be the big day when she would drop her bombshell to the members of her college. It was time to phone and wish her well – and to give her some good news about the book they had co-authored during her sabbatical.

He picked up his cell phone and dialled, listening as it rang repeatedly. When a voicemail message sounded he identified himself, recorded a quick message of best wishes for her big day, and then briefly added the good news that their jointly authored book had been accepted by a top Boston publisher, with a sizeable advance royalty. He knew it could not have come at a better time.

As he put his cell phone down on the white table cloth, he tried to picture where his friend was, recalling her many vivid descriptions. Most of all, he recalled how she had described it to the Chase community at the start of her visit. That had been in the divinity school’s auditorium when new students and academic visitors were welcomed and those from outside America were asked to tell the gathering about their home towns.

Sarah had begun by mentioning one of her country’s most famous novels, Cry, the Beloved Country, by Alan Paton, adding that it had been first published in the USA. Larry called to mind the far-away look that had crossed Sarah’s face as she told the audience that she was going to base the description of her home on the lyrical opening of Paton’s novel. Few at Chase that evening would forget what she had then said. The school’s online bulletin had posted it a few days later, and he had downloaded it to his laptop. He called it up and read her words.

‘There is a lovely road that leads from the little city of George in South Africa, where I live, into the hills. Those hills are green and rolling, and they too are lovely beyond any singing of it, as Alan Paton wrote of his own part of my country sixty years ago. In spring and early summer the watsonias bring glorious colour to the hills. Behind them the peaks of the Outeniqua Mountains rise steeply into the heights, grand in their beauty.

‘The road that winds its way into the foothills of the Outeniqua range and upwards to those heights passes the buildings of St Mark’s College. It is a place of learning founded, in the words of the Anglican benefactor whose money made it possible after apartheid, to give young people the best university education based on the best in the Christian values of generosity, integrity and justice. That is where I live and work. That is where I will return at the end of my sabbatical here at Chase Divinity School.’ With those words Sarah Williams had ended her short speech.

The months that followed had made Larry Moore keenly aware of the difficult situation awaiting his friend on her return to South Africa. A new college vice-chancellor had been appointed and installed during her sabbatical. Sarah had heard that his skills as an administrator and fundraiser in his previous position had been key factors in his appointment, rather than his scientific background. She had also heard that he was a staunchly evangelical Christian. His installation address to the St Mark’s community left no doubt about that. He planned to make the college a bastion of what he had described as ‘the faith which was once delivered unto the saints’, quoting the Epistle of Jude in the words of his beloved King James Version of the Bible.

LARRY HAD KNOWN Sarah since the time a decade earlier they had met at Oxford, when she was a doctoral student and he on sabbatical. Slim, vivacious, raven-haired, she was descended on one side from forebears in the three-hundred-year-old exile and slave community known colloquially in South Africa as the Cape Malay people. On her father’s side she was descended from a Welsh settler who arrived in Cape Town in the mid-1800s, who had fallen in love with and married her Cape Malay great-grandmother. Sarah had explained to him that mixed marriages, while rare, were not then unknown in her country, as they would be under apartheid when they were made illegal.

During her own sabbatical at Chase they had worked closely together on their jointly authored book. He knew that she was a passionate radical in her faith. He knew she saw conservative believers as good people, but who were trapped in beliefs that modern knowledge had made obsolete in her eyes, above all in their view of the Bible. So he knew there would be strife at St Mark’s when she announced her new project for the college the next day, one that ran directly counter to the plans of the new college vice-chancellor.

It would be a drama of warring souls, he reflected, built on the incompatible sincerities of two groups of good Christian people who would inevitably see each other as enemies. There would be serious consequences for the dream of real equality for women, and especially gays, in the churches if Sarah and her supporters lost the coming struggle.

1

THE FIRST SALVO

St Mark’s College.

Friday 17 February 2006, 12.20 p.m.

PROFESSOR OF CHRISTIAN Ethics Sarah Williams ran her eyes over the packed audience in the main auditorium of St Mark’s College. From nearby George and from the campus itself they had gathered for the first College Forum of the year, held on the third Friday of every month during the academic year.

