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Modern belief in God is not about covering the gaps in our knowledge, but about answering different types of questions

Stephen Hawking makes the claim that it is not necessary to invoke God as the creator of the universe and the assertion that physics alone made it.

He may be correct in his first statement, but to rule out a possibly important role for God is in my view unjustified. It is certainly possible that God sets up and maintains or underpins the laws of physics and allows them to work, so that being able to explain the big bang in terms of physics is not inconsistent with there being a role for God.

As a scientist, you are continually questioning, rarely coming up with a definitive answer. The limitations of your own knowledge and expertise together with the beauty and mystery of life and the universe often fill you with a sense of profound humility. Thus, unequivocal assertions are not part of a genuine scientific quest.

Mathematics as applied to physics may be the queen of sciences according to Carl Friedrich Gauss, but it does not answer every scientific question. Chemistry, biology, psychology and the social sciences have their own ways of analysing the nature of reality which are complementary to those of physics and mathematics: indeed, they are not reducible to physics but their insights emerge at their own level of complexity.

Furthermore, many of the questions that are most crucial to us as human beings are not addressed adequately at all by science, such as the nature of beauty and love and how to live one's life – often philosophy or history or theology are better suited to help answer them.

The complementary nature of different questions and in particular of the difference between how and why are important. If M-theory does indeed turn out to enable a unified theory, Hawking may be able in future to say how the universe started, but as a physicist he cannot answer the question "why?"

This is well illustrated by John Polkinghorne's story about boiling a kettle: I can describe with physics how it boils in terms of the stove making its temperature rise; but why it is boiling is a different type of question altogether – most probably in my case because my wife is thirsty!

The so-called "God of the Gaps" is not part of modern religious faith. In this view, you invoked God to explain the inexplicable – at one time this would have been the weather or common diseases, and for Hawking apparently until recently the origin of the universe. Thus, when an alternative explanation arises, there is no longer any need for God.

The God followed by many people of a religious faith is not a God of the Gaps at all – rather a God who helps answer other nonscientific questions about why the universe and its amazing life exists and how to lead a good life. Also, they welcome the advances in understanding that modern science brings, since they reveal more of the incredible beauty, diversity and wonder of the nature of the universe.

You cannot prove whether God exists or not. But you can ask whether the existence or nonexistence of God is more consistent with your experience. It is up to each of us to reach our own conclusion, but for many of us it is and can make a profound and enriching difference to our lives.

The universe just ramped itself up. Simple. And yet doubts remain - spontaneous creation is, for most folk, just a contradiction in terms

"Dear Sir: Your astonishment's odd; / I am always about in the quad." This was the divine response, as imagined by Ronald Knox, to the inquisitive undergraduate who, following Bishop Berkeley's line of thought, wondered whether a tree in the college quadrangle would still exist if God was not there to sustain it. Now someone rather higher in the academic hierarchy has raised the question in a different form. Professor Stephen Hawking says in his new book that there is no place for God in theories about how the universe got started: "Spontaneous creation is the reason there is something." Anyone who has ever watched in amazement as a piece of domestic equipment, say a washing machine, suddenly swings into action, even though no human hand has touched any buttons, will be able to grasp something of what Hawking is hinting at here. The universe just ramped itself up. Simple. And yet doubts remain. One accepts that if God were to choose one day to explain the universe to Hawking, the professor would be one of the few people on the planet with any serious chance of understanding the conversation. But spontaneous creation is, for most folk, just a contradiction in terms. God may or may not find all this amusing. The thing is – how to put this gently to Professor Hawking? – that God does not necessarily follow the ins and outs of our many arguments about His existence. Who could blame Him if, after all this time, He has become tired of them? Meanwhile, there is still a tree in the quad.

Lord Sacks accuses astrophysicist of logical fallacy in book excluding possibility of supernatural creation

The chief rabbi, Lord Sacks, hit back at Stephen Hawking after the astrophysicist said God did not create the universe.

In his new book, The Grand Design, published next week, Hawking concludes that science excludes the possibility of a deity and that it is unnecessary to "invoke God to light the blue touch paper and set the universe going".

But his finding were described by Sacks as an "elementary fallacy" of logic.

Writing in the Times, the chief rabbi said: "There is a difference between science and religion. Science is about explanation. Religion is about interpretation. The Bible simply isn't interested in how the universe came into being."

Sacks also said the mutual hostility between religion and science was one of "the curses of our age" and warned it would be equally damaging to both.

"But there is more to wisdom than science. It cannot tell us why we are here or how we should live. Science masquerading as religion is as unseemly as religion masquerading as science."

In an earlier book, A Brief History of Time, Hawking was apparently more open to the idea of God, suggesting that a scientific understanding of the universe was not incompatible with a creator. "If we discover a complete theory … it would be the ultimate triumph of human reason – for then we should know the mind of God," he wrote.

Tibetans around the world celebrate the 50th Tibetan Democracy Day which marks the anniversary of the Dalai Lama's efforts to transform Tibetan society into a democracy

In a new book, world-renowned physicist Stephen Hawking argues that the universe is the work of physics, not God. Do you agree?

Children dress as Hindu god Krishna during festivities to mark Janmashtami at a school in Mumbai

• Physics, not creator, made Big Bang, new book claims
• Professor had previously referred to 'mind of God'

God did not create the universe, the man who is arguably Britain's most famous living scientist says in a forthcoming book.

In the new work, The Grand Design, Professor Stephen Hawking argues that the Big Bang, rather than occurring following the intervention of a divine being, was inevitable due to the law of gravity.

In his 1988 book, A Brief History of Time, Hawking had seemed to accept the role of God in the creation of the universe. But in the new text, co-written with American physicist Leonard Mlodinow, he said new theories showed a creator is "not necessary".

The Grand Design, an extract of which appears in the Times today, sets out to contest Sir Isaac Newton's belief that the universe must have been designed by God as it could not have created out of chaos.

"Because there is a law such as gravity, the universe can and will create itself from nothing," he writes. "Spontaneous creation is the reason there is something rather than nothing, why the universe exists, why we exist.

"It is not necessary to invoke God to light the blue touch paper and set the universe going."

In the forthcoming book, published on 9 September, Hawking says that M-theory, a form of string theory, will achieve this goal: "M-theory is the unified theory Einstein was hoping to find," he theorises.

"The fact that we human beings – who are ourselves mere collections of fundamental particles of nature – have been able to come this close to an understanding of the laws governing us and our universe is a great triumph."

Hawking says the first blow to Newton's belief that the universe could not have risen from chaos was the observation in 1992 of a planet orbiting a star other than our Sun. "That makes the coincidences of our planetary conditions – the single sun, the lucky combination of Earth-sun distance and solar mass – far less remarkable, and far less compelling as evidence that the earth was carefully designed just to please us human beings," he writes.

Hawking had previously appeared to accept the role of God in the creation of the universe, writing in his bestseller A Brief History Of Time in 1988, he said: "If we discover a complete theory, it would be the ultimate triumph of human reason–- for then we should know the mind of God."

Hawking resigned as Lucasian Professor of Mathematics at Cambridge University last year after 30 years in the position.

Our consciousness paves the way for our spirituality, but there's little consensus

In finger-wagging style, Mary Midgley warns that "serious scientists know that their enquiries are endless; any answers always raise a swarm of new questions" (Serious scientists know that they cannot explain all the major puzzles of existence, 28 August). But who ever said otherwise? Well, I did apparently.

She quotes from my 1995 book, Soul Searching, selecting passages to back her assertion that I believe that science can provide "a sufficient explanation for everything that is or might be". What she fails to say is that in these passages I was describing how things looked to overconfident natural philosophers at the end of the 18th century, and how this set the stage for a Romantic reaction and in particular for spiritualism and psychical research.

True, I wrote that "two hundred years later this ambitious [Enlightenment] programme for a self-sufficient science has succeeded beyond the dreams of its inventors. Across great swaths of nature ... the major puzzles of existence have been pulled to pieces in the hands ... of all-conquering and -consuming scientific rationality."

But I went on: "Yet equally, two hundred years later, the majority of ordinary people have remained as faithful as ever to the earlier ways of thinking." And this was precisely my point. For most people scientific explanation remains unsatisfying. Indeed almost everybody has a Midgley – and a Newton – inside them, protesting that there has to be more to life, the universe and everything than we can ever know.

Midgley asserts: "Humphrey is convinced that something called science has indeed solved the mind-body problem." But if she had read further she would have found me saying: "All but a few contemporary psychologists agree that there will eventually prove to be some sort of satisfactory theory of mind-brain relationship … But at present there really is very little consensus about the form, let alone the substance, of this theory-to-come."

However, Midgley, it seems, has no interest in such a scientific theory anyway. For her, "our problem here is to understand the relation between our inner and outer life … and how to face life as a whole". Strangely enough, I entirely agree. In my own more recent writing, such as Seeing Red, I have begun to argue that the explanation for why consciousness evolved lies in its very mysteriousness and the effect this has on our world-view.

