Talk given by Tony Windross to the SOF Conference in London, July 2024.
Whilst (like me) there are plenty of people who can’t get their heads around religious claims – unlike me, pretty well all of them are outside the Church (and remain outside the Church). As one of the very few clergy to have been ordained as a result of Sea of Faith I’ve long been used to feeling something of an imposter in the Church. But given the role Sea of Faith played in my religious gestation, none of this should be in any way unexpected. And in the light of that dubious theological parentage, it’s a matter of surprise all round, not just that I was ordained in the first place – but that I’ve managed to survive in parish ministry for the last 30 years.
My priority in the early 1980s (although I don’t think I fully realised it at the time) was to find some way of making sense of religion, that would enable me to take part in worship. In other words – to find a theology that would make religion a possibility. And the serendipitous timing of the 1984 Sea of Faith series and book supplied precisely that – with my whole world changing as a result.
Part of the problem was that I couldn’t say what I believed. Not in the cautious, self-protecting sense that I daren’t let on – but in the more profound sense that I didn’t really know myself. And that’s still the case – which puts me beyond the pale with most people (both inside and outside the Church) who seem more than capable of doing so. But my inability to list my beliefs doesn’t bother me – as I see religion as far more about Faith than Belief – which is just as well, otherwise I’d find it impossible.
That was what Sea of Faith did for me – and it’s what I’ve wanted to try and do for anyone else in a similar position to the one I’d been in. Faith is always something Active, involving some sort of choice, some sort of decision; whereas Belief is always something Passive, something we either have or we haven’t. And of course, the belief (or rather set of beliefs) that pretty well everyone outside Sea of Faith has with regard to religion – involves the supernatural.
I’ve never been able to make any sense of ‘the supernatural’, so it’s not really a case of denying its existence, but simply not understanding what it is that’s being claimed. And because the entire basis of Sea of Faith is the refusal to brush aside troubling questions like that, it puts us at odds with everybody else. Which means if we want to be part of church communities, we’ve always got to be aware of just how odd and threatening our non-supernaturalism must seem – and mind our theological language.
That is why, for me, Ethics always trumps Theology – and can therefore be seen as a yardstick or measure or test of the Theology. All of this flowed from the Sea of Faith programmes. They are not intellectually watertight – and as a deeply personal interpretation of a great sweep of religious and philosophical history, made all sorts of claims that could be (and were) challenged.
I was grateful for the insight that all religion is a human creation, including the concept of God itself. Whilst this doesn’t necessarily lead to a full-blown non-realism, that’s where it took me, and where I (probably) still am. I was especially grateful for the overall narrative the Sea of Faith series provided, because it gave me what (in the final programme) Don said was the purpose of religion: a spiritual path.
The programmes and the book changed everything for me, but the hostile reception they received within the Church made it obvious just how threatening they were, especially because of their explicit non-supernaturalism. Which is why that first Sea of Faith Conference (in 1988) had such an exciting, illicit feel – with many people worried that their attendance might somehow get back to either their parishioners or their bishop (or both). What is so scary? What is so unacceptable about serious religious people engaging in serious religious exploration? Why is the Church so afraid of its members actually thinking?
We can, if we wish, continue to use the same forms of church services as those still enthralled by the theistic notion of God, but are under no obligation to adopt their picture or story or intellectual model. It’s not a matter of being or becoming an atheist, as that would mean ditching all the stories and rituals. We can continue to worship as fully and as enthusiastically and as sincerely and as genuinely as the rest – whilst being especially conscious of the ‘beyond-ness’ to which the liturgy points us.
It’s easy in Sea of Faith to feel second-class, in the sense that because we’re unable to see the world in the way most religious people seem to manage, we’ve had to make do with a religious picture-of-last-resort. But we’ve got nothing to apologise for! Our religious picture, whilst certainly unpopular is far closer to the ancient apophatic idea of God, than the limited and ontologically-circumscribed version so beloved of the theists. But there’s got to be some sort of balance between being apologetic – and aggressively defensive.