Five hundred students, academics and members of the public had filled every seat fifteen minutes before the youthful professor began her lecture. Even the steps down the two aisles separating the blocks of seats were filled with latecomers, eager to hear the rising star of the college answering the deliberately provocative question put to her by the organising committee, ‘Is Christianity ever bad for your health?’

They had hung on her every word, some of them nodding vigorously as she made her points, others exchanging uneasy looks with their friends. Now she paused, glancing at a greying figure in a maroon cassock sitting in the front row. It was the Right Reverend Ashley Mkhize, Anglican Bishop of the Diocese of George, struggle hero for his defiance of apartheid, a liberal theologically, and chair of the governing council of the college. Catching her eye, he smiled and gave her an encouraging nod. Sarah smiled in return, grateful for his gesture.

Then she saw Canon Hector Newton sitting in the row behind the bishop and a few seats to his right. He was the informal leader of the evangelical Anglicans in the diocese and rector of St Anne’s, Robberg, the booming new and opulent parish at the beautiful seaside town of Plettenberg Bay. Canon Newton nodded in acknowledgement as Sarah caught his eye. She had little doubt that he would not approve of what she was about to say.

Glancing at her notes, Sarah said, ‘Let me summarise my lecture so far. You now know that it is based on very thorough research by myself and others. I’ve mentioned that this research is also the foundation for the new book I’ve written with my co-author, which has just been accepted by a top publisher in Boston over in America.

‘You also know that when I speak of Christianity, I mean every single institution since the time of Christ, but above all now, that calls itself a church, that believes that God is Trinity, that Jesus is God the Son, the second Person of the Trinity, and that he is the only Saviour, in whom we must believe if we are to have eternal life. And I mean every institution and every believer that sees the Bible as God’s truth in human words and as our supreme guide in all matters of faith and life.

‘You know that Christianity is a family of faiths rather than a single, unified church. That is especially true of the Protestant churches, but the Catholic Church also has its die-hard conservatives and its way-out liberals.’

Looking up from the lectern in front of her she noted the nods of agreement in the audience, paused and continued.

‘I have explained that our question today is about good and evil in the church, above all at the present time. And I have explained that I take the word health to mean far more than just physical well-being. Here in this place of learning I take it to mean intellectual health, but also moral and spiritual health.

‘You have also heard me set out the evidence. You have heard me name the criteria of ethical judgement I will use to answer today’s question a few minutes from now, and you know that they are without exception the values that Christianity itself teaches, above all the sacred duties to respect, love and serve one’s fellows, to protect God’s creation, to act justly and to love the truth.

‘Before I give my answer I will summarise the facts about the ethics of the church. I have made much of the wonderful story of Christian love, of the countless acts of kindness, compassion and friendship, above all to those who suffer. I’ve mentioned the way brave Christians fought against slavery, against Hitler, against racism in America and against apartheid here in South Africa. In an often greedy and violent world, the love, care and generosity of countless Christians, backed up by the resources of their churches, are an ethical treasure that we must cherish, defend and extend.’

Looking up from her notes, Sarah Williams once again swept the audience with her eyes. Then she added, ‘To be sure, Christians have no monopoly on these wonderful qualities, but in this country and in other western societies they form a very big majority. The goodness they can give society is thus of very great value for all.’ She let those words sink in before continuing.

‘This ethical treasure is the living heart of my forthcoming book, co-authored with my American colleague, Professor Larry Moore. It is also the foundation for the great, creative mission we believe the church must now embrace. That is why we’ve called our book The Eighth Day of Creation. It is also the living heart of my vision of the future of faith here at St Mark’s, and I’ll say a bit more about this vision in a few minutes.’

She noted with a feeling of satisfaction the looks of anticipation on many of the faces before her, and paused again before continuing.

‘I have also made much of the dark side of Christianity that we mostly ignore or deny. Not just complicity in the very evils that brave, morally strong Christians fought against, but episodes of dreadful violence like witch-burnings, torture of so-called heretics and brutality towards Jews, Muslims, gays and others down the centuries. After all, was it not Christian Europe that shipped millions of our Africans to the Americas and to this country as slaves, among them my own Malay ancestors?’