Since Midgley has quoted at such length from a book I wrote 15 years ago, let me answer with these words from the cover of my new book Soul Dust: "Consciousness, [Humphrey] argues, is nothing less than a magical-mystery show that we stage for ourselves inside our own heads. This self-made show lights up the world for us and makes us feel special and transcendent. Thus consciousness paves the way for spirituality, and allows us, as human beings, to reap the rewards, and anxieties, of living in what Humphrey calls the 'soul niche'." I invite Mary Midgley to review it.

Triple blasts in Lahore end lull in violence after floods as militants and 'civilians' die in air raids near Afghan border

Three bombs exploded at a Shia procession in the Pakistani city of Lahore, killing at least 14 people and wounding at least 100 others, police said.

The blasts took place at three sites as 35,000 Shia pilgrims passed through the streets in mourning for the caliph Ali, one of Shia Islam's most revered figures. The first blast was a time bomb. Minutes later, a young male suicide bomber tried to force his way into an area where food was being prepared for the pilgrims and blew himself up. A second suicide bomber struck at an intersection near the end of the procession.

The atrocities appeared to be the latest in a string of attacks by Sunni extremists against the minority Shias and broke a lull in violence during the floods that have ravaged the country.

The prime minister, Yousuf Raza Gilani, condemned the blasts and said the attackers would not escape justice.

The attacks came after two days of government air raids on militant strongholds in the north-west, near the Afghan border. Pakistani officials said up to 62 militants, their family members and other civilians with no ties to the fighters, were killed.

The raids yesterday took place in several villages in Teerah valley in the Khyber region and killed 45 people, the officials said. One official described the dead as insurgents, but said people living with them could also have been killed. An intelligence officer admitted that some women and children were killed in the attacks.

Jihad Gul, who lives near one of the villages, said he had seen the bodies of at least 20 women and children, but army officials said reports of civilian casualties were unconfirmed.

In today's air attack in the adjoining district of Orakzai, officials said 15 suspected militants were killed and 10 others were wounded.

In April, the Teerah valley was hit by army air strikes that killed about 60 civilians. The army, which initially described the victims as insurgents, ended up paying compensation to the victims' families and issued a rare public apology.

• Pakistan's military cancelled a trip by officers to an annual meeting at US Central Command after they were taken off a plane and subjected to "unwarranted security checks" at Dulles airport, Washington on Monday, a spokesman said today . The nine-member delegation, led by a rear admiral, was awaiting take-off on a United Airlines flight to Tampa, Florida, where Central Command is based.

The Lesbian and Gay Christian Movement wants papal critics to 'disagree with respect'

Gay and lesbian Christians have criticised secularists planning to protest during the pope's visit to Britain for their "unhelpful and counterproductive" tactics.

The Lesbian and Gay Christian Movement (LGCM) said that it wanted papal critics – who are voicing their opposition to this month's state visit for a number of reasons, including the Vatican's rejection of equal rights for homosexuals – to "disagree with respect".

It said that it would hold a prayer vigil, not a protest, so the pope could see the faces of those he spoke against, and become aware that his "homophobic comments affect real people".

It said: "The Protest the Pope coalition of secularist groups has opposed the trip and promised noisy protests, but progressive Christians believe that this is unhelpful and counterproductive."

But its call for restraint went unheeded, with Protest the Pope refusing to change its strategy.

Andrew Copson, from the British Humanist Association, said that the LGCM statement failed to recognise that Protest the Pope objected to the state aspect of the visit, not the pastoral or religious one. "As a religious leader and a citizen of Europe, we have said he is obviously entitled to visit.

"As a head of a state which many see as enormously destructive of human rights and equality on the international stage it is legitimate and morally right to question him, and the idea that heads of states should receive automatic 'respect' because they also happen to be religious leaders we see as entirely mistaken."

At its first public meeting last month there was support for an attempt to stop Benedict XVI reaching an event. The audience, in Richmond library, heard that Benedict XVI would have to travel down a narrow suburban road to reach the campus of St Mary's University College, Twickenham, where he would meet thousands of schoolchildren and students. The forum said that it would not support such a blockade, having decided against direct protest, but it was a matter for individuals if they wished to pursue this option.

Organisers behind its flagship event, a march through central London on 17 September, say they are co-operating with local authorities and law-enforcement agencies.

Today the group is staging a debate about whether the papal visit should be a state one.

Proposing that it should not be are human rights campaigner Peter Tatchell and the philosopher AC Grayling. Their opposition comprises Christopher Jamison and the Catholic commentator Austen Ivereigh.

Greenbelt festival; comedy and hotties; the boys from Rev; social networking; Christian missionaries in North Korea

✤ I am not a Christian and I dislike festivals, so of course I spent the lion's share of my bank holiday weekend at Greenbelt, which is a Christian festival. It has everything you might expect – hymns and Fair Trade beverages – and things you might not – good comedy and hotties.

Being at the event is rather like hanging out with your friends' parents. The experience is a pleasant one, a little unsettling at first, but it feels reassuring to be around nice and well-mannered people who are, well, nice and well-mannered. What I saw, according to writer Robin Ince, was daytime humanity. Night-time humanity at Greenbelt was quite different. Consternation that the beer tent closed at 2am. That sort of thing.

Ince was possibly the most popular atheist at the festival which, given the nature of the event, was a highly likely outcome. He took to the stage several times – including a panel debate featuring Giles Fraser and Cif Belief regular Maggi Dawn – to talk about How We Know What We Know. It sounded a little Rumsfeldian and it was. The conclusion was that we don't know how we know but we know that.

Ince, who spent the whole weekend at the racecourse, told me he was interested in why people believe and why people believe what they believe. "People here are very questioning, not merely of other people, but of their own thoughts and beliefs too. It's a very thoughtful festival," he said. Follow the goings-on at Greenbelt here and make your own mind up about one contributor's assessment of the event – that it was a Hajj for liberal Anglicans. Give over. Everyone knows Hajj is way more fun. Which other religion has festivals involving the ritual slaughter of millions of animals?

Much excitement with the arrival of James Wood and Tom Hollander, who arrived on site Sunday to do some "speculative" filming for a "possible" second series of Rev. The team was given the sort of reception that would make Jesus and Moses green with envy. In fact, the very sight of Hollander was enough to cause a parting of, well, everything. Hollander said it was akin to Beatlemania. While it's nice the series has shown some love to a community that sometimes feels lonely and marginalised, one wonders why they can't get this from real life.

✤ Christians of all stripes have embraced all sorts of social networking innovations, such as Twitter. Indeed the hashtag – #gb10– was also used for the Glenn Beck rally taking place thousands of miles away in Washington DC. The event organisers seem to have taken their cue from the dos and don'ts issued by the papal visit team. Except mentions of pepper spray and firearms.

✤ Ahoy atheists! I know you're not members of a movement, religious or otherwise, and there is nothing heavenly or divine about you, with some notable exceptions, but Jerome Taylor at the Independent writes on the pitfalls of Christian missionaries who are eyeing up North Korea, an officially atheist state, as "crying out for Christ".

Following a visit to a charity that helps persecuted Christians, he reflects on the thousands of bibles that are attached to balloons and floated across the demilitarised zone or smuggled from China.

"Missionaries floating bibles over the globe's most-heavily fortified border might see themselves as doing God's work. But plenty in the international community are terrified they might inadvertently start world war three."

Aijalon Mahli Gomes is not the first to have fallen foul of one of the most repressive regimes in the world in the name of God and he won't be the last. Christians are determined to spread the gospel in the DMZ. Christianity Today carries an interview with Robert Park who says one of the best ways for Christians to help North Koreans is to redirect money to refugees and North Koreans assisting refugees. "The North Korean people themselves love their homeland and they desire liberation more than anyone else – their hearts are in North Korea," he tells the magazine.

How he arrives at this conclusion – that North Koreans want to be Christian, they love their homeland and that Christianity will bring them the liberation they crave – is unclear. But it is rather presumptuous. Also, and I'm just putting it out there, is it better to have state-enforced atheism than state-enforced religion?

Edmund Adamus under fire from equality and secularists groups for criticising the UK's 'gay agenda'

The Roman Catholic archbishop of Westminster has distanced himself from an aide who said gay rights and the commercialisation of sex had turned Britain into a "selfish, hedonistic wasteland" and "the geopolitical epicentre of the culture of death".

The comments from Edmund Adamus, director of pastoral affairs at the diocese of Westminster and an adviser to the Most Rev Vincent Nichols, have angered gay rights and secularists groups and provoked embarrassment among the Catholic hierarchy weeks before the pope visits Britain.

Senior figures, including Lord Patten of Barnes, have been keen to stress that the UK, while secular, is not anti-Catholic and that the pope is not flying into hostile territory.

Adamus told the Catholic news agency Zenit there was an "aggressive anti-Catholic bias towards the church and the pontiff" in this country that exceeded even countries that violently persecuted Christians.

"Historically, and continuing right now, Britain, and in particular, London, has been and is the geopolitical epicentre of the culture of death.

"Our laws and lawmakers for over 50 years or more have been the most permissively anti-life and progressively anti-family and marriage, in essence one of the most anti-Catholic landscapes, culturally speaking, than even those places where Catholics suffer open persecution."

