RICHARD CANNON IAN HANSON, 37
Forensic archaeologist, from the Forensic Centre at Bournemouth University, which has investigated mass graves in Bosnia and Iraq

“I was brought up as a Roman Catholic but I would describe myself as agnostic. I’m always suspicious of people who are convinced that they have a monopoly on the truth. After all, that’s often a cause of the genocide I come across in my work. When I’m working with victims’ families I try to keep an open mind about their culture and religion so that I have some sympathy with where they’re coming from.

“I don’t think there is empirical proof for the existence of an interventionist God, and as a scientist I look for demonstrable evidence. On the other hand, I’m not an atheist such as Richard Dawkins, because we don’t know everything about the Universe and there is no empirical data either way. So I sit somewhere in the middle. Even if you think that there is no God you still have to ask the same questions that religious people ask: Why am I here? How and why was the Universe created? At the end of the day there may be no comforting answers.

“It doesn’t worry me; I just find wonder and amazement in the nature of the world. I find great comfort in science and its attempts to answer questions and understand the vastness of the Universe and how things are organised. The astronomer Carl Sagan saw science as an optimistic way for us to understand ourselves and, therefore, to move on and not be nihilistic about our purpose in being here. I retain a sense of wonder and awe of the natural world in very much the same way that people who are religious get comfort from their faith.

“I won’t go to church at Christmas, although I did go to a carol service. If I got married, ideally it would be in the village church where I grew up, not for overtly religious reasons but because it’s a tranquil location and my father and grandparents are buried in the graveyard. Doing the work that I do the thought of an oasis I know that I can always go back to is comforting. And I want to be buried — not cremated — in the same family plot.

“I’ve planned my funeral service already; I see it as practical as I travel to war zones. There are no religious readings, although Credo, by Joyce Carey, which starts: “The truth is that life is hard”, could be seen as having a spiritual context.

“Where will I be after death? It’s an impossible question to answer. As conscious beings we can’t conceive what it’s like not to have a consciousness. I’m not frightened of death, but my main concern is the ceasing of my consciousness because I quite enjoy it.”

“I’m part of this whole humanity”

BARBARA STOCKING, 55
Director of Oxfam UK

“I don’t practise any religion but I believe that there is some higher purpose for us all in being here and, therefore, you have to give the very best of your life to makea contribution. It’s not just personal fulfilment, it’s doing what you can to make a difference in the world.

“That’s what drives me. I have a whole set of beliefs about how you should behave responsibly towards other people and treat them with respect. I’ve no idea where my beliefs come from: they are inside me; they are who I am. They are more than simply a hangover from my strong Methodist upbringing. I grew up in a working-class community in Rugby where people were very much about supporting each other.

“I tend to think that most terrible situations are man-made and that if only human beings could behave more decently to each other they wouldn’t have to happen. I would never appeal to a higher power to put things right. I’m a bit of a fatalist: I feel whatever is going to happen will happen. But I’m quite optimistic, so even when things are appalling I think they will probably work out for the best. That is helped by seeing at first hand how people survive, their strength of character, their amazing joyfulness even in terrible situations. Visiting places like the Indonesian province of Aceh, which was devastated by the tsunami and where I’ve just been, I get an incredible feeling that I’m part of this whole humanity, and an undefined sense that there is a deeper layer that links everyone. In the countryside, or sometimes listening to music, I also get a strong sense of something other underpinning all this.