Greater minds than mine, of which there are many, have considered the question - 'can there be a moral code without God?' - and there have been a lot of well-considered answers. 

Apparently that answer is 'yes', followed by a perfectly reasonable justification. Here is one very common response:

'The truth is, morality doesn't require a belief in God. Secular morality offers a compelling alternative, grounded in reason, empathy and our shared human experience.' (Sacrilegious Discourse)

It is surely possible to build a moral code, one that informs our legal system, one that reflects the grounding elements mentioned above. It may even function well for a period of time.

But Christians (and other people of faith) will argue that without the imprimatur of God, and the sanctions that only a divine creator can employ, such a moral code, good as it is, will eventually decay into relativism. Secularists disagree. Who might be right?

My observations, subjective as they are, suggest that just such a decline into relativism is happening now and has been ongoing for a century or longer. With the decline of faith and belief in God, together with the teaching of moral codes such as the ten commandments, the idea of truth, of what constitutes right and wrong and what this means in practical liveable terms, has been muddied, challenged and undermined. It really is getting worse by the year.

The folks who postulate theories of secular morality are smart, well-educated, decent people, who are actively interested in the well-being of society. They are a tiny minority. I don't know if, outside their virtuous circle, they notice the increasing amorality of many of the citizens around them, the disregard for human life, the decline of public discourse, the normalisation of practises and ideas that are repugnant to human dignity. Do they notice the 'my truth/your truth' brigade as they play out a classic relativistic scenario?

Yes, a moral code is possible without God. It's capacity to maintain itself though, is somewhat in question. Just look around.

 It's easy to worry about things, especially when you don't have all or any of the background information. This is even more so when it involves loved-ones. Incomplete pictures create uncertainty and uncertainty, like it's opposite, security, is decidedly 'mortals chiefest enemy.'

As a Christian, uncertainty is something that we have to live with, trusting that God has matters in hand. Because many of us want to control situations, even micro-manage them, giving up is difficult. Moreover, as soon as we do try, we find ourselves endeavouring to take up the reigns again. It is hard to 'lay it down' and not pick it up again.

I have found this especially so recently. Wondering what is going on, wondering if there is something I can do 'to help', is a challenge. It is a daily challenge - surrendering a situation to God, trusting that whatever the pathway He chooses, will ultimately be for the best.

 Father John's homily today was bang on, a rarity is which both my brain and my faith were fully engaged. He was, in essence, gives us a Cook's Tour of some of the thinking of Pope's over the past 120 years. More narrowly, I suppose, he touched on the manner in which the Papacy has engaged with what was happening in the world around us at that time, including the rise of Marxism, the degrading of the environment and the ascendancy of AI. These of course, are hugely consequential issues. Even Marxism, despite the defeat of communism in the 1990's as a serious socio-economic choice, remains a hot-button topic amongst those who think and those who chatter.

Despite my centre-left origins, I find myself agreeing on just about everything. Today we are in the thrall of a kind of world-wide delusion - that we can go on consuming the way we do, that life is primarily about the material and its uses, that technology will ride to the rescue as the curtain begins to fall. But I sense a panic under the surface, a sidewards glance that knows at some level, these things are not true. I claim no special knowledge in these matters. Moreover, I know nothing about it except what I have read and what I observe around me.

On another note, though related, the Father's weekly column was preceded by this quotation attributed to one Elmer G. Letterman (about whom I can find nothing), which reads:

'A man may fall many times but he won't be a failure until he says someone pushed him.'

There is certainly some truth in that.

When I first read Philip Larkin's verse, somewhere in the early 80's, it struck a deep chord inside me. I made an immediate connection with both the way he saw the world and the manner in which he said it. Larkin is not everyone's cup of tea, of course. His pessimistic take on reality (tempered by a certain reluctant joy) will not impress the young 'world is my oyster' squad. But they are not likely to be reading poetry anyway.

I don't always agree with Larkin and what he thinks about life, even though I understand why he does. I was reading, by way of example, Aubade, on a recent 2RPH program, which is a marvellous poem. Larkin was an atheist, or at least an agnostic, so for him Christianity is

'..the vast moth-eaten musical brocade/Created to pretend we never die.'

It's a brilliant metaphor, so visual, but only true if you are without faith. I can appreciate the skill, even the idea, but still respectfully disagree. Written 20 years earlier, Church Going (one of my favourite poems), talks of a time  when 'superstition, like belief, must die' and 'what remains' is but 'grass, weedy pavement, brambles, buttress, sky.' The juice has gone from the fruit, leaving only a crumpled skin.

It's very tempting to take this position - all that is is purely material - but we all breath a final breath. Faith is not necessarily about living forever, crossing the Jordan, if you like, but that is a component. It is very much about the now, how I live my life from day to day, where I place my trust, to whom do I look towards.

I wouldn't want any of Larkin's poems to be unwritten, just because I hold a different world view. Some of them are masterpieces.

Looking at the world as it appears today, it is hard not to be seized by an eschatological terror. As we enter a new phase of the 'information age', one that may be dominated by A1, the hype about the potential for human progress is counterpointed by what looks, to a keen observer, like a new age of decline.

I have written before about the most obvious areas of concern - climate change and it's uncertain consequences, nuclear arms, the breakdown of the post-war consensus, the demise of social mores and so forth. 

Never let it be said that I am a prophet of doom - for I am not - but if you add all the natural disasters that are upon us - earthquakes, volcanoes, tsunami, bushfires, floods ( I could go on) - then it would take a true Panglossian to make a case for long-term human thriving. There are tipping points as far as the eye can see.

From a Christian point of view, this was all foreshadowed in Scripture. The exact nature and timing of 'the end' is a mystery, entirely in the hands of God. But we are told to watch out for the signs. They seem to be plentiful, though one should be careful not to be self-deceiving.

I am fast running out of ways to keep fit. My years of running were stopped by knee problems. My three decades of lap swimming ended with shoulder injuries which only surgery might repair. And my walking career has been constantly thwarted by both knee and foot problems which will not get any better.

I could take up cycling again, though likely with another e-bike. I do have a tendency to fall off from time to time so spectacles will be necessary. To stop more falls, need it be said.

In prepping another Writers from the Vault episode for 2RPH I came across a monologue that I hadn't thought about in three decades. In the prologue to Henry V, a character named 'Chorus' enters, and proceeds to tell the audience that the play they are about to see involves vast armies, battles, foreign locations and so forth. But alas, you will have to use your imagination, for here we have only a bare stage and 'this wooden O.' So, go to it.

In Branagh's film of the same play, the Chorus is played by Derek Jacobi, who gives a masterful performance throughout. I decided that I would use the opening speech for the next Writers program, but, having watched Jacobi again, have no hope of coming anywhere near his magical level.

But I am not an actor, merely a cipher for the works of others. And contentedly so.