I thought of myself as a tolerant person but, there again, you had to oppose intolerance and fight it with all the force you could muster. We lived in such a ridiculous time that you could get your head sliced off for drawing a cartoon! That was not the sort of world I wanted to live in. I raged against any system that forced people to wear a standard uniform and follow an enforced routine and doctrine, whether that was Mao suits or Islamic Burqas. Surely religion was a personal choice? Any imposition or restrictions on the way one lived should be opposed?
But then, perhaps I had been spouting off too much? Was I all mouth and no trousers? What was I doing about it?
My great idea had been to write a book exposing the obvious stupidities of all religions; to show how they were mere human fabrications: to reveal the real history of religion, the way it had been constructed and used. My belief had been that if you simply stood back from religion and looked at it objectively, it simply did not hold up. The inconsistencies, power struggles and fabrications shone through. It had so obviously been thought up by men.
I loved running my ideas around friends. I was passionate about it, though Liz said I was boring the ears off everyone. But that didn’t stop me. I couldn’t resist it. I enjoyed the repartee and it enabled me to examine my thoughts and ideas, to shape them.
Kathy thought I was a bullshitter. She wanted me to be more coherent and did not really believe I would get around to writing the book. She was pushing me and believed in the Socratic Method. That was cool with me.
Returning to our new home, Kathy and I had settled in the comfy sitting room of the three hundred year old house while Liz and Tobes took their turn at preparing the evening meal. Liz and I had fallen in love with this rustic retreat with its old brick, cracked ancient wood and rough plastered walls, all very distorted with age and unpretentious. It was an old and friendly space, welcoming and harmonious, mirroring the relationship of old friends.
The meal was cooking in the oven, and Liz and Tobes had taken themselves off to the kitchen to sort the peripherals and continue their conversation about the children and the lives they were carving for themselves, distancing themselves from the intensity of discussion about infinity and religion. You never stopped worrying about the kids, even though they were now all in their late twenties and thirties. You just didn’t. But I just had to examine other issues – when it wasn’t politics that invariably went to religion, spirituality or nature. I couldn’t help myself.
Kathy and I were left sitting in the front room with a bottle of red between us. I knew Liz would never believe me, but it had been Kathy who had brought the subject back up.
I surveyed her imploring face and frowned quizzically. ‘Well now Kathy, I think I’d like to come up with some new smart retort that’d make that bigoted redneck feel stupid – make him want to reassess his whole life.’ I replied mischievously, reflecting for a moment on what that could possibly be. I went on, clutching around for something that fitted the bill. ‘Unfortunately you can never think of anything smart to say at the