In his new book, Dawkins relates for the first time the full story of his schoolboy break-out as an atheist. In the chapel at Oundle, he helped lead a small insurgency of boys who refused to kneel. The school’s headmaster was in Oxford on the day that the young Dawkins took his university entrance exam and drove him back. During this lift, Dawkins writes, the headmaster ”˜discreetly raised the subject of my rebellion against Christianity. It was a revelation,’ he says, ”˜to talk to a decent, humane, intelligent Christian, embodying Anglicanism at its tolerant best.’
I ask him about this. ”˜I’m kind of grateful to the Anglican tradition,’ he admits, ”˜for its benign tolerance. I sort of suspect that many who profess Anglicanism probably don’t believe any of it at all in any case but vaguely enjoy, as I do”¦ I suppose I’m a cultural Anglican and I see evensong in a country church through much the same eyes as I see a village cricket match on the village green. I have a certain love for it.’ Would he ever go into a church? ”˜Well yes, maybe I would.’
But at this point he turns it back around again. I try to clarify my own views to him. ”˜You would feel deprived if there weren’t any churches?’ he asks. ”˜Yes,’ I respond. He mulls this before replying. ”˜I would feel deprived in the same spirit of the English cricket match that I mentioned, that is close to my heart. Yes, I would feel a loss there. I would feel an aesthetic loss. I would miss church bells, that kind of thing.’