The Jeans of Slave Traders

Some of you may remember a post I wrote a couple of years ago about my disillusionment with Richard Dawkins. A copy of that post is here. Yesterday I was reading one of our local papers and I came across this rather dodgy article here, which took me to the original, but equally dodgy article in the Daily Telegraph here.

Advertisement

A War Monkey Called Sue! (Further adventures on the Internet.)

Yesterday I read Charles Moore’s review of Stephen Spielberg’s latest film, War Horse. Having seen and thoroughly enjoyed the play, which I saw inLondon, 18 months ago, I read the review with some interest. Without going into details,Moore was less than enthusiastic, criticising Spielberg for the gratuitous sentimentality. What was perhaps more interesting, was the comment section, some of which dealt with aspects of the Great War and the vast tragedy attached to it.

Love, hope and faith

This post was first published on September 19, 2010

There as been a great deal of discussion recently concerning faith. Numerous members here have expressed their scorn for those who adhere to any religious beliefs or hold some sort of faith in there being a supernatural entity and a purpose to life that extends beyond the laws of nature. I often think the critics are being too harsh in their judgements. Faith is not an object that can be selected from the shelf like a grocery item to place in a shopping trolley. You cannot choose faith; faith chooses you, just as you cannot choose to love or choose to hope. They are all as much a part of human nature as is the desire for life itself.

Popocatapetl in the sunlight gleams

This post was first published on June 14, 2010

When I was but thirteen or so

I went into a golden land,

Chimborazo, Cotopaxi

Took me by the hand.

“It will be out secret”, said the priest. “I want you to promise not to tell anybody, not even your mother. Nobody must know?”

Richard Dawkins loses the plot

I originally published this post on April 11, 2010

I used to be a huge fan of Richard Dawkins. His masterpiece, The Selfish Gene, was massively significant in my life. When I read it in 1986 I recognised a man who was able to express in clear, concise and scientific terms, beliefs that I had nurtured for some years. Almost everything he wrote thereafter was eagerly consumed by me. He struck me as being a brilliant, gentle and humourous man who simply wanted to tell the truth without pushing any personal cause. So strong was my admiration for him that I would sometimes say in conversations about him, “Dawkins is wrong to say there is no God. Dawkins is God!” Childish perhaps; designed to provoke, probably; sincere, certainly. So when a friend of mine who had met him described him as a self-satisfied prick, I felt personally insulted.