He also talked about marriage and the role of men and women, urging Catholics to "exhibit counter-cultural signals against the selfish, hedonistic wasteland that is the objectification of women for sexual gratification."

"Britain in particular, with its ever-increasing commercialisation of sex, not to mention its permissive laws advancing the 'gay' agenda, is such a wasteland."

A spokesman for Nichols said the views expressed by Adamus "did not reflect the archbishop's opinions".

Ben Summerskill, from the gay rights group Stonewall, said the comments were "gratuitously offensive".

He told the Independent: "The gratuitously offensive comments being made by the archbishop's adviser are hardly likely to promote sensitive debate about respect for religion in the 21st century. You would think that, given its present status, the Roman Catholic church in Britain would be slightly more sensitive about wagging its finger at other people".

Losing my parents showed me culture is not something we teach ourselves. This Ramadan, I feel less Bangladeshi than ever

It's now a year since I was orphaned. Not only did I lose my dad on 1 September last year, but I felt as though I had lost the last link to my cultural identity.

As a child, I felt simultaneously English and Bangladeshi. I had a preference for indie music but liked going home to okra curry. At school I excelled in geography and art, and at home I made my parents proud when I recited passages aloud from the Qur'an. There were aspects of both cultures that I liked and loathed, but overwhelmingly it was the exoticism of Englishness that captivated me the most – things I couldn't be part of. While I was watching Top of the Pops on TV, my friends were in the audience, and as they rolled their school uniform kilts above their knees, mine practically touched my ankles. I couldn't wait until I left home.

At university I immersed myself in a world of miniskirts and clubbing, changing back into a floral tunic and trousers when I went home at the weekends. I closed my ears when my mum showed me yet again how to fold samosas and ignored her offers to show me how to make rice. Then, just before my 21st birthday my mother fell ill and died shortly afterwards. I felt a deep sense of loss, but having my dad around still made me feel complete. It wasn't until I lost him, too, that I realised just how privileged I had been to have two cultures in my life.

And now they are gone I feel neither English nor Bangladeshi. I've come to realise that my parents played a major role in shaping who I am, what I believe and the decisions I've made in my life. Without their physical presence, I am less cultured. Ramadan used to be the time of year that I felt most grounded. The emphasis was on home cooking and preparing traditional cuisine. Neighbours would deliver lentil pakoras and bowls of chick peas, while my mum would roll out dough to make coconut patties.

This year I didn't have anyone to tell me when the month of fasting started and I no longer break it with a spread of fresh hot snacks. My mum cooked every day and the flavours she captured can never be replicated again. Even when I taste other people's Bangladeshi dishes, or when my sisters try to recreate her specialities, without my mum doing the home cooking, I feel less of a Bangladeshi.

My father, on the other hand, was the upholder of religion. In his absence I find it hard to take in any new teachings on Islam: it's as though my own religious education has come to a standstill without him being there to tutor me. Hearing acquaintances talk about religion has no impact on me. We can't teach ourselves culture, no matter how desperately we try. It's something that's passed on from our parents and is far more powerful than anything we read or hear.

Later this year I am marrying an Englishman. Yet it hasn't given me a stronger connection to the English culture I craved as a child. We are trying to organise a multicultural celebration, but without my parents being present I'm finding it difficult to put my Bangladeshi side across – I feel like a fraud making up traditions as I go along.

Bereavement is difficult, but what no one ever talks about is the loss of identity that comes with it. When Eid falls in just over a week, I won't be celebrating. Instead I'll be reminiscing about the time I used to rise to the smell of my mother's sweet vermicelli while my dad got ready to go to the mosque. I'll text my sisters an "Eid Mubarak" greeting before I head off for an ordinary day's work; after all I've no parents to buy presents for or pop in and visit, just me, an individual trying to figure out who I am and where I belong.

Can you really improve your life, and perhaps the world too, by your own inner effort?

The Power – Rhonda Byrne's sequel to the self-help megaseller The Secret – has shot straight to the top of the hardback book charts. According to Nielsen BookScan, The Secret sits comfortably alongside too, at number two. Worse still, The Power sold more than the following five bestsellers added together. Whence, you might ask, the power of The Power?

It's puzzled me ever since The Secret was released. This small tome of esoteric promise used to be stacked by the philosophy shelves. I saw it every time I stole my way to that part of a bookshop, to check that one of my books was at least in stock. Who is this Rhonda Byrne? I'd missed the reviews of her work in, say, the Saturday Guardian. What is "the secret"? And would it include the secret to publishing success?

In case you've not read it, I can answer at least one of those questions. The secret of The Secret, which it turns out is also the power of The Power, is called the law of attraction. "Like with like together strike", ancient wisdom tells us. Hence, if your thoughts are of health or insight or wealth then before you know it, you will receive health or insight or wealth. Conversely, to think you are ill or ill-fated is simply not to be thinking right: you are well, and will know it.

The Secret is, therefore, a form of mental hygiene. It matters what you're thinking because thoughts are things. So to change your thoughts is to change things as they are in the world. The book is selling an empowering optimism: if you align yourself to the benign flux of life, then your life can only go well. Byrne lists testimonies, historic and contemporary, alongside quotes, ancient and modern, by way of inspiration and evidence.

But is this not as much wishful thinking, you might ask, akin to cosmic ordering, the belief expounded by Noel Edmunds, that if you write a wish list and wait, it will become reality? In fact, it's a little more sophisticated than that.

The law of attraction is manifest particularly in your feelings. Good feelings generate good outcomes. Bad feelings bad outcomes. An individual will find themselves caught up either in spirals of positivity, or negativity. It all depends upon your habits of mind. The Secret and The Power aim to help you to take your "feeling off automatic". They suggest ways of realigning your patterns of thought so as to make you happier and to improve your relationships.

Sound familiar? It's the power of positive thinking, repackaged. And could it not also be deemed a pop-psych version CBT (cognitive behavioural therapy), or a form of mindfulness-lite? There are also thin links with ancient Greek Stoicism. Stoics taught that one should learn to go with the flow. To resist the flow only causes distress, and you can trust the flow because it is benign.

William James, the great psychologist of religion, grouped the 19th-century equivalents of these philosophies together, and called them "mind-cures". He described them as "a form of regeneration by relaxing, letting go". He noted they are "but giving your little private convulsive self a rest, and finding that a great Self is there."

The appeal of the mind-cures then corresponds with their appeal now. They seem innovative, modern, and apparently backed by new science. They appear to be free of old religion. They can be simply formulated. They work, at least in part, by offering you a secret – showing you something about yourself that had otherwise been hidden from you.

The optimism inherent in mind-cures is particularly important. It encourages individuals to believe that they can improve their lives, and perhaps the world too, by their own inner efforts. There is nothing so fundamentally wrong, so intractably disordered, that it cannot be corrected with the right intention and right effort.

This differs from more pessimistic views of human nature, such as are inherent in the Christian doctrine of original sin; ancient Greek notions of tragedy; the complexities of psychoanalysis; and Indian religions which teach that to live is to suffer, and so to live is never to be truly liberated. Here, the individual must undergo some kind of death in order radically to be made anew. "He who loses his life will find it." Mind-cures are deluded, according to these systems; their promises are consoling but shallow, and so false.

Mind-cures. That's The Secret and its power, as well as The Power and its secret. Simple, individual, hopeful, well-packaged. Rhonda Byrne offers fast-food to satisfy the spirit of our age.

The evolution-creationism debate in schools must be about religious education lessons not just science lessons. This is my blueprint for better RE

From time to time there are concerns raised that some state-funded religious schools teach creationism, or intelligent design, in their science lessons.

The last Labour government and the Conservatives in opposition have always denied this is a problem and have always said that they will not stand for the teaching of creationism in science lessons. Ministers always say that creationism can't be taught in science lessons

Whenever this issue cropped up in parliament I was always concerned that the debate was missing the point. It is no good teaching about evolution (which is a scientific fact) in a science lesson at 9am then at 10am, in a religious education lesson, instructing pupils not to believe it.

The whole problem with RE lessons is not that they exist but that they amount to religious instruction. There is no basis for allowing state-funded schools to indoctrinate their pupils, even if that is what their parents want. They can provide this in optional after-school (or lunchtime) classes or clubs. They could even have something on a Sunday where children are taught to be believers. They could call it Sunday School!

The recognition that RE lessons are proselytising is reflected in the right that parents have to withdraw their children from these lessons. In contrast, they can't withdraw their children from biology lessons even if they have profound religious objections to their being taught about sexual reproduction or evolution – these subjects are recognised as non-proselytising.

Secularists like me believe that RE is a valid subject for study in the curriculum but should be about what different religions (and other world views like humanism) believe; it should not be about what ought to be believed. So Catholic schools should be allowed to use RE lessons to teach that the Catholic church opposes contraception and believes that homosexuality is a sin, but not that the children ought to believe those things. The lessons should set out contrasting views on that subject.

It is reasonable that a school with a large proportion of children of parents with a particular religion might spend more time learning about the beliefs and practices of that religion, but not to the exclusion of other beliefs.