Sarah stopped again to let her words sink in, letting her eyes scan her audience and coming to rest on the bishop. Again he nodded gently, and she continued, grateful for his response.

‘Not just tolerance of slavery for most of Christian history. Not just paedophile priests. Not just dismissal of other faiths and their scriptures as mistaken and even evil.’

Speaking very slowly, she continued.

‘Not just these evils, as judged by the norms the church itself holds. But also a growing hostility, bordering at times on hatred, towards science and anything else that we think clashes with what we see as truth. We may have stopped seeing Galileo as a heretic, but growing numbers of us have put Darwin in his place.

‘Then there is our treatment of gays. Some of us so-called straight Christians treat them as equals and with respect and love. Others treat them with scorn, contempt and rejection, zealously brandishing their Bibles as they do so.

‘Something very painful for a woman like me is the harm far too many parts of Christianity do to us women, telling us to accept that God himself has stipulated that men should control most things not just outside the church but inside as well, including us women.’

She stopped speaking, brushed her dark hair back from her forehead, and said, ‘Does that surprise any of you, now that we have woman priests and woman ministers sitting here today? It shouldn’t, because by far the biggest church is the Catholic Church – of which I’ve had many happy experiences, such as being taught music by the nuns over in Oudtshoorn when I was a schoolgirl – which is the world’s biggest and most powerful discriminator against women, resolutely barring them from the priesthood.’

Seated on the stage next to her was Dr Jenny Styles, convenor of the college Forum Committee, an associate professor of English and facilitator of the day’s lecture. She was a close friend of Sarah’s , and allowed herself a smile of appreciation at these words. She knew how strongly her friend felt about the lack of gender justice, and shared her feelings.

At the lecternSarah allowed herself an ironic smile as she noted the many women in the audience, some of them clearly townsfolk, a few of them ministers or priests, others academics like herself, but mostly students of St Mark’s College with its strong Christian commitment. Grasping the lectern with both hands, she continued, feeling very confident now. ‘Among the most serious things on the dark side of the church is how so many of us misuse the Bible because it causes so many other ethical problems for our faith. Huge numbers of us treat the Bible as if it is God, rather than a gift from God, leaving our brains behind when we open its pages, as I’m sure my Biblical Studies colleague will agree.’

She looked pointedly at a slim man seated near the front. Dr Silas Khumalo, senior lecturer in Biblical Studies in the Department of Religious Studies, was from Bulawayo in Zimbabwe, with a doctorate from King’s College, London. Sarah respected his thoughtful, conservative handling of his subject but often also challenged him about it, especially when the position of women in the churches came up for discussion. Dr Khumalo gave a small nod in response.

Next to him, his heavily lined face revealing a slight smile of amusement, sat Sarah’s head of department, Professor Donald Haldane. A Presbyterian who enjoyed rituals like the use of incense, his field was Christian doctrine. Tall, greying and wearing a small, neatly clipped beard, he was the wise moderate among his younger departmental colleagues. Sarah wondered what was going through his mind. Then she glanced at her politically radical departmental colleague, Dr Thembi Mazibuko, who taught Comparative Religion, specialising in African traditional religions. She smiled encouragingly at Sarah, who then resumed her lecture.

‘We ignore the words of St Paul when he reminds us in his first letter to the church in Corinth, Chapter 13, that there comes a time when we must put away childish things and behave like responsible adults. I think that applies to the whole of our spiritual lives, and especially to how we read and use the Bible.’

Sarah sensed the mounting excitement and tension in her audience. She knew she had stirred powerful emotions, especially among the more conservative Christians for whom the whole Bible was the infallible word of God.

Taking a deep breath, she resumed her lecture. ‘The evidence shows beyond doubt that far from being a sanctuary of saintliness, Christianity has become a mixed bag of good and evil, truth and error, compassion and hatred.’

She looked up from her notes and added, quietly but very deliberately, ‘Now it is time for me to end by directly answering the question that was put to me by the organisers of today’s College Forum.’

