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3.4: Worship: agnosticism

The two years that I had spent in the army certainly were not a time for spiritual development. But I was no longer in any way sure of my commitments in that field. I had gone through my religious phase comparatively early in life - around the age of eleven. But I had been veering towards agnosticism since then. And let me put this in contrast to the attitude of one of my contemporaries, Alaistair Thompson, when we both arrived as Potential Officers from the Household Cavalry, for that first period in our training at Caterham.

Most of us slept the nights in our army underwear of singlet and pants. Alaistair was one of the few who had brought his pyjamas with him, and actually saw fit to wear them. It was a matter which could easily have laid him open to ridicule. But he was more together (more mature) as an adult than most of us, so at the price of a sense of dignity which bordered upon pomposity, he was less vulnerable perhaps to the taunts of lesser mortals. While falling just short of a grading which would have got him awarded the Stick of Honour at Mons, he still managed to pass out above the rest of us. But this story concerns his very first days of National Service, when his self-confidence might have been expected to be at a low point.

He had mentioned in conversation how someone of his school acquaintance (from Winchester) had boldly set the pattern of conduct for the Brigade Squad of his day, by kneeling beside his bed in prayer each night for a full minute before going to bed. It was an example which others gradually took upon themselves to follow - until the whole squad were adopting the habit of praying beside their beds last thing at night. Now the story was told to us as an example which he assumed we'd all admire. But all that I noted was a nervous giggle or two.

Something which none of us had anticipated was that Alaistair was probably intending from the start to attempt the same act of leadership with ourselves. But in the event, the experiment didn't work out quite so well. He kept it up for about three nights, without anyone following suit. Then the Trained-Soldier must have concluded that he was losing out on his example-setting rôle, and that he should put a stop to it. So he said: "What the heck does Thompson think he's up to?" And Alaistair eventually replied: "I'm saying my prayers, Trained-Soldier." There were some mutterings, which amounted to scoffing. And that was the last time that Alaistair made such a public performance of it.

In spite of the fact that he had made a fool of himself, I still admired his courage in sticking out his neck like that. At the same time I felt critical of his stand. What his attempt had amounted to was a bid to shame us into an affirmation of the Christian faith, through our fear of getting left out from the drive towards conformity, which he had inspired. There was something in this attitude which militated against individualism. It didn't seek to win such affirmation by reason to promote an understanding. Indeed it was a direct assault against the need for individual comprehension, in its demand for obedient loyalty to example. The example of Christ, Alaistair might well interject. But as an embryonic individualist, I already knew perhaps, that this wasn't the right kind of religion for me.

After I had rejoined the Regiment, first at Combermere and then at Wolfenbütel, the two friends of mine who were the most concerned about their Christian faith were Tim Sainsbury and Laurence Kelly; the former a Protestant and the latter a Catholic. I observed their positional stances when in argument with interest, without any wish to take sides. But the gist of it was that Tim saw his religion more in the light of social example; the Church as the mode of promoting the right kind of values within the community, and something in which we should all play our contributory part - whereas Laurence saw his as the only true vehicle of Christ's message, and was anxious to bolster his own doubts by persuading us all to come over to his viewpoint.

It would have been much more appropriate if the likes of them had been required to participate within the Christian Leadership course, to which I myself was sent shortly after I first arrived in Wolfenbütel, but as so often happens in these matters, the choice for who should go was dictated by the Squadron-Leader's convenience. In that I was the officer in D Squadron, with whom Nipper could most happily dispense at that time, I was detailed to attend - along with Miles Burkitt from C Squadron.

I wasn't happy in being sent on this course. Somehow I didn't feel that I was ready in my own mind yet for a discussion on the subject of religion. I wanted to be left free to observe the world for a while, without being required to dispute what I should, or should not believe. Yet in this place, the padré expected me to respond to his talk by airing my own views on the subject. And this I was reluctant to do. The nearest that I came to participation was in leaving a letter for the padré, in which I explained that my greatest inhibition against accepting the Christian message as anything more than great moral teaching, lay in my inability to accept the divinity of Christ. I regarded it as absurd to suggest that any man, born of a woman, should somehow be the son of God. And I preferred not to open myself to contrary conviction on that issue. Not for the time being that is to say. Until I might choose to raise such subjects for debate of my own accord, I preferred to be left to my own doubts.

There is little else that I can add with regard to my beliefs over this period in my life.