Joining The Dots - Day 1

Good afternoon or good evening, everybody. It's really nice to see you. I can't see everybody; there are about 160 people signed up, so maybe 200 people online. For those who have been to my workshops, I far prefer to have conversations. I don't like just standing here and talking and teaching. I love the interactive aspect, which is a pity when you have so many people because you can't do all the questions and answers and conversations. Hopefully, once this lockdown is finished, we can meet up face to face again.

I would like to say a little bit about myself before I even begin. As always, I tell people when I'm teaching that I don't expect you to believe everything I say. If you do, I'll be shocked and really disappointed because a lot of this stuff I just make up as I go along. The slides are just things to help me keep it going in the right direction. For me, it's just a work in progress. I don't claim to know all the answers; I'm just trying to figure out some questions.

A little bit about me: I know many of you, and it's nice looking down the list of people who signed up and being able to recognise many names and faces from all over the world. I was born in Africa, in Uganda. I'm Jewish by birth because my mother's mother is Jewish. My mother was born in Jerusalem, and my great-grandfather was one of the pioneers of new Jewish settlements in the middle of the 19th century. So, I'm Jewish by birth but Christian by upbringing because my dad is a Christian. I belong to the Church of England and come from a long line of ministers in the Church of England. My immediate ancestry is significant, and both of these facts colour who I am a lot.

I went to a Christian school and was brought up Christian. I love Jesus very much. When I was 13, I went to the Soviet Union in 1970 on a school trip. It was the very first time that tourists were allowed into the Soviet Union. I thought it would be safe and easy to manage. We first went to Leningrad, now Saint Petersburg, and then took the night train down to Moscow. I was overwhelmed by how different it was. Everywhere there were policemen and soldiers. We were taken to Red Square, which was a great honour, and we were allowed to skip the queue to enter the mausoleum of Vladimir Lenin, the first leader of the Soviet Union. I couldn't understand why so many people were queuing to see him.

Another thing I noticed was a church in Red Square. I asked our guide if we could see the church, and she said no. I realised that all the churches were closed; we weren't allowed to visit them or ask certain kinds of questions. This really impressed me. When I returned to England, I tried to understand what was going on there, which was so different from where I grew up. I came across Alexander Solzhenitsyn and read his book, 'A Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich,' which is about life in a forced labour camp. I realised this wasn't something from two or three hundred years ago; it was happening today while I was breathing the air of freedom in England.

I began to understand more about the communist system and felt a moral obligation to get involved in changing it and helping people. When I was a teenager, I was walking in London and witnessed the principle through which I could understand myself more deeply than ever before. It also helped me understand the Bible, Jesus, and God more deeply. I realised I needed to do this, and so I became a 'Moonie' by choice. People often ask me about my religion, and I say I'm Jewish by birth, Christian by upbringing, and a Moonie by choice. My religion is a work in progress; I'm on a journey to try and understand things more and more.

I joined in 1975 when I was 18 years old. I did various things, and then I went to the University of Manchester. I was on a fundraising team at the time and listening to a conversation about the philosophy of language between a Catholic theologian named Cobble and another person named Anthony Flew. They were discussing the philosophy of language and religious language, which I found interesting. I took myself off to university to read philosophy and politics, and I also studied the Russian Orthodox Church because I had lived in Russia as a teenager and was interested in the literature and language.

I went to seminary in America in 1989 for three years. After that, I finally had the opportunity to go back to Russia, which I had dreamed about since I was a teenager. I worked at the International Educational Foundation and wrote a series of books on spiritual moral education for young people living in a post-communist society called 'Moy Miria.' I was trying to translate the principle into common sense so that anyone could understand it, read it, and teach it. I was there for seven years, and then I returned to Britain with my family. I went to the UCL Institute of Education, became a qualified RE teacher, and taught religious education in secondary schools in London for seven years.

I was then able to go to the University of Cambridge to study Jewish-Christian relations, which is something I'm very interested in. That's my background. Along this journey, I've been reading a lot of books trying to make sense of the world and find ways to translate the principle into accessible language. One of the books I came across is called 'The Heretical Imperative: Contemporary Possibilities of Religious Affirmation,' written by Peter Berger. He wrote a very interesting survey trying to understand the religious circumstances in America and Europe in 1980, looking at how spiritual and cultural life developed from pre-modern society to modern society and the beginnings of post-modern society.