At the moment, however, all RE falls outside the national curriculum – for no good reason. In schools other than voluntary-aided faith schools the curriculum is set by a local standing advisory committee on RE (SACRE) made up of religious representatives. There is no requirement to have a humanist or atheist on such committees.

Faith schools can decide their own RE curriculum and it is not subject to Ofsted inspection but by an inspector of their own religion. This is hardly a bulwark against instruction and indoctrination.

10 commandments – sorry, suggestions – for RE teaching

1) Religious education should be about what different people believe, not what pupils should believe.

2) It should be in the national curriculum and inspected by Ofsted.

3) Non-religious people should not be excluded from helping to draw up the curriculum.

4) It should teach about a range of world views, both religious and non-religious.

5) It should not pussyfoot around controversial religious views (on sex and gender, for example) but tackle them head-on. Pupils should learn what the doctrine is but be encouraged to question and debate it.

6) In those communities with a high proportion of children whose parents are of a particular religion, the curriculum can be skewed towards more coverage of that – but not to the exclusion of other religions and world views.

7) End the right of withdrawal from RE classes, which would no longer be needed because the subject would be academic not proselytising.

8) Offer optional religious instruction classes after school if parents want that from a particular school.

9) End collective worship in state schools.

10) Worship opportunities made available on an optional basis for children if they or their parents want it.

All ten of these proposals were in the Liberal Democrat manifesto at the last election. It remains to be seen if any of them emerge intact from the coalition, and if so whether the plans survive attacks from the Labour opposition and from the bishops in the House of Lords.

Education must be at the heart of science communication, or else we are simply asking people to 'believe'

I am an evangelist. But instead of spreading the gospel or any other religious message, I spend my time trying to share the knowledge of what I believe to be humanity's greatest cultural achievement: science. There is a more mundane term for what I do – "science communication". It's a horrible term, smacking of exactly the kind of thing that turns some people off science. It covers a wide range of activities – from science film-making to working for medical-research charities to going into schools and throwing liquid nitrogen around in a desperate attempt to convince teenagers that "science is fun". Funnily enough, it's not used to describe those who teach science, even though science teachers arguably do more "science communication" than anyone else.

The UK's best known science communicator is probably Brian Cox. He's doing a great job of making science seem cool and sexy to the public and, in my opinion, deserves the accolade of modern-day Carl Sagan for his contribution to the cultural status of science. I've known Brian for years and worked with him before his celebrity status went supernova. I would love to say "I told you so" to all the TV commissioning editors who rejected my suggestions to use him as a presenter. I suspect Brian finds it as ironic as I do that TV companies now regularly put out adverts looking for "the next Brian Cox".

As much as I love Brian's work, I don't think we need any more like him at the moment. Instead, we need more really good science teachers, and here's why: I don't want to see science become something that people "believe" is important and cool and sexy without understanding why. I don't want people to mindlessly buy into the geek scene in the same way that they might have bought into the alternative lifestyle scene, had they encountered it first in the right circumstances. But that's what I've seen happening – people attending the lectures, events and festivals organised by "science communicators" and going home convinced that science is the "right" way to look at the world, without really understanding why science is special. I've encountered people who are desperate to hang out with the science in-crowd (yes, there really is such a crowd), and even "science communicators" who struggle to explain what it is they think is special or important about science. When I ask them why they want to be science communicators they invariably talk about wanting to share their love of science with the world. Perhaps this is not so different from people who want to share their love of Jesus, Muhammad or Krishna.

It seems to me that many of these people are looking for an identity, something to believe in, and they've "found" science in much the same way that others find religion or spirituality. Some of these science groupies are scarily reminiscent of the kids who were in the Christian Union at school.

As a child, it would frustrate me that my friends would bang on about how great Islam was and how the Qur'an was this amazing book with the Truth in it – when they had little idea what the Qur'an really said or what the details of the Islamic faith were. Recently, I've been feeling a disconcertingly similar sense of frustration when talking to people who are part of the "sceptic" movement, or the geek scene.

Sure, science by its very nature requires us to take things on faith – we cannot individually verify every scientific statement ever made, heck, few of us know how to prove that the Earth orbits the Sun and not the other way round, but without ensuring that education is at the heart of science communication, we are simply asking people to "believe" in science. If we can't do better than that, than we're no better than the religious leaders that so many self-proclaimed geeks are contemptuous of.

I have encountered priests who seemed simply to want to increase the numbers of their flocks, and I've met others who genuinely want to pass on their understanding of god. There is a parallel with science communicators – there are ones who think that getting people to believe "science is fun / important" is what matters and there are others who want people to understand why this is so. It's a subtle but important distinction – the latter is more difficult to do and my feeling is that the best place to do it is in the classroom.

My friend Jonathan Sanderson, a science communicator I admire hugely, has pointed out that it looks like I am advocating a return to the "empty vessel" model of communication. I'm not sure he's wrong, but I'd happily concede that, particularly with adult audiences, we need a range of approaches, from saying "this is how the greenhouse effect works" to "take a look at this, you might find it interesting". But Jonathan agrees with me that, "most science communicators would have a dramatically larger impact over their lifetimes if they quit the scene and took teaching jobs". I'm not disparaging the good work that many science communicators do, but some of the most talented, creative people I know work in this peculiar field and I just wish more of them would aspire to become teachers instead of dreaming of becoming the next Brian Cox.

I had high hopes of the gay activist's appearance at Greenbelt Christian festival, but he failed to challenge his audience

I travelled to Greenbelt hoping that I would be met by a group of swivel-eyed believers, each tremulously attesting to the majesty of some revelation that just happened to be at hand. So when within moments of my arrival the words "JESUS DIED FOR ME! I'VE GOT TO BELIEVE IN GOD!" came bellowing from the main stage, I allowed myself a moment of fist-clenching pleasure; but the performer's simulated afflatus had been met by a rustle of assent so cringe-makingly mild as to embarrass even me. Greenbelt was not, then, going to yield a glut of faith-based crackpots; hope abandoned. But I had thought that it would bring some controversy.

I had thought as much because I was in attendance to cover a speaking event of Peter Tatchell's. I knew Peter to be a formidable critic of the church's continued offences against fundamental human rights, and I wanted to see how a predominantly Christian audience would receive him. Well, when not long after midnight he strode on to the stage, he did so to a storm of applause: "Tell it like it is, Peter!"

In the event it seemed that the audience was being told not so much "how it is" as "how you want it to be". Talking of the Christian revival of homophobia in a number of African countries (there are attempts afoot in Uganda to make repeated convictions for homosexuality punishable by death), Peter adduced the figure of Bishop Christopher Senyonjo, who for many years has spoken out against Uganda's treatment of homosexuals. For these actions Bishop Senyonjo has, through the influence of Rowan Williams and his allies in Uganda, been forced out of the church and robbed of his pension.

Peter regards this as an act for which Williams has "direct personal responsibility", and in the peroration to his critique of the archbishop he voiced the opinion that "discrimination against gay people is not a Christian value". The patent untruth of this statement did not prevent its being met with another, almighty round of applause. This was dispiriting. It does not require Calvin to point out that the Bible contains numerous warrants for the persecution of homosexuals, and there is nothing about Rowan Williams's position, or the position of his Ugandan allies, that makes it less Christian than the "progressive" position of Bishop Senyonjo. Indeed, in this very important issue Williams and his allies are alone in having scripture on their side.

Peter made a number of remarks in this vein, and when I met up with him the following day to interview him about his involvement with the Protest the Pope campaign, I asked him about the previous evening's event and about why he had not spoken about the mandates for the abuse of human rights with which the Bible is replete. His response was that Jesus never recommended the persecution of homosexuals; that Christianity is really about the philosophy of love and compassion taught by Jesus; and that he didn't want to alienate a room full of people who were sympathetic to establishing equality of human rights.

Perhaps I am over-sensitive, but it seems rather insulting to assume that your audience is so tenuously attached to the struggle for equality that an attack on their religion will send them skidding back into a state of barbarism; and anyway, such an attack might get people to think about the morality of their own systems of belief, about where morality comes from and what warrants (if any) it requires. Yes, Christianity might scare people into adopting one of its few moral precepts; but the same impulse might just as easily incite those people to follow injunctions of the most atrocious kind, and to think of those injunctions as moral because they come burnished with the cheap lustre of divine authority.

Indeed, as Peter's talk made clear, such injunctions are being followed, in Africa and elsewhere, as I write. Is it that the figures who are following these mandates are simply too literal-minded to realise that their holy books have shifted, in the pertinent pages, into their "metaphorical" mode? Perhaps the offending believers have not realised that the supposedly compassionate teachings of Christ trump all of the other teachings of the Bible (forget for a moment that it is Christ who establishes the doctrine of eternal torture).

The most sophisticated theologians will not address this matter without being evasive or dishonest, or without embracing the most sordid kinds of casuistry. That makes the subject the responsibility of our writers and campaigners. It is for this reason that I am sorry that Peter did not take the opportunity to bring to Greenbelt the controversy I had expected. For to do so would have been to ask questions of a system of belief that asks us to be slaves, and invites us to participate in the enslavement of others.