I don’t have (and have never had) an argument (in the sense of an intellectual case) to support my non-dogmatic non-realism – it’s more like a coping strategy to help me take religion seriously. And because I’m making no claims that might conflict with the claims made by others, I don’t want an argument about any of it. I’ve got absolutely no interest in trying to persuade others that the way I see things, is in any way ‘better’ than the way they see things.
Don Cupitt showed me (and presumably many of the people here today) the possibility of exploring these questions from inside the Church – but of course the Church didn’t thank him for that, as it enabled what it saw as religious riff-raff to join (or remain in) their club.
That meant there were bound to be casualties. Don himself suffered almost unbearable (and horribly personal) vilification for decades. Anthony Freeman lost his job in the most painful circumstances. David Paterson (sadly no longer with us) and Stephen Mitchell (happily very much so!) were publicly called to account by their bishop. And of course, Hugh Dawes (also sadly no longer with us) had to suffer the brutal consequences of speaking truth to ecclesiastical power, with the publication of his brilliant Freeing the Faith, marking the end of any career ambitions he might have had.
Any normal person is bound to find it painful to be seen as the devil’s spawn, and those who think it reasonable to direct such venom at us, presumably have no inkling of what trying to practise our religion with integrity has cost – and continues to cost. Those of us who are (broadly speaking) non-realists, are as we are, not out of bloody-mindedness, but because we can do (and be) no other.
We see the world (and God) as we do, not to be awkward, but because (following Socrates) that’s where the argument has led us. Standing up (and out) against the establishment is always costly; and it’s also hard to stand up (and out) against fellow church members, as well as those outside the Church who see the whole thing as barmy – and wonder why we’re bothering with any of it. Being in the middle of all that can feel a bit lonely at times – which is why the support that this Network provides, is so important.
Despite what many people think, Don never resigned his orders, but has distanced himself from the Church – and considering the way it treated him, that’s not at all surprising. The Church is no closer now to taking on board the ideas of John Robinson, than when he first gave voice to them in Honest to God over 60 years ago. And if it still can’t accommodate him (given his theological conservatism), there’s no way it could cope with Don (or indeed us). Not now – and (almost certainly) not ever. That is really very depressing, given the potential that Don’s example and writings have to keep the rumour of God alive – at least for a handful of people.
My problem, 40 years ago, was that however hard I looked, I couldn’t find God. The answer to prayer did eventually come – in the form of the Sea of Faith series, book, and network. And made me realise that I’d been looking in the wrong sort of way, in the wrong sort of place, for the wrong sort of God.
It was about being ‘held captive by a picture’ – and as soon as the picture was changed, the barrier to faith was removed. Which is what I’ve been trying to do for the last 30 years. Trying to dismantle whatever religious barriers may be in people’s way. Not wanting them to think like me (what would be the point of that?) – but setting them free to go in whatever directions might work for them.
Far from trying to convert people to non-realism, it’s been about holding open the door that Don provided to all manner of religious possibilities. And inviting people to see whether going through it leads them anywhere. But unless there’s some sort of religious inkling or yearning there in the first place, with apparently insuperable obstacles in the way, Don’s religious ideas (or indeed anyone else’s) have got nothing to engage with, nothing to work with, no barriers to overcome. And there are bound to be many people for whom the whole religious quest is (and will remain) entirely meaningless, and who will therefore never be able to make any sense of what religion is all about.
Don was writing his career-ending Taking Leave of God at precisely the same time as the first climbers reached the summit of Everest without extra oxygen. And in their very different ways they showed that it was possible to survive, whilst not carrying stuff that everyone assumed was absolutely essential. The spiritual air that Sea of Faith types breathe takes a lot of getting used to, as it’s much thinner than most people could ever cope with.