An excited buzz rippled across the auditorium. Pleased by this reaction and sensing that she had a perfect opportunity to add a deeply personal touch to her lecture, Sarah shook her hair away from her forehead again and continued.

‘So far I have presented the evidence as a Christian scholar interested only in the facts,’ she said. ‘Now I speak as a woman in a male-dominated college, country and world. And I speak as a black person from the so-called coloured community.

‘I am lucky to have had a wonderful education here at home in South Africa and in England, but my parents grew up and lived till their middle age in an apartheid ghetto over the mountains in Oudtshoorn, where I was born in the hospital for non-whites, as we were called in those days.’ She pointed in the direction of her former home town some sixty kilometres away.

‘And all this time, from birth onwards, my life has been lived in the circles of the church, as a person who longs for the same opportunities, recognition, rights and rewards as everybody else, but who has to fight twice as hard for them as any man, above all any white man.’

Sarah looked directly at Vice-Chancellor Gerald Meyer, sitting to her left in the front row of the audience. Holding his eyes for a few seconds, she added, ‘Even you, Dr Meyer. We all respect your integrity, ability and passionate commitment to your Lord and Saviour, but as a man you benefit, like all men, from the luck of your gender, especially in church.’

A startled frown crossed Dr Meyer’s sun-tanned face, and there were gasps around the auditorium at Sarah’s audacity. She held up a hand for quiet and continued.

‘Here now is my conclusion. You ask me if Christianity is ever bad for your health. My answer is this. Some kinds of Christianity and here I mean the conservative kinds with their Bible-besotted soul-saving and their Pope-besotted blind obedience are often very bad for your health, especially on Sundays. And if you really want to love the Lord your God with all your mind, and not just all your heart and soul, Christianity is very often also extremely bad for your brain.

‘Influential parts of it are bad for your health if you are a biologist who thinks Darwin got it right about evolution. And it is especially bad if you are a woman, a gay person, and, worst of all if you are both.’ Running her eyes over the stunned audience, she added in a tone of strident challenge, ‘Sisters and brothers with guts and decency it’s time to stand up, help the church recover its true mission and save the Bible from those who, in great sincerity, nonetheless misuse and even abuse it! It’s time for another Reformation!’

Sarah again waited a few seconds to allow what she had just said to sink in. Then she added, ‘In the coming months I’ll be launching a new project to help make this happen, starting right here at St Mark’s. As my forthcoming book will show, the church urgently needs to equip itself for a new and more enlightened, more ethical, future. This is where our college can play a leading part, in the form of a centre for what I am calling Transformative Christianity. It will focus efforts on what the latest scholarship is discovering about Jesus as an ethical radical and about his brave initiative, lying largely buried under a solidified lava-flow of dogma, and it will focus on the future mission and needs of the church. I will also be starting a series of open seminars to prepare the ground for the centre.’

Feeling elated, Sarah looked at her wristwatch and ended with the words, ‘Friends and members of St Mark’s College, ahead of us is a marvellous opportunity. Let us make the fullest possible use of it. You will be hearing more about it from me in the coming days and weeks. And thank you for listening to me today.’

A few seconds of silence followed and then strong applause broke out, but not from everybody. While excited admirers of Sarah leapt to their feet to give her a standing ovation, others just clapped, some enthusiastically, others briefly and politely. A good many sat in stony silence.

She let the applause continue, her cheeks flushed, and then held up her hands. This was the kind of reception normally given to celebrity speakers at the College Forum, not professors, even dynamic ones like her, least of all on a topic like hers. Slowly the applause died down. All eyes were on Sarah Williams as she closed her notes and took her seat to await questions.

2

FIRST REACTIONS

St Mark’s College.

Friday 17 February 2006, 12.35 p.m.

‘ALL RIGHT, EVERYBODY,’ said Jenny Styles, taking over at the lectern and scanning the tiers of raked seats, ‘we now have time for questions and comments from the floor.’ Plenty of hands shot up but her eye was caught by a handsome young man with neatly trimmed blonde hair, who had not only raised a hand vigorously, but had leapt to his feet.