Personal faith can be separate from politics, but, in the public realm, there will often be an overlapping

The question: Can religion be apolitical?

I attended mass in a small village in north-west Ireland this weekend and I'd say there wouldn't have been one person among that flock who would have justified the heinous involvement of Father James Chesney in bombing the small village of Claudy in County Derry.

However, there might be, anywhere in Ireland, a more nuanced response to the notion of a Catholic priest having certain strong Republican sympathies. There weren't many "Provo priests" during the Troubles, but there were always a couple, often well-known as such. I remember once interviewing a young priest from County Fermanagh who was a committed supporter of what was then the Provisional IRA. He came from a big family in a small town near the border, and spoke bitterly about the "bigotry" he had encountered in his growing years. By which he meant Unionist and Protestant discrimination against Nationalist and Catholic people.

He didn't explicitly endorse violence, but he didn't explicitly condemn it either. He just kept saying there were reasons why desperate people felt impelled to resort to violent means. I am not sure how he squared this with the rather evident instructions in the Old and New Testament that "thou shalt not kill" – but he probably squared his conscience the way most of us do so, for one reason or another. We say "thou shalt not kill" but we acquiesce in acts of war, or other methods of terminating human life. And there is always the justification of self-defence.

Religion can be apolitical, and it is perhaps more likely to be when it is focused on the comforts of holiness rather than on the social wellbeing of peoples. The most political priests I have met have been those stirred by movements like Liberation Theology: well-intentioned concerned about the poor and the dispossessed of the world. Whereas the most loftily spiritual were the most apolitical. My mother's faith, too, was totally apolitical: her well-used prayer-book was all about the consolations, and the aesthetics, of faith – the beautiful litanies and poetic elegies to Our Lady. She was never interested in the political aspects of in any element of faith: she liked what the Irish called "devotions".

Perhaps my father's religion was more political, regarding Catholicism as a universal order to which we owed an allegiance. This universality of the Catholic church was seen as an antidote to the "narrow" politics of nationalism. And I'm inclined to think that the religion of men is more likely to be political than the religion of women. Men, I think, are often more interested in power structures, where women are more engaged by spirituality. And the men who are interested in power structures – we think of someone like Peter Mandelson – will always be drawn to political power-broking within any system. Wouldn't Lord Mandelson have made a perfect wily Renaissance Cardinal?

What individuals usually bring to their religious life is the baggage of their own culture. Maybe I slightly excused, or at least understood, something of the young Provo priest when he spoke about his upbringing in that poor and deprived soil where his father found it so hard to get a job. In a wider sense, faith is inextricably interlinked with culture. However hard the Bolshevists tried – and men like Khruschev tried quite hard – to eradicate the Russian faith, it remained solidly part of Russian culture. Holy Russia is eternal. America draws deep on its old Protestant traditions of Bible (and gun), even if that is admixed now with many newer traditions. Yet the deposit is there, and marks the landscape, often poignantly.

Religion can be apolitical but religion and political tradition will always have some interlocking because of their association with the same roots. My husband once said, in an absent-minded moment, "an Anglican is what an Englishman is", and in that phrase, he captured the historic blend, and brand. But in the individual, religion and politics can indeed be quite separate, and personally, I prefer my faith without politics. So, as it happens, did Jesus Christ: "Render unto Caesar what is Caesar's, and unto God what is God's."

Is political religion an inevtiability, or an aberration? Should faith always be above the fray?

Father James Chesney's involvment in a lethal IRA attack may have been exceptional, but it is a reminder of the extent to which religion was bound up in the politics of 1970s Northern Ireland. And there are echoes of this in almost every conflict that has occured where religion is still an important part of the social fabric: in the Philippines, Lebanon, in Latin America and elsewhere.

Where religion is a focus of commuinity organisation and identity, it seems natural that it would be drawn into the sometimes brutal business of politics, even into violence. So is political religion an inevtiability, or an aberration? Should faith always be above the fray?

The destruction I saw made me question everything I had previously thought about religion

Luke was a friend of mine. The last time we spoke for any length was in February 2003. Around three in the morning I woke hearing him struggling to stand and giggling. I saw him confused and braced against the wall. I called out, he turned and asked me why I was sleeping in the toilets. I told him it was my bedroom. He needlessly told me he was drunk.

We were both soldiers in the Royal Engineers. He was what you might imagine your average squaddie to be: hard-drinking and full of life. I was not so much your average squaddie: a Pakistani immigrant who had joined the British Army looking for adventure. He sat on the end of my bed and told me he was worried. We had just been told we were going to Iraq.

The lads had responded to this news by going out into the local town to drink the bars dry. Now, here was Luke, his behaviour the result of a heavy night numbing reality. I prepared myself to hear my friend talk about how he was worried about his family. But, he didn't want to talk to me about that. He told me he was worried about me.

He asked me why I didn't drink or sleep with anybody. I told him it was my religion. He laughed and asked if I actually believed in all that. He told me how life was too short, how we were off to Iraq soon and how embarrassing it would be to die a virgin. Only a soldier could have put it so well.

I found myself struggling to fault his logic. I had followed Islam for years, having grown up in an area of Burnley that was almost exclusively Asian. My street, a little Pakistan, had rows of terraced houses full of Muslims getting their halal meat from the cash and carry at one end and praying five times a day at the mosque at the other end. Now here, hundreds of miles away from it all, Luke made me question it. Did I really believe in a God?

Fast forward a month to the last time I saw Luke. We were painting Land Rovers yellow in Kuwait and preparing to head over the border into Iraq and to war. I took a picture of little Luke standing in that big desert and we said our goodbyes. I ended up being based with the United States marines and he went off as part of a bomb disposal team. Luke was killed in an ambush on 23 of March 2003.

With Luke's words ringing in my ears I asked myself how could there be some guy in the sky watching over this mess? How was there a God who was fine with Luke being killed, fine with the dead, burnt bodies of Iraqis I drove past on my way to Basra? How was he fine with the people who waved crying at us hoping we'd throw some rations and water into their desperate lives?

I went to see the padre. Sitting with this devout Christian in the cradle of civilisation, I had the most honest conversation I had ever had about religion. I'd never had the courage to say these things out loud before, but the Padre made it easy. He listened to my angry words and I knew it was okay for me to not believe. For the rest of the tour I spoke to the lads about it constantly, and as Saddam's empire came tumbling down so did any belief I had in God.

Back from Iraq, I met my first girlfriend at the age of 26 and started living my life. It felt right. I didn't believe in God and wasn't scared of admitting it any more. I didn't need a religion and was at my happiest and most content. It might be a hard thing to hear but my religion held me back for years and only when I had the courage to get rid of it did I really start living my life. My new-found honesty gave me freedom and strength. I had realised that I don't do God.

Why do we baptise babies, who can't possibly believe in God? Because Augustine was right about grace and original sin

Christian life begins with Baptism. The BCP baptism liturgy used to fill Sunday afternoons up and down the land, and it's still worth trying to understand what Cranmer thought he was doing and the view of humanity that underlies his book.

Cranmer required that baptism be administered freely, or to use a weasel word popularised in the 1960's, "indiscriminately," to babies.

Thus BCP Vicars were forbidden to discriminate about whom they would baptise – when all's said and done, the Vicar was only the Vicar, not God. The BCP required parents to give overnight notice that they wanted their baby baptised, but if they couldn't manage that, turning up on the morning would do. Baptism is administered in faith, "nothing doubting but that [God] favorably alloweth this charitable work of ours, in bringing these children to his holy Baptism."

Nor is there any provision for adult baptism before 1662, when it was added, partly for use on the Plantations, but also to assist people who had not been baptised because of the recent Civil War.

Cranmer assumes that a good healthy infant will, for preference, be dipped in the font, not have water sprinkled on the head – an aspiration that would be unfulfilled at least 999 times out of 1000 for the next 450 years.

The rite itself was a radical stripping back of medieval ceremonies, salt and spittle and the like, above all to emphasize its essential simplicity. The 1549 BCP retained Chrisom (white robe) and anointing, but these too were stripped away soon.

The ceremony takes place, ideally, during the main Service on Sunday morning. It is a matter for the whole community. This notion about timing is, however, in Blairspeak, an aspiration rather than a target, certainly not a requirement.

Cranmer believed Baptism was the mystical washing away of sin. To the great discomfiture of Victorian Evangelicals like the Revd George Gorham, the BCP clearly teaches baptismal regeneration, "seeing... that these children be regenerate and grafted into the body of Christ's congregation." In other words, Cranmer believed that the Sacrament had more than subjective value.

Cranmer's baptismal liturgy, above all, is a trenchant expression of Western Augustinianism. It rejects utterly the Pelagianism that has fascinated the English since the fifth century. Pelagianism indicates how God ought to work if he had any common sense. He would obviously pile as much responsibility for sin and salvation as possible onto human beings, like Mrs Thatcher privatising everything in sight.