I found this interesting because it seemed to parallel the way our own community has developed. In the pre-modern age, during the Middle Ages, everyone was Catholic, and everything was about God. Whenever anything happened, people looked for a spiritual reason. In our spiritual community, when I joined, everything was very spiritual. There was only one religion, and everyone else was considered heathens. People had no alternative; they were born into a particular religion, lived with it, married in it, and died in it. There was only one correct reading of the Bible, determined by the Catholic Church's Magisterium. If you didn't believe this, you were deemed a heretic. There was a lot of certainty in this world, and people were discouraged from asking questions. If they did, they were told it was a mystery or above their pay grade.

This pre-modern world began to break down with the onset of modernity, which started with the Renaissance. People went on the Crusades and encountered the Islamic world, which had a more sophisticated culture than Europe at that time. They began to bring back different ideas, skills, and biblical texts from Constantinople to Italy, particularly Florence, where the Renaissance began. This led to questioning authority and wanting to renew things. The Renaissance marked the beginning of a shift in how people viewed religion and the world.

The world of art and sculpture experienced a renewal, a rebirth that involved the rediscovery of the Greek philosophical, cultural, and artistic traditions. This revival extended into literature and politics, with figures like Machiavelli emerging. There was also a growing sentiment that perhaps the Church needed reform. Many attempts were made to reform the Church, some of which were quite successful, but the last significant attempt ended tragically with Jan Hus being burned at the stake during the Council of Constance. Martin Luther, however, identified certain issues within the Catholic Church that he believed did not align with Scripture as he understood it. He pointed out these discrepancies, leading to what we now refer to as the Reformation.

Unfortunately, the reality was that the Church was not reformed; instead, Europe became divided. Catholicism remained dominant in southern Europe, while Protestantism took root in the north. This religious division resulted in significant confusion, as people had previously been very certain about their beliefs, practices, and rituals. With the emergence of new theologies and interpretations, many found themselves in a state of uncertainty. Questions arose about what constituted the correct beliefs, especially when various interpretations of the Eucharist and other sacraments emerged. The modern era introduced the possibility of choosing one's religion, which brought with it a great deal of uncertainty, particularly for those who took their faith seriously, as they grappled with the implications for their eternal lives.

Alongside this confusion, religious wars erupted, most notably the Thirty Years' War between Catholics and Protestants. These conflicts drew in much of Europe and lasted for approximately one hundred forty years, culminating in the Treaty of Westphalia. The devastation wrought by these wars was immense, leading to significant loss of life and destruction of agriculture, cities, and towns. Many began to view religion as a problem, leading to the assertion that religion causes wars. This perspective stemmed from the intense suffering and destruction experienced during the religious wars of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. As a result, people began to seek alternative sources of truth and values, questioning the reliability of the Church and the Bible.

The Reformation directly contributed to the Enlightenment, where traditions and texts were scrutinised. Many concluded that the Bible appeared incoherent and illogical, particularly when examining the differing accounts of the life of Jesus in the four Gospels. This led to a rejection of revelation as a basis for certainty and truth. The translation of the Bible from Latin and Greek into vernacular languages allowed people to read it for themselves, revealing revolutionary ideas but also highlighting its lack of coherence. Consequently, individuals sought rational bases for ethics rather than relying solely on divine commandments. Philosophers like Immanuel Kant emerged, proposing various ethical frameworks, including deontological ethics and utilitarianism.

This quest for a rational basis for knowledge led to the development of empiricism, which posited that knowledge comes from experience. The rise of science, particularly in England, marked a shift towards a more secular understanding of the world. Society gradually became increasingly secularised, with religion becoming more privatised. Public spaces, education, and government were no longer dominated by religious ideas, leading to a gradual separation of church and state. In America, this separation was formalised, while in France, it became even more pronounced, resulting in a state with minimal Christian influence. The nineteenth century saw the emergence of secular cultural institutions, such as concert halls and art galleries, where people could experience the sublime outside of traditional worship settings.

By the twentieth century, the secularisation of morality became evident, as laws that had biblical origins began to be separated from religious influence. This shift led to significant changes in marriage laws and issues surrounding sexuality and gender identity. Despite attempts to establish firm foundations in science and reason, the result of secularisation was often increased uncertainty and relativism. In economics, capitalism emerged as a system devoid of moral foundations, while political ideologies like fascism and communism arose from Enlightenment principles that sought alternatives to religious-based governance. The events of the twentieth century, particularly the Holocaust, led to widespread scepticism regarding Enlightenment rationality, prompting questions about how the most advanced societies could commit such atrocities.