Next to Jenny, Sarah groaned inwardly, knowing what was coming. Everybody at St Mark’s College knew who he was – Jimmy Cattrell, the passionate president of a highly committed conservative student group called the Campus Christian Coalition. This was the student wing of the rapidly growing National Christian Coalition launched a few years earlier by leading members of South Africa’s conservative Christians. Its members were united by a growing concern at the increasingly liberal trends of the country under its new constitution, which they saw as unchristian. These included liberal abortion laws, gay rights and legal moves currently under way to allow same-sex marriages. Adopted in 1996, the new constitution had turned the country into a secular state, despite Christians numbering about eighty per cent of the population.

Sitting next to him was Errol Gates, the greying, bespectacled and brilliant professor of mathematics at St Mark’s. Cambridge-educated, he was known to Sarah as a committed conservative in his Christianity. His trademarks were the use of a mathematical argument claiming to show the powerful probability of the existence of God, and the striped bow ties he always wore on campus. She noticed the smile on his face as he looked at Jimmy Cattrell next to him.

Jenny nodded towards him and said, ‘Yes, Mr Cattrell, what’s on your mind?’ The lecture theatre became quiet as hundreds of eyes focused on the young man. Those from the college knew that two dedicated Christians could hardly be further apart than Sarah Williams and the young man who now put both hands on the back of the seat in front of him, leaning slightly forward in a confrontational position. He cleared his throat and addressed the professor.

‘Thank you for your lecture, Professor Williams,’ he began, his tone courteous but also firm and confident. ‘I have one and perhaps two questions for you. The first one is this. The College Forum is meant to get us thinking out of the box. That is why the organising committee, on which I serve, invites controversial speakers, or selects provocative topics – or both.

‘What I want to know is whether you actually believe what you said in your lecture, pretty well accusing Christianity of being a menace rather than a blessing. Or were you simply being as provocative as possible, to stir us up and get us talking?’

Jimmy ran his eyes around the audience, looked again at Sarah, making eye contact, and sat down to await her answer.

She responded immediately. ‘That’s easy to answer. I was both being provocative and meaning every word I said.’

A smile of satisfaction crossed Jimmy’s handsome face. ‘Thank you, Professor, for clearing up any uncertainty on that score,’ he replied, rising to his feet again. ‘Now I have a second question. I am sorry if it sounds harsh, but there are times when we Christians – we true, Bible-believing Christians – must use the sword of truth.’

There was a stir in the audience at such directness. Everybody present who knew St Mark’s College sensed that Jimmy was doing what he did best, standing up vigorously for his faith. He cleared his throat and then went on in a tone of rising indignation. ‘Please tell us how you can possibly still speak as a Christian with integrity, in this college which is dedicated to an education based on the best of Christian values, which true believers know are contained, infallibly, in Scripture.’ Very few in the auditorium missed the hint of sarcasm in the way he spoke the word ‘integrity’, picking it up from Sarah’s own words earlier in her lecture.

Before Sarah could reply, her challenger continued, his voice now stridently powerful. ‘What you have said today is secular humanism, not Christianity. It proves beyond doubt what we who stand for the historic truths of the Bible have always thought – that those, like you, who call them selves liberal or radical Christians, have in fact been captured by the forces of godless humanism, even though you may not realise this.

‘Six months ago you left the College on sabbatical as a Christian. A liberal, yes, but still a Christian. It seems to me that you came back, just a week ago, a secular humanist, because you think human reason is superior to a trusting reliance on the Word of God in Scripture.’

A burst of hand-clapping rang out from parts of the audience. An elderly man near the front called out, ‘Amen, brother.’ His face flushed and breathing deeply, Jimmy sat down, waiting for Sarah’s reply.

All eyes turned to her. If many expected her to look shaken by Jimmy’s bold challenge, they were disappointed. Though taken aback by his strident tone, she merely smiled at him, looked at her notes, nodded, let her eyes sweep the audience for a few seconds, and began her response.

‘What you’ve done, Jimmy,’ she said, ‘is no more than eloquent name-calling. You merely label my views as secular humanism and as a travesty of Christianity, instead of giving us an argument. It is mixed, I’m sorry to have to say, with a strong dose of arrogance when you presume that you can judge what true Christianity is.’