Faith would be a call for everyone to pull their socks up and do their best, engendering a vague feeling that going to Church is somehow doing God a favour. The flip side of this tosh is that anyone who fails to set a good example and is caught should be pilloried with self-righteous indignation pour encourager les autres – another English carry-on that would not appeal to St Augustine. Pelagianism is a whole attitude to God and humanity. It lives not only in Church, but in tabloid newspapers and school league tables.

Augustine, by contrast, observes that all human beings experience a gap between aspiration and performance that goes beyond their capacity to pull their socks up. Salvation is a gift of grace, not a reward. People may dispute exactly what grace is and how they get it, but Augustine's bottom line is that Salvation is wrought by free grace not human endeavour. BCP Baptism is as much about whether God believes in the baby as whether the baby believes in God, something we may confidently assert it can't. No moral effort, no certitude of belief, could rescue humanity. God "sees that we put not our trust in any thing that we do", not even good things.

Augustine's anthropology insistently reminds us of our human fallibility, and the underlying possibility of evil that we sometimes shrug our shoulders and call "human nature." This is not just about fiddling expenses. It describes the catastrophic moral failures of the twentieth century – its holocausts, gulags and killing fields. The horror was usually perpetrated by honest zealots, with the highest of ideals, but with a simple inability to believe they could, as modern enlightened people, do anything truly evil.

People should be free as air to dispute the existence of God, as they have since the Book of Job. I find it disconcerting however, dangerous even, if people dispute the existence of evil, and the possibility of their own deeds being evil. Put another way, the purpose of accepting the potentially flawed character of our best endeavours is not to kill effort, but to support it with the humility not to believe entirely our own hype.

Saudi Arabia could show its vaunted friendship with President Obama now by granting the religious freedoms US citizens enjoy

At a recent Iftar dinner in the White House two weeks ago, President Obama reaffirmed America's commitment to religious freedom and protection for all citizens, regardless of their faith, when he defended the right of American Muslims to build a mosque near Ground Zero in New York City. The president should be commended for the courageous stand that he took in the face of so much opposition fueled by past tragedy, fear and sometimes plain bigotry.

Yet there is more the president could do to uphold the values of religious freedom, lift his slipping approval ratings and protect valuable votes in the November midterm elections. He can take his conviction and courage to the international arena and embarass his adversaries by calling on the America's allies to provide similar rights and freedoms for their citizenry.

And no nation's policies on religious freedom and tolerance today stands in starker contrast with America's than those practised in Saudi Arabia – the country that President Obama recently described as one of America's closest and trusted allies.

The only religion that can be openly practised in the kingdom is Sunni Islam in the Wahhabi/Salafi tradition – an austere Muslim sect that views non-Muslims and non-Wahhabi Muslims as heretics with very few rights. Millions of non-Muslim visitors and guest workers in Saudi Arabia, including thousands of Americans, are banned from public worship or celebration of their religious rituals and cultural festivals. The kingdom is the only Arab and Muslim country that has no churches.

In addition, houses of worship for its Shia and Sufi Muslim citizens are often suppressed or function under dismal conditions; in fact, a dozen Shia mosques were recently closed. The country's public education system indoctrinates Saudi children with hatred and intolerance by teaching them that Jews and Christians are eternal enemies of Islam.

President Obama's close relationship with King Abdullah was reflected in the mutual statement of praise from the two leaders. "I have been struck by his [King Abdullah's] wisdom and his graciousness," said the president. The king responded by saying, "Obama is an honourable and a good man."

If these words are true, then Obama should call on his trusted and wise friend King Abdullah to implement more tolerant and inclusive policies towards non-Muslim residents of Saudi Arabia, especially the American communities in the desert kingdom. These communities trace their history back to the 1940s and have contributed much to the welfare and prosperity of Saudi Arabia and to the security of the monarchy itself.

There is no reason why the kingdom cannot follow the example of other Middle East countries like Kuwait, Bahrain and even Iran, all of which have churches and synagogues and allow non-Muslims to worship openly.

Assuming the "Ground Zero mosque" goes ahead, it will stand as a testament to freedom of worship and tolerance extended to all American citizens even in the toughest of times. The president should use this example of American commitment to freedom of worship to call on the Saudi Monarch to support similar freedoms and protection to non-Muslims in Saudi Arabia. Obama is tasked with protecting the freedoms of Americans here and around the world, including in Saudi Arabia.

As a Saudi dissident living in the United States since 1991 and awarded political asylum in 1998 on religious freedom grounds, I feel a special duty to advocate for the rights of Americans living in my country to practise their religion as freely and openly as I do in their land. I want for Americans in Saudi Arabia the freedom of religion I have had here for the past 20 years.

With the state now actively financing Christianity, China could well become the largest Christian country in the world

Ever since Deng Xiaoping's relaxation of the Chinese Communist party's (CCP) suppression of religious practice in the late 1970s, Christianity has flourished in China. This has been an unexpected phenomenon, as it has been a story largely unheralded by the western media. While figures are patchy, it is estimated that the Christian missionaries (of whom the first were the Nestorians as far back as the Tang dynasty in the seventh century) that were expelled from the People's Republic of China (PRC) in 1949 left behind about half a million people baptised – the majority of whom were Catholics. Today, estimates of Christians range between 40 million and 100 million.

Mao Zedong's cultural revolution banned all forms of religious expression, driving Christians underground into "house churches". After the cultural revolution, realising the potential dangers of such uncontrolled practices, the CCP reinstated the Three-Self Patriotic Movement (TSPM) and formed the China Christian Council as the formal registered organisations of Chinese Protestants, as well as the Catholic equivalent – the Chinese Patriotic Catholic Association. The latter, critically, has no formal links with the Vatican, in large part due to CCP fears of western meddling.

During this period, house churches boomed in popularity. As the New York Times correspondent Nicholas Kristof noted, initially popular among the peasantry, Christianity's reach has extended towards the cities and the wealthy and intellectual Chinese over the last decade.

The reasons for this boom are twofold. The first is that the Chinese have found Christianity to be a stabilising belief system amid a dramatically changing socioeconomic landscape, which had its previous religious traditions crushed by Maoism and its values questioned after Tiananmen Square. And, secondly, with its obvious western heritage, the rise of Christianity may be linked to a subconscious attack on the norms and values espoused by the PRC – rather like South Korea in the 1980s.

However what is most surprising is the CCP's recent policy of actively funding and supporting state-sponsored Christian belief in China, as reported by the BBC earlier this week. According to the director general for the state administration for religious affairs, Wang Zuo An, this is due to the CCP's belief "that it should respect and protect religious belief".

This state-sponsored investment includes building Protestant and Catholic seminaries, funding academic studies into the role of religion in China, and donating land and part-financing the construction of the largest state-sanctioned church in China (for an expected 5,000 worshippers). According to Wang, there are now around 23m official Protestants in China (members of the TSPM), and that "Christianity is enjoying its best period of growth in China".

Yet this all sits rather uneasily with a state that does not allow Christians to be members of the Communist party and whose police, the Public Security Bureau, still frequently break up house church meetings (though with considerable inconsistency from province to province). According to the US group, China Aid Association, from 2005 to 2006, 1,958 Chinese Christians were arrested by the state.

The likelihood is that this policy of "accommodation" is a result of the CCP's past experiences with underground religious organisations and its acknowledgement of the potential economic prosperity that Christianity can bring. In the first instance, it would appear that conscious of the disastrously counterproductive suppression of the "spiritual movement" Falun Gong in the 1990s, the CCP believes that the threat caused by unregistered house churches is best neutralised by bringing Christianity under the auspices of the state.

While the majority of house churches do not appear to have a political agenda (though a small number of revolutionary cults have appeared in rural areas), any violent suppression of Christian groups risks provoking the ire of the west, in particular the US. Second, the recommendations of the prominent Chinese economist, Zhao Xiao, that market economies benefit from active religious groups seem to have been adopted by the CCP leadership. Perhaps eying the benefits that a strong, state-approved Christian voluntary sector could bring to China, in late 2007 President Hu Jintao announced "the knowledge of religious people must be harnessed to build a prosperous society".

On its current trajectory and with state backing, as the former Time magazine Beijing chief David Aikman notes, within three decades there may be nearly 400 million Christians in China. The future of Christianity may well lie in the east.

Serious scientists know that they cannot explain all the major puzzles of existence

Is physical science – as some people say – omnicompetent? Can it (that is) answer all possible questions? If, for instance, we ask why human beings sometimes behave so appallingly – or how we know that they shouldn't behave so appallingly; or what is the best way to deal with inner conflicts; or whether depression is a physical or a mental trouble – can we look to the physical sciences for an answer? How would we even start to hunt for it there?

This idea that science is an all-purpose oracle dealing with every kind of question is surely very odd. Yet that promise was confidently launched in the 1930s and has proved a very powerful myth. Faith in it seems (perhaps understandably) to be getting even stronger now as more traditional faiths are sidelined. Thus, the psychologist Nicholas Humphrey writes confidently in his book, Soul Searching, that the inventors of modern science meant it to provide "a sufficient explanation for everything that is or might be", and it has indeed now managed to do this:

"Two hundred years later this programme for a self-sufficient science has succeeded beyond the dreams of its inventors … The major puzzles of existence have been pulled to pieces [by] all-conquering and consuming scientific rationality. Indeed, the basic laws that govern everything have turned out to be fewer in number and, to those who understand them, simpler and more beautiful than anyone originally guessed. So successful has it been that many scientists would now say, and even fear, that there will soon be little left for them to do." (Emphasis mine.)