As a result, people began to reject overarching narratives, leading to pluralism and the acceptance of multiple interpretations and lifestyles. The critique of universal values emerged, questioning the superiority of one culture's values over another's. This critique extended to morality, which was seen as a reflection of societal customs rather than absolute truths. The idea of progress was also challenged, particularly after the devastation of the First World War, which shook the belief that humanity was on an unending path of improvement. The notion that there are no universal truths gained traction, as languages were recognised as socially constructed, complicating the pursuit of absolute truth. Every translation of the Bible, for instance, revealed the inherent difficulties in conveying meaning across languages, highlighting the relative nature of all expressions of truth.

In this context, postmodernism emerged, suggesting that there is no single correct interpretation of texts or events. The concept of deconstructionism gained prominence, encouraging a critical examination of language and culture. This approach posited that every reading of a text is an interpretation, challenging the idea that there is one definitive understanding. In reading circles, for example, individuals often interpret the same novel in vastly different ways, illustrating the subjective nature of interpretation. This shift in perspective underscores the complexity of truth and meaning in a world where multiple interpretations coexist.

Interesting, you can see what different people get out of that particular novel, which is always going to be different from what you yourself get out of it. It's the same as listening to music; some people like one particular kind of music and they don't like another. So that's just the reality of life. There's post-rock Dresden, which we'll be looking at again. The question is, in this situation of extreme relativism that we've fallen into, how do we get out of this? Where do we go from here? This is a problem that Peter Berger identified, asking what religious people are going to do in this world of post-modernism and relativism. How are religious people going to respond to this? What's a possible response? One possible response is to try and retreat and go back to the pre-modern. Berger suggested that another response is to embrace secularisation, and a third is to find an alternative existentialist approach. Let's look at these a little bit, as they also paint our own spiritual community.

What about going back to the pre-modern? This is what we call fundamentalism. Fundamentalism developed in America at the beginning of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. It represents a desire to return to certainty because people were very uncertain about their faith; their faith had been questioned. They wanted certainty, so they sought to go back to the fundamentals. The fundamental source of truth and knowledge, and what is right and wrong, was the Bible. They claimed the Bible is the inerrant Word of God; everything in the Bible is a revelation from God, and you cannot question it or change it. This became the source of all knowledge and faith. Along with this came a rejection of science, as the first page of the Bible discusses the creation of the world in six days, while science talks about the universe being billions of years old. Charles Darwin's book, 'The Origin of Species,' challenged the idea that we were created 6,000 years ago, suggesting instead that things evolved. For fundamentalists, the temptation is to reject science and claim it is wrong. Some people think the way the Divine Principle was taught 40 years ago is the way it should still be taught today.

This attitude is what is called the verticals of neo-orthodoxy. It is not an experience of original encounters with the Divine; rather, it is an attempt to be Orthodox. When people have an original spiritual experience, they encounter the Divine in a way that completely transforms them. They try to express this experience and find the words to communicate it to others, seeking to pass on this knowledge and understanding. This leads to the establishment of certain traditions and ways of life. Early Christianity was referred to as 'the Way,' where being Christian meant being Christ-like and following Jesus' way of life. With this came the introduction of certain traditions, such as baptism, communion, and marriage services. However, fundamentalism often becomes very dry and ritualistic, leading to an inauthentic experience of faith.

I was brought up in a Christian environment where I had to memorise the Creed. I remember one year during my religious education lessons, we were questioned about what we had learned, and at the end of the year, there was an exam. The last question on the examination paper was open-ended: 'Do you have any questions you would like to ask?' I asked, 'I memorised the Creed, and part of the Creed says I believe in one Catholic and Apostolic Church. However, I am not a Catholic; I belong to the Church of England. Why do I have to say I believe in one Catholic Church when I am part of the Church of England?' That was an inauthentic faith; it was something I had to memorise and repeat without understanding. It didn't matter whether I understood it or not; I just had to repeat it. In that sense, it became like neo-orthodoxy: a tradition that is ritualistic and inauthentic because it doesn't flow from the heart. This approach simply does not work.