She hesitated for a moment, noting the heads dotted around the auditorium that were nodding in affirmation. St Mark’s College, she thought with satisfaction, had not become a solidly conservative bastion of Christian traditionalists during her sabbatical in America, but was still a mixed community.

Before continuing she looked again at Jimmy Cattrell and noted the hardening expression on his young face. She knew she had a bitter new enemy. Then she glanced at the staunchly evangelical vice-chancellor, but his face was expressionless.

‘Let me remind you, Jimmy, that St Mark’s College is a place of learning and truth-seeking, not dogma. This lectern where I am standing is an academic lectern, not a pulpit, and I am a professor, not an evangelist. None of this means that I cannot also be a Christian, even if your very narrow understanding of our faith blinds you to that fact.

‘I gave evidence about good and evil in our churches. My conclusion follows logically from that evidence. If you doubt that, go and ask Professor Eastwood.’ She looked towards a compact, middle-aged, dark-haired, bespectacled man near the front. ‘We all know that the head of our Philosophy Department is an expert on logic, and a true Christian.

‘As for your insinuation, Mr Cattrell,’ she went on, her tone shifting from the factual to the strident, ‘that I have forfeited the right to stand here as a Christian, let me simply say that you are dead wrong.

‘I don’t think I am being arrogant myself, when I say that I know a lot more about our faith than any undergraduate, no matter how sincere, no matter how diligent in studying Scripture. Certainly more than you. And over the coming months, I shall be showing you and everybody else just why I have come to see the kind of Christianity I embrace as not only ethically better but also more Christ-like than the version you think is the only valid one.’

Once more there was applause from various parts of the audience. Sarah noted with relief that much of it was from the women present, especially the younger ones.

As a dozen hands shot up, eager to put further questions, Jimmy was again on his feet. But before he could say a word, Jenny Styles took over at the lectern andpointed toward a towering and heavily bearded figure near the front of the auditorium who had risen to his feet, his right arm raised.

‘Your turn, sir,’ she said. ‘I don’t think we’ve met, so please would you briefly introduce yourself?’

‘Certainly,’ he said. ‘I’m Wilfred de Lange. I am a research professor of marine biology from Somerset University, which as you know is not far from Cape Town. I have a home here at Wilderness because my research deals with the condition of the estuaries in this area, so I spend a lot of time here.’ Sarah nodded as she moved to the lectern and Jenny sat down. Like everybody else in the auditorium, she knew the beautiful seaside town called Wilderness, with its nearby lakes, river mouth and lovely mountain backdrop.

Wilfred continued. ‘What I want to know is why you don’t go the whole hog and accept that religion – all religion – is a lot of superstitious, morally bankrupt hogwash. Don’t you realise that we are now in a new period of history, and that AD now means After Dawkins?’

There were chuckles of amusement from a few in the audience at this reference to the world’s best known militant atheist and opponent of religion, Richard Dawkins. Others stared with interest at the two-metre-tall Wilfred de Lange. A few recognised him from his long, solitary walks along the beach at Wilderness.

‘Ah, Richard Dawkins,’ replied Sarah. ‘I’m glad you mention him because I have plenty to say about his attacks on Christianity and what he thinks is its god in my forthcoming book. For now, let me say just two things in response to your asking why I don’t go the whole hog, as you put it, and simply embrace atheism.

‘Firstly, Dawkins is one hundred per cent right in denouncing the various evils that disfigure Christianity. That is exactly what my lecture today has emphasised. But those evils are not true of authentic Christianity, which is why in the book I call for a new chapter in the story of the church.

‘But Dawkins is dead wrong when he lumps all faiths together, because they differ vastly. They differ in what they believe and in their ethics. To hold that Desmond Tutu, Pope John Paul II and Billy Graham, or any other big-name, right-wing Christian like Graham, are one and the same is simply wrong. I don’t think Dawkins has examined all the evidence thoroughly enough.’

There was loud clapping from many in the audience. Sarah let it continue and then held up a hand to quieten it.

‘However,’ she added, looking again at Wilfred, ‘as I’ve already said