It can never be mainstream – so when Don talks in terms of how ‘we’ve’ all moved beyond the old kinds of belief, or when he says that ‘the supernatural doctrine of Christianity is dead now – and cannot be revived’ – either the ‘we’ he’s referring to is a very narrow constituency (essentially people like us) – or he’s gravely misjudged the religious Zeitgeist! But whichever it is, our religious minimalism makes us stand out – and seem like an odd lot.
However, we’re not a homogeneous lot. There is no Sea of Faith archetype, something to which everyone in it has to conform. We come in a whole variety of spiritual shapes, sizes – and certainties. Some are dogmatic non-realists, the mirror image of the dogmatic realists who are the growth merchants of the institutional Church. Both groups have a confidence in their position that puzzles and intrigues both the non-dogmatic realists (who comprise the increasingly unfashionable liberal camp within the Church) and the non-dogmatic non-realists (who are people like me – and aren’t really sure of anything). Far from being bothered by my lack of sureness, I see it as the only way to do justice to the idea of the unknowability of God.
Anyone who took seriously the Socratic idea of wisdom only being available to those aware of the sheer scale of their ignorance – would realise that the humbler and more reticent we are in our knowledge-claims (maybe especially our religious knowledge-claims), the greater is likely to be our sense of wonder, as well as our sense of the sacred. With the result that we will feel unable to say anything about the nature of the divine – the only appropriate response being a profound silence.
But religious integrity is a tricky thing, and we’re always in danger of becoming prisoners of the binary – in that we feel under some sort of social or intellectual obligation to put ourselves into camps. We’re either with Freud or with Jung. We’re either liberals or radicals. We’re either for Don Cupitt or against him. We’re either realists or non-realists. We’re either theists or atheists. Why do we need to do this?
The problem, of course, is that if we dare to allow ourselves to question the basis on which we might have built an entire academic or ecclesiastical career, and which is therefore an essential part of our self-definition – what am I if I abandon all that? What have those years been for? What does my life amount to? What do I amount to?
Maybe we all need to feel some sort of firmness in the ground beneath our feet? And maybe it comes down to how unsettling each of us finds it if we sink in a bit – with some needing far more solidity than others? Many (maybe most?) people can only cope by having things fully defined and nailed down. And if that’s what they need to get them through their day, then that’s what they’ll do.
But if we can be more relaxed, more flexible, more fluid, more creative, more imaginative – there may be no limit we can (or would want to) set as to the nature of the divine. In his book To the Unknown God the Romanian writer Petru Dumitriu asks (following Wittgenstein’s Tractatus), to whom shall I address my silence? And that really is the religious question.
These are the sorts of things that the churches (surely?) should be engaging with. But they don’t – and are never likely to. Which is why there will always be a need and a role for Sea of Faith: to provide a forum and support system for the ideas and questions and people that the Church doesn’t want to know. It will never be a mainstream movement, and its ideas will never be popular. And this is at least partly because (despite what Don seems to think) most people in our society have not given up belief in the supernatural.
My personal view is that Sea of Faith needs to continue to act as a place of refuge for the theologically dispossessed and disenfranchised members of the religious awkward squad, as well as being a gadfly to the religious establishment.
In the final Sea of Faith programme there are some words from Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil, that give as good a summary as is possible, of the potential cost of the authentic spiritual quest. It’s a cost that Don himself bore to the full:
Did I not seek where the wind bites keenest?
Learn to live where no-one lives.
In the wilderness where only the polar bear lives.
Unlearn to pray and curse,
Unlearn Man and God
Become a ghost, flitting across the glaciers.
We’ve got to decide whether we have the energy to keep on keeping on – and refusing to let the Richard Dawkins or Nicky Gumbel cheerleaders have things all their own way, by allowing them to dictate the terms of the debate.
And it really is our choice. Because as Don, with great prescience, made clear 40 years ago (at the very end of that final Sea of Faith programme) – he’s done his bit. It’s over to us.