Peter Berger argues that neo-orthodoxy cannot persuade people to return to the pre-modern age, where they memorise everything off by heart. For some, that might be acceptable, but for many people in the world today, it simply does not work. Another possibility he suggested was to accommodate modernity. This is another approach that churches have taken; they abandon unscientific myths. They no longer believe in miracles or the supernatural, essentially accepting the desacralisation of society. We no longer try to bring God into our conversations or politics; we accept, as Nietzsche said, that God is dead. We have removed God from public space, reducing religion to ethics. Jesus is no longer seen as a miracle worker but merely as a teacher of ethics. Religious experience has been reduced to psychology. For instance, a well-known person who had COVID-19 and was on a ventilator shared that Jesus came to him while he was in a coma, giving him hope for recovery. However, the interviewer dismissed this as merely a result of drugs playing tricks on his mind, suggesting that there is no such thing as an authentic religious experience.

Thus, everything is reduced to human experience, and theology becomes anthropology. This leads to a very secular worldview. An alternative approach that I advocate is service as an existentialist approach, starting from human experience. This could be seen as a phenomenological approach. The first line of the Divine Principle states that every human is struggling to attain happiness and avoid misfortune. Starting from human experience, we can build towards everything else, including God. One of the things I loved about the Principle was that when I heard it, it helped me to understand myself. In that sense, the Principle is very modern; it is a postmodern approach. It does not align with the traditional approach of regular Christian churches because it seeks to relate everything to human experience. Through the Principle, one can understand oneself; it is not about memorising or learning things off by heart. When I heard the Principle, I realised it made sense of my life, and that is why I believe it.

However, this approach, as Berger noted, is open-ended, which brings a lot of uncertainty. It is a journey and a work in progress. Our own spiritual communities are very much like this; they are works in progress, journeys where we are learning. Of course, this uncertainty can be challenging for some people, as many prefer the certainty that fundamentalism offers. Personally, I find this open-ended approach much more fulfilling. What is happening here is a search for authentic experience that lies behind tradition. This does not reject tradition; rather, it seeks to find the authentic experience that lies behind it. In this sense, we are renewing the tradition, making it fresh and alive for people today. We are not condemning or celebrating modernity; we are engaging with it. Just as the Principle suggests, we engage with science and religion, trying to find an authentic way to move forward that makes sense of the world we live in.

A great Protestant theologian, Paul Tillich, spoke about this. He said a theological system is supposed to satisfy two basic needs: a statement of the truths of the Christian message and the interpretation of this truth for every new generation. Theology moves back and forth between two poles: the eternal truth of its foundation and the temporal situation in which the eternal truth must be received. Not many theological systems have been able to balance these two demands perfectly. It is easy to teach the truth without paying attention to the people who are supposed to be listening. One must consider the world we live in today and think about how to translate these eternal truths into a language that resonates with people today. How can we bring the Principle or this truth to people in a way that helps them find meaning in their lives and aids them on their journey in their relationship with the Divine? Striking this balance is crucial, though not easy. I will take a break here. I hope this has been interesting for some of you. We will have a coffee break now for about 15 minutes. Enjoy your break, and I will see you later.

I will take a look at some of the questions here. John Sebastian knows a lot more history than I do and has picked up on many points that I left out or did not explain very well, for which I am grateful. I was just trying to quickly go through a few points. Of course, William of Ockham and John Duns Scotus are also part of the changes that were taking place. Thomas Aquinas started off among relatively few people, and gradually, these ideas began to expand. Non-religious people also have traditions, but many religious traditions were becoming secularised. Before World War II, people thought they were getting better, but now, a hundred years later, we must ask ourselves if we are indeed improving. Looking a little at education, one of the things I am involved in is the transmission between generations, where newcomers are initiated into the world they are to inhabit. This involves older generations introducing younger people to the world, not just the physical world where we teach children not to touch a hot oven or jump out of a window, but also the human world, which encompasses understandings, imaginings, meanings, moral and religious beliefs, and relationships within families and communities. Children are always asking questions: 'Why are we doing this? What does this mean? Who is this? What is that?' They have an innate desire to make sense of the world, and it is the responsibility of the older generation to answer these questions, not in an absolute way, but in a manner that helps initiate them into this world of consciousness. These states of mind can only be understood by learning to engage with them.

Our children go to school because it is only through learning that we can start to understand and be initiated into this world. Learning is how we become human and move within it freely. This is a historic, not a natural, condition. Through engaging with our cultural inheritance, we learn what it is to be a human being. I remember when I started reading novels and literature as a teenager; I discovered thoughts and emotions I had never experienced before. I began to understand what it meant to be human by entering into the lives, hearts, thoughts, and feelings of various characters in the works of Dickens, Dostoyevsky, and Tolstoy. I realised that being a human being is a historic, not a natural, condition. If my physical body were in a different part of the world or in a different period of history, I would be a different person, as my thoughts, language, and ideas would be very different.

