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General Election 24

Morality

Politics

3 June 2024

3 min read

The morality of defection

Why I respect 'traitors'.

James Sampson-Foster

James is training to be a priest in the Church of England.

A man sits in a TV interview, below him is a captions stating 'Mark Lognan. Former Conservative MP

Mark Logan explains his move.

BBC.

Defection is a dirty word.

It evokes feelings of treachery. Betrayal. Backstabbing.

All in all it leaves a bad taste in the mouth.

Defectors always carry with them a whiff of suspicion.

Are they genuine, or are they just opportunists?

Who do they really work for?

What do they get out of it?

Have they truly renounced their old ways?

There has been a lot of defecting going on in UK Politics over the last few weeks. For good or ill, a number of political parties have members who, up until recently, wore rosettes of a different colour.

The defections have been dramatic – and public.

Think of the recent defections from the Conservatives to Labour. Two in a fortnight.

First Dan Poulter and then Nathalie Elphicke crossing the Commons floor with moments to spare before Prime Minister’s Questions. Then Mark Logan last week.

Perhaps one encouraged the other. Defections and resignations in politics always seem to arrive like buses.

And each of these defections was accompanied by a public story about why they’ve changed their minds. A testimony, if you will.

It was these stories which drew the most fire, from both former friends and new allies. In most cases, it hasn’t taken a lot of digging to find statements made when these people had a different allegiance which call into question the truth of their supposed conversion.

Conversion, though, is just the right word.

And this service to a higher power is often experienced by others as a betrayal.

Christianity knows a lot about defection.

Right at the heart of the Jesus story is a moment of betrayal.

Judas turns Jesus over to be crucified.

The price to betray the saviour of the world? A few silver coins.

But in Christianity, defection is not always a bad thing.

If defection is a dirty word, repentance and conversion are a positive counterpart.

Saying Jesus is Lord in a world where Caesar is Lord is an act of subversion.

It is a recognition that the authority of Caesar, of any government, has its limits.

Christians are called to serve and love their communities and nations – but they only ever have a provisional allegiance to any earthly power or government.

And this makes Christians untrustworthy.

On a deep level, to be a Christian is to have defected from an allegiance to a world which values power and money to service of the God of love.

And this service to a higher power is often experienced by others as a betrayal.

It is little surprise then that from time to time, governments across the world have treated Christians with that same whiff of suspicion reserved for defectors.

But in the United Kingdom, religious freedoms afford believers with the same luxuries afforded to MPs. They can defect publicly – they can tell their stories. They can encourage others to cross the floor.

Can a bird change its feathers, or a leopard change its spots?

The Christian story says yes.

As the election campaign draws on and as people defect from one party or another and as people ask those questions of defectors

Perhaps it is time to focus less on others, and instead ask those questions of yourself.

Are you genuine?

Who do you really work for?

What do you get out of it?

Have you truly renounced your old ways?

Defection can be a good thing.

Will you tell your story?

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Economics

23 October 2024

1 min read

Budgeting for discontent

The Chancellor can't please everyone, but is contentment possible?

Paul Valler

Paul Valler is an executive coach and mentor. He is a former chair of the London Institute for Contemporary Christianity.

A woman stands behind a lectern against a blue and red backdrop.

Chancellor Rachel Reeves speaks at a recent event.

HM Treasury.

As the Chancellor Rachel Reeves seeks to raise billions in this Autumn budget, the news media are all over the downsides. Poor pensioners freezing during winter and businesses complaining of the tax burden are political headlines. Tough choices must be made, but we are rarely happy when it comes to money.

Economic discontent is ironically a cultural norm in first world countries. In the west we have become used to what psychologists call the hedonic treadmill – adjusting our expectations to any new benefits and finding ourselves wanting even more, to try to maintain the same level of happiness. It’s a mentality that dooms us to discontent. Socrates said, ‘He who is not contented with what he has, would not be contented with what he would like to have.’

Contentment seems to be a forgotten virtue today, and increasingly elusive in a society striving for happiness through wealth. Yet being content in life is a more valuable form of wealth than money. There is something enormously attractive about a tranquil state of mind and heart. Contentment does not mean passive acquiescence; there is a noble side to being passionately discontented about something that is unjust – especially when we are fighting for others. William Wilberforce demonstrated that with his campaign for the repeal of laws allowing slavery.

Our personal challenge is to be content in ourselves, whatever the circumstances. Oscar Wilde said, ‘True contentment is not having everything, but being satisfied with everything you have.’ Practising paying attention to what we do have and being thankful for it. That attitude of gratitude is a recognised way to lift our mood and strengthen our resilience. But thankfulness doesn’t solve every problem. Warm words may help warm hearts, but they don’t heat cold homes. Although gratitude is proven to improve our wellbeing, it’s not enough to compensate for all the problems of life. Because here’s the deal; life is tough and then you die, and there are many worse things than economic woes.

Pain, grief and loss are all too common, and they can test our resilience beyond what feels like our ability to endure. Chronic physical or mental illness for example; or being permanently disabled. Or the life-sapping effort to parent children with special needs; or caring for a parent/partner with dementia - especially when it goes on and on. Sometimes horrible events happen like violent abuse, or the deep grief of relationship breakdown or bereavement. This level of suffering pushes us to the end of ourselves, to the place where something more than psychological self-help is needed. What is the secret of contentment then?

I don’t envy the Chancellor, and I do not trivialise the very real challenges raised by having to make tough economic choices.

This is where the secular and the Christian worldview are radically different. Secular philosophers call people to show their own self-sufficiency and superior reason when enduring suffering. This can feel principled and stoic, but it lacks empathy and hope. Christianity accepts the reality of our own weakness and insufficiency, recognising that we can’t fix everything ourselves. Instead of trusting in humanity, we choose to trust God both for this life and the life to come. And this trust and hope is linked to a deeper form of contentment, which transcends pure rationality.

Of course, sceptics say this is just psychological comfort from an imaginary friend, and it doesn’t make sense, because surely any good God would not allow us to suffer in the first place. But any realist must acknowledge that a lot of human suffering comes from the damaging exercise of our own free will. Wars and slavery are examples. If God were to override our free will, we would be robbed of the authentic capacity to love, which makes us fully human. The coexistence of free will, suffering and God is a complex issue.

The experience of millions of Christ followers is that trusting God is much more than imaginary comfort. God is real and prayer changes things; the most ordinary, natural and chance experiences can be affected by it. And prayer changes us. In our vulnerability, if we choose to trust God something changes, we begin to relax, things become a bit easier to bear. In fact, the apostle Paul claimed that Christ’s power was perfected in his own weakness.

Contentment is a strange peace that comes from trusting God in the middle of difficult circumstances. One of the great old hymns was written by a man who lost his four daughters in an accident at sea, and also lost all his money in a fire. The refrain says, ‘It is well, it is well with my soul.’ This isn’t denial or delusion, it is the inner sense of quietness that God can give. Only an eternal perspective allows for that kind of contentment.

I don’t envy the Chancellor, and I do not trivialise the very real challenges raised by having to make tough economic choices. Britain is clearly in a place where some stringent fiscal discipline is needed, and that will inevitably cause some hardship and difficulties. But in the face of all the discontent that is so freely shared in the news, there is another way to respond. Instead of complaining about our flawed Government or moaning about our circumstances, we can change our perspective to put our trust in the ultimate Authority. And in doing so can find a peace that the world cannot give. Contentment is a treasure beyond the wealth of nations.