What can this mean? Talk of basic laws surely means physics; yet this seems wild. Lord Kelvin is well known to have been mistaken when he made that claim, and today's physics – besides being incredibly complicated – is notoriously uncertain how to reconcile its views on two crucial topics: general relativity and quantum mechanics. Physicists, in fact, are not offering any all-purpose key to the universe, nor (of course) ought they to. Serious scientists know that their enquiries are endless; any answers always raise a swarm of new questions.

Neither, of course, do physicists claim to deal with the "major puzzles of existence". In fact, the success of 17th-century physics was due wholly to its founders seeing the need to limit its scope – to separate out physical questions from others that were entangled with them. When Isaac Newton said that he felt he was only a child picking up shells on the shore of an infinite ocean, he did not mean merely that it might be a couple of hundred years before physicists managed to discover and explain everything. He meant that life as a whole is radically mysterious. The sciences deal only with a tiny fragment of it; other kinds of questions need quite different forms of answer.

Humphrey, however, is convinced that something called science has indeed in some way solved the mind-body problem, apparently by proving that "there is no need for a life-force … no need for a human soul to explain the difference between consciousness and unconsciousness". But of course that was never the point.

Our problem here is to understand the relation between these two things – between our inner and outer life, between consciousness and its objects, between the vulnerable self and the world it has to deal with. This is not a physical problem. It is a problem about how to understand and face life as a whole. And it is not about to go away.

Mary Midgley is a moral philosopher

The alleged Taliban attack on Totia high school reflects how the conflict is now about interpretations of Islam vying for power

This week's Guardian article about an alleged poisoning incident at a girls' school in Kabul reminded me of a similar incident during the Soviet occupation. I was at primary school and remember watching girls being carried over to an adjacent hospital.

The rumour that later spread at school explained the incident as follows: one of the pupils, from a family of mujahideen sympathisers, had poisoned the school's well in protest against the communist-inspired syllabus. The story sounded plausible at the time, in the absence of free media, reliable investigation or international witnesses offering a different, perhaps more objective, take on it.

The parents' reaction was pragmatic. The following day, pupils returned to school, carrying plastic flasks filled with water from home. But this response did not mean parents supported the government. It was true that the syllabus was inspired by communist ideology. But there was a way around that, too. Children simply learned to differentiate between useful scientific knowledge and political propaganda. To receive an education, Afghans – then as now – had no choice but take the risk of exposing children to state propaganda and its spin-off, insurgent violence.

The two incidents – with the water and the "poison gas" – are separated by decades but their similarity makes it tempting to repeat the old cliche that nothing changes in Afghanistan. But in some ways they are strikingly different, revealing profound changes in three decades of conflict and the way it is perceived.

The key difference is that in the old story the conflict was neat, involving two clearly opposite sides: a communist regime of non-believers versus an Islamist resistance of believers.

In the new story, all parties involved in the perceived incident are believers, including the Islamic Republic that is responsible for the school, the pupils who attend it and the perpetrators who allegedly carried out the attack.

Another striking difference between the two stories relates to the gender issues. The old story had a female protagonist who was a school insider. In the current story, by contrast, girls appear only as victims and the perpetrator is perceived to be an outsider. We can assume that the girls of my school were still able to sympathise with the mujahideen, since they had never lived under their command. But the current generation of schoolgirls knows better and there has been no suspicion of an insider act carried out by a girl. These differences are subtle but reveal shifts in the emotional landscape of the people, and the way they relate to the present conflict.

Judging by the parents' reaction to the current story, ordinary Afghans expect the Taliban to break all sorts of traditional religious taboos, including the ban on violence during the month of Ramadan. The parents' reasoning is plausible. After all, a serious taboo such as suicide has been reinterpreted and reintroduced as an act of piety without apparently raising a single eyebrow in Kabul or beyond. Judging by such precedents, Ramadan, too, could have been reinterpreted without notice and declared a month in which jihad by violent means carried on.

Be that as it may, what we see is theological chaos and various conflicting interpretations of Islam vying for power and influence in Afghanistan. The result is an Islamic Republic in charge of a Muslim people, which is under attack by an Islamist insurgency.

Little wonder, then, that parents of Totia school girls have been left wondering who is representing Islam, and who defaming it. But this type of chaos is an expected outcome when Muslim states lose control over religion. Faced with the Taliban, the old mujahideen who are in power now are getting a taste of their own medicine. After all, they too had once used Islam to legitimise violence against civilians, schoolchildren included.

Another striking difference between the two stories is content related. In the old story, the poison incident was explained as an act of protest against the school's syllabus but not girls' education per se. Could it be that the old mujahideen leaders were less rigid by comparison to their contemporary reincarnation, the Taliban? Unfortunately, we cannot verify this assumption because the old jihad was highly dispersed, lacking in a coherent, clearly defined political vision, providing answers to the question of gender and public education.

Be that as it may, the Totia school incident, where Muslim believers are said to have come under attack by fellow believers during the holy month of Ramadan, is yet another example of Afghanistan's theological chaos. Rather oddly, the chaos has been ignored, despite the trouble it is obviously causing.

But maybe ignoring the problem is deliberate. After all, the relationship between Islam and nationhood is particularly complex in Afghanistan. Religion having always been a key component of nationalism, fighting for religion tends to be automatically interpreted as a legitimate act of patriotism.

This formula worked well as long as the conflict involved Muslim believers versus non-believers. But since the 1990s, the conflict is no longer about Muslims versus non-believers but various interpretations of Islam vying for power and influence. As a result, religion no longer works as a binding force but has become a trigger of conflict in Afghanistan.

But since acknowledging this truth amounts to dismantling the most sacred of the country's recent myths, Islam is likely to continue being regarded as the solution rather than the source of conflict.

Muslims are marking the third Friday in the holy month of Ramadan

We need to get beyond the cultural cringe of modern Christianity to understand great art

The question: What is the point of Christian arts?

I'm inclined to think that dividing works of art up into sacred and secular is a somewhat arbitrary exercise. Of course we commonly use a kind of shorthand to describe work that deals with certain subject matter as "religious art". But beyond that, what might make a work "religious" exactly?

If it depended upon the artist being devout, a great deal of religious art would no longer qualify, while many secular scenes would – Caravaggio's paintings of biblical scenes, for instance, would be out, while Van Gogh's Starry Night would be in. But the meaning of a work is in any case as much dependent upon the interpretative frame given to it by the listener, the reader or the viewer. A work might be "sacred" simply because it is being viewed through the eyes of faith.

I'm not sure, then, that it's a simple matter to say what makes a work religious, but what I am sure of is that ignoring the religious content in works of art does diminish their sense. That's not to say you have to buy into the belief system, but without a working knowledge of Christianity, much of the art, music and literature in this corner of the world remains a closed book to the viewer.

Early last year in a Guardian interview Andrew Motion, then poet laureate, lamented the increasing level of biblical illiteracy he found among his students. Reading literature, he said, "…requires you to know things about the Fall, who some of the people in the Bible are, ideas of sinfulness and virtue. It's also essential for Tennyson, Browning and Arnold, and needs to be there in the background of the modernist period." He called for teaching of the Bible to be included in general education, not for religious reasons, but because "…it's an essential piece of cultural luggage."

I couldn't agree more. Without knowing Genesis you miss many of the undercurrents to Chaucer, Milton and Dante, say nothing of modern writers like Steinbeck and T S Eliot; and without the gospels a good slice of Shakespeare is torn from its roots. "Measure for measure" makes us think of Shakespeare; his audience would have thought of Jesus.

Last year I went to two large exhibitions of Van Gogh's paintings, each of which included several of Van Gogh's paintings of "the Sower" – a subject he returned to a number of times. The galleries had provided many good notes, showing the influence of other painters he had followed, how he had developed the theme over time, and how his use of colour changed between the paintings. Yet nowhere was there any comment on the fact that, as can be seen from Van Gogh's letters, an important inspiration was the parable of the sower, which he spent much time contemplating, and regarded as a metaphor for his own work.

Van Gogh's work is evidence of the fact that good art goes beyond merely illustrating or re-telling an old story; it creates a dialogue with its sources, taking an old established idea and giving it a new twist. I recently studied various poems, paintings and sculptures of the annunciation, a story originally told in Luke's gospel. Many medieval depictions of the annunciation show Mary's meek submission to the will of God, but more recent works subtly shift her role so that she is seen as a woman empowered to choose her own destiny. Both Noel Rowe's Magnificat and Edwin Muir's Annunciation suggest that God doesn't hold (or hold on to) all the cards but takes the highly risky and self-effacing strategy of placing the destiny of the world into the hands of an unknown peasant girl. This is the glory of art – to overturn the well-worn tracks of unchallenged ideas and make us see the world through new eyes.