In this way, we become human by engaging with our cultural inheritance. This transaction is not merely about transferring the products of an earlier generation; it is not just about passing things on like a violin. It is about learning to play the violin and appreciating its value. Education is not merely acquiring a stock of ready-made images, ideas, sentiments, and beliefs. Instead, it is about learning to look, listen, think, feel, imagine, believe, understand, choose, and wish. It is about developing that inner aspect of oneself. The important thing is that we can only recognise ourselves as human by seeing ourselves in the mirror of our inheritance of human understandings, which we acquire from various sources such as church, literature, art galleries, music, and sports.

When we engage with these cultural inheritances, we learn how to relate and interact with the world. We acquire the ability to reflect our own version of being human in conduct, which is both a self-disclosure and a self-enactment. It is not merely about imitation; it is about making our heritage our own and expressing it in our unique way. Everything we do should be a creative act, a form of artistic expression. Our whole lives should be artistic. The best way to achieve this is to inherit everything, digest it, incorporate it, and then present our own version of being human to the world. A teacher is someone whose inheritance is alive and knows how to pass that on.

One of the things we should do is try to make sense of reality, to understand the world in which we live. This is why children are always asking questions. These questions develop from simple inquiries like 'Where are we going?' to the endless question a five-year-old has when going on holiday: 'Are we there yet?' Philosophy, as I understand it, aims for the logical clarification of thoughts. It is not a body of doctrine but an activity. Philosophy is not about identifying oneself as a Kantian or a Lockean; it is about learning how to think. It is a journey of exploration, trying to make sense of the world we live in.

Philosophy is a battle against the limitations of our intelligence by means of language. Often, we get confused because of the language we use. It is challenging to translate perfectly from one language to another, and our language can sometimes confuse us. This confusion is something I will explore, particularly the language we have inherited and the concepts contained within it. The aim of philosophy is to show the fly the way out of the fly bottle. We often struggle to make sense of ourselves. For instance, when someone asks you to tell them about yourself, what do you say? You might mention your nationality, weight, appearance, religion, or job. Another way to reveal yourself is to tell your story. Listening to someone's story allows for a deeper understanding of their identity, as our identities are narratives.

Many of you may have come across the book 'Sapiens' by Harari, which attempts to understand the difference between humans and other species like Neanderthals. He argues that about 70,000 years ago, there was a cognitive revolution that changed the way people thought. Before this, people could only cooperate in groups of about 150, as they could only relate to those they knew personally. However, with the development of imagination, people began to cooperate in much larger groups. This imagination allowed for storytelling, enabling people to communicate about things that do not exist in the physical world. This capacity for storytelling is what allows for the formation of larger groups, such as armies, where individuals may not know each other personally but share a common identity, language, and history.

The development of imagination and storytelling is crucial for forming a common identity. This is often tied to national stories, which can create a sense of unity and a common enemy. The reason people can fight together, even as strangers, is that they share a common narrative. This narrative is often wrapped up in national identity, which can lead to a sense of 'us' versus 'them.' Harari, despite being an atheist, provides valuable insights into this topic. His ideas echo those of Alasdair MacIntyre, who wrote 'After Virtue.' MacIntyre, who transitioned from Marxism to Catholicism, argued that humans are essentially storytelling animals. This storytelling aspect distinguishes us from other creatures and allows us to aspire to truth through our narratives.

The first stories we hear, such as fairy tales, may not be factually accurate, but they communicate spiritual and moral truths. For instance, a fairy tale might begin with a king and queen who are unhappy because they have no children. When the queen becomes pregnant, the kingdom celebrates, and the story conveys deeper truths about family and happiness. Similarly, Jesus used parables to teach truths about the human condition. The key question for individuals is not about authorship; rather, it is about understanding the stories they find themselves a part of. For example, when Prince William realised his place in the royal family story, he understood who he was and how he should live. Many people struggle with their identity because they do not know their place in the story, including God's story of providence and restoration. When I learned the Divine Principle, I realised my place in God's providence, which clarified my purpose as a Christian. We enter human societies with imputed characters, meaning we have no choice about our roles, whether we are the oldest, middle, or youngest child.

We are born into roles within our families, whether as the oldest, middle, or youngest child. These roles shape our character and influence how we understand ourselves and how others respond to us. For instance, if I am the youngest son, I should not behave as if I am the oldest brother. This dynamic often leads to misunderstandings, as we may perceive ourselves as equals to our older siblings, while they see us in a different light. Fairy tales often illustrate these familial relationships, teaching children about the roles of parents and children through stories of wicked stepmothers and lost children. My sister, for example, used to refer to our mother as the wicked witch, a sentiment I only understood later after reading about fairy tales and recognising the beauty of our mother and the jealousy that can arise between siblings, much like the story of 'Mirror, mirror on the wall.'

Stories play a crucial role in helping children understand their place in the world and their relationships with their parents. They provide a framework for understanding society, including our own spiritual communities, which are also built upon narratives. The stories of Adam and Eve, Cain and Abel, Jacob and Esau, and Abraham and Isaac are foundational to our spiritual community. These narratives help us make sense of our identity and relationships. However, if these stories are not properly understood or transmitted, it can lead to a distortion of the community itself. Therefore, I often find myself retelling these stories, as I believe many have been conveyed in ways that do not serve us well. We are, in essence, the stories we tell about ourselves.

The fundamental questions of existence—who we are, why we are here, and what our purpose is—are best answered through storytelling. When motivating someone in a workplace, for instance, sharing a story about the significance of their work can instil a sense of meaning. People are more motivated when they feel their actions contribute to a larger narrative. For children, understanding why their parents married or how their family history shapes their identity is essential. A strong family story helps individuals comprehend their place in the world, connecting them to their grandparents and parents. I recall a moment with my granddaughter when my father expressed his desire to set up a trust fund for her education, which made me reflect on our family's history and the importance of passing down these stories.

My great-grandfather, a vicar in the Church of England, faced challenges when he died young, leaving his children in need of financial support for their education. My grandfather's intelligence allowed him to secure scholarships, which ultimately led to a successful career abroad. He, in turn, ensured that my education was funded, reflecting a legacy of care for future generations. This familial narrative is vital; it connects us across generations and informs our understanding of responsibility and support. When I encouraged my son to share our family story with his children, I realised how these narratives shape our identity and values. Barbara Hardy once said that we dream a narrative, and indeed, our identities are constructed through the stories we tell ourselves and others.

The narratives we carry can significantly impact our lives. I have encountered individuals who interpret the same events in vastly different ways. For example, a young boy I met felt his life was over after a motorcycle accident, believing it had robbed him of his freedom. However, I suggested that this event could lead to new opportunities he had not yet considered. The way we frame our life stories can either hinder or empower us. I have listened to Holocaust survivors who, despite their traumatic experiences, have reframed their narratives to find meaning and resilience. This ability to reframe our stories is crucial for personal growth and understanding.

Stories are not just personal; they are cultural and political as well. Myths, which are a specific type of story, hold significant meaning within cultures and philosophies. For instance, Hobbes' myth of the state of nature describes a world of chaos, while Marx and Rousseau present their own myths about society. Myths are not necessarily true in a literal sense, but they embody beliefs and values that help us make sense of our existence. The story of Adam and Eve, for example, may not be historically accurate, but it offers profound insights into the human condition and our relationship with the divine. In this way, myths serve as essential narratives that shape our understanding of the world and ourselves.

Jordan Peterson is better known for other things. He explores the importance of myths and the way that myths are worth reading. I will be using a few quotes from him. One of the things he does is distinguish between myth and science. He states that science may be considered...

I was writing on my slide here. Anyway, he says science may be considered... I'm just wondering, it's quarter to eight; maybe I should stop here because this is kind of going off into a new bit. I'll stop here, otherwise we won't have any more time to look at some questions. I'll stop sharing my screen and have a look at some of your questions. Matthew, hi, do you want to close us then?

Sure, let's pray together. Please join me in a word of prayer. Heavenly Father, thank you so much for this first session of this adult workshop. We pray that our intellectual appetites could be whetted by this content we have received. We now have 22 hours in which to digest and internalise the content we've received in preparation for tomorrow's discussions. I pray that those of us who are able will return tomorrow to continue this fascinating journey of exploring these ideas. I pray that we will grow through this in a way that you will bless us even more richly in our lives. We thank you for Uncle William, that he could present today's lecture. We also thank you for all of the questions and the amazing ideas that we've discussed, and we look forward to continuing this journey together tomorrow. I report this prayer on behalf of all present in my name, Matthew.