There is a "cultural cringe" about Christianity at present; in a post-Christian age many people want to distance themselves from a religion they no longer wish to be associated with. The place of religion in public life needs to continue to be negotiated, but it would be a mistake, in my view, to let such discussion extend to cutting ourselves adrift from layer upon layer of understanding of our cultural heritage.

As I discovered on a recent visit, a pragmatic alliance of PNG churches is making strides in HIV prevention

In a nation where 90% of the population identify as Christian, leaders from a multitude of Christian denominations have come together to launch the Christian Leaders Alliance, a network of faith leaders dedicated to providing a response to the HIV pandemic, a response that I was lucky enough to be able to see at first hand.

In Papua New Guinea (PNG), the stigma, fear and discrimination surrounding HIV/Aids are acutely felt. One of the aims of the alliance is to promote a "theology of understanding" and compassion to overcome this. Members have made a commitment to speak from the pulpits about HIV/Aids and the need to accept and treat everyone with respect.

These may sound like wishy-washy sentiments but the steps taken are significant and show the willingness of churches to push their own boundaries, especially given that some still believe that acquiring HIV is a punishment for one's sins and people with HIV are often ostracised from their community. Respecting vulnerable groups such as men who have sex with men in a climate where homosexuality is still classed as illegal and "against the order of nature" and extending the mantle of acceptance is a great stride, not merely a small step. The churches are closest to the communities, so their positions can actually bring about social change.

They are also using the religious networks to disseminate information about prevention and treatment of HIV. A consequence of the alliance's stance is that there is little duplication of services, and there is an ability to pool the resources and expertise of different groups.

In addition the diversity of groups within the alliance allow gaps to be filled: for example, if the Catholic church feels uncomfortable issuing condoms, another more progressive church can provide these services.

Perhaps one of greatest challenges is a shift of focus to prevention. Condom use has not been widely embraced by people in PNG, apart from among fishermen, who sometimes use them as bait.

Christianity came relatively recently to PNG, and polygamy and concurrent partnerships were culturally acceptable for much of its history. With the spread of Christianity in the area there has been a quick espousal of new beliefs about sexuality. Perhaps as a result, there is an unrealistic expectation of abstinence, making any discussion of extramarital sex and the role of condom use difficult.

One of the partners in the alliance is a group called Anglicare, whose director, Dominica Bessie, is an inspiring, warm, gregarious lady. Anglicare was set up in 2000 and was one of the driving forces of the formation of the alliance. It is also the only church-affiliated organisation to distribute condoms.

She recounted a common sight in Mount Hagen, a region of PNG where Anglicare operates: a nun walks about with condoms strapped to the top of her backpack for people to take at will with no questions asked.

Dominica believes that ultimately as Christians we have to nurture others regardless of whether we agree with their actions. Ultimately God has to judge, not us.

My trip reassured me that faith groups in PNG are neither resting on their laurels nor proselytising: they are simply motivated by faith to reduce human suffering.

By chance, on the flight out I happened to be seated next to Theresia, a Franciscan nun. She told me of a phrase attributed to St Francis: "Preach the Gospel at all times and when necessary use words."

Actions, then, define faith: that says it all, really.

The Qu'ran reminds us animals and birds are 'communities like you'. So why do so many Muslims break their fast with meat?

For most of the billion-plus Muslims who sit down each evening to break their Ramadan fast, meat will be on the menu. Lots of it. But how Islamic is eating meat?

Not very, according to Sheikh Hamza Yusuf, who argues that historically Muslims ate so little meat they were almost vegetarian. "Meat is not a necessity in sharia, and in the old days most Muslims used to eat meat – if they were wealthy, like middle class – once a week on Friday. If they were poor – on the Eids."

In today's world, meat-eating has taken on a new fervour, with many Muslims demanding animal flesh as part of their daily diet. Just the other day, an Egyptian journalist was relating to me how he attended a dinner at a local organisation here in Cairo. When people arrived, questions began to fly across the hall: "Where is the meat? We aren't going to have enough for everyone."

According to a recent study by the Egyptian cabinet's Information and Decision Support Centre, 89% of Egyptians eat more than 2kg of meat monthly. This figure rises along with social class. The study revealed that wealthy Egyptians often consume more than 8kg of meat each month.

The prophet Muhammad was not an advocate of daily meat-eating. Instead, the Islamic Concern website says, he warned his followers against constant meat consumption as it could become "addictive". It seems that 1,500 years later his concerns are not being heeded.

Early Islamic leaders and scholars repeatedly emphasised that animals were to be cherished and treated in a humane manner, but many Muslims nowadays view animals as the dominion of people. A sheikh at the Egyptian ministry of religious endowments told me: "Animals are slaves for human purposes. They were put here for us to eat, so talk of vegetarianism is un-Islamic."

This statement by the ministry official goes against everything the prophet stood for, in the opinion of Gamal al-Banna, a prominent Islamic scholar who has come under attack in recent years for his "liberal" stance. Al-Banna told me that being a vegetarian and Muslim does not break any tradition and is in no way un-Islamic.

"When someone becomes vegetarian they do so for a number of reasons: compassion, environment and health reasons," he began. "As a Muslim, I believe that the prophet would want the followers to be healthy, compassionate and not destroy our environment. If someone believes not eating meat is that way, it is not like they are going to go to hell for it. It may be the right thing to do."

Al-Banna continued, when I asked him about the Eid al-Adha sacrifice (which many argue is obligatory), that any Muslim who believes in being vegetarian does not have to slaughter a sheep. "In today's modern world, ideas and religion change and Islam is no different. We must not remain rigid in our understanding of faith to mean the blind acceptance of anything, killing living beings included. There is no obligation to kill."

Others disagree, arguing that meat-eating is part of the Islamic tradition and, thus, vegetarianism is a foreign notion for the Middle East. Muslims who eat meat at every iftar (fast-breaking evening meal) this month undoubtedly believe they are doing the right thing. On the other hand, the idea that animals are merely slaves to humans is not only abhorrent to animal-rights advocates, but seems to be at odds with the prophet's teaching.

Some would argue that the prayer said before halal slaughtering is part of Islam's humanity when animals are killed for food. This may have been true historically, but in today's "halal" slaughterhouses, a pre-recorded prayer often blares nonstop as the animals are lined up and killed. That is a cop-out from what Islam teaches about "humane" slaughter.

Ultimately, the argument is simple. The Qur'an reveals that all living animals are sentient beings, just as human beings are.

"There is not an animal on earth, nor a bird that flies on its wings – but they are communities like you." (Qur'an, 6:38)

Study finds medics' faith affects care of terminally ill, as hospital clinicians admit 'ethically controversial' decisions

Terminally-ill patients would be well advised to find out the religious beliefs of their doctor, according to research showing the effect of faith on a doctor's willingness to make decisions that could hasten death.

Doctors who are atheist or agnostic are twice as likely to take decisions that might shorten the life of somebody who is terminally ill as doctors who are deeply religious – and doctors with strong religious convictions are less likely even to discuss such decisions with the patient, according to Professor Clive Seale, from the centre for health sciences at Barts and the London school of medicine and dentistry.

"If I were a patient facing end of life care, I would want to know what my doctor's views were on religious matters – whether they are non-religious or religious and whether the doctor felt that would influence them in the kinds of decisions they were looking at," said Seale.

A patient who wanted their life prolonged at all costs in the event of a terminal illness, or did not want it prolonged, should make sure they had a doctor who was in sympathy with this.

Doctors are influenced by their beliefs, just as other people are, said Seale.

"It is easy for clinicians to present themselves as neutral appliers of science, but values do come into it," he said. That is accepted in abortion care, but the issue has not yet been widely discussed in the care of the dying. "I had a GP who was powerfully committed to not legalising euthanasia," said Seale. He has now changed his GP.

Seale's study, published online today in the Journal of Medical Ethics, was based on a survey of doctors in specialisms likely to care for people at the end of life, such as neurology, elderly and palliative care but also general practice. More than 8,500 doctors were contacted and almost 4,000 responded.

The doctors were asked about the care of their last patient who died, if relevant – including whether they had provided continuous deep sedation until death and whether they had discussed decisions judged likely to shorten life with the patient.

They were also asked their religious beliefs, ethnicity, and their views on assisted dying/euthanasia. More than 3,000 described the death of a patient.

Specialists in the care of the elderly were somewhat more likely to be Hindu or Muslim, while palliative care doctors were somewhat more likely than other doctors to be Christian, white, and agree that they were "religious."

The chances of a doctor making an ethically controversial decision expected or partly intended to end life was largely unrelated to the doctor's ethnicity, but was strongly related to his or her specialisation. Specialised doctors in hospitals were almost 10 times as likely to report this than palliative care specialists.

But regardless of their speciality, doctors who described themselves as "extremely" or "very non-religious" were almost twice as likely to report having taken these kinds of decisions as those with a religious belief.

The most religious doctors were significantly less likely than other doctors to have discussed options at the end of life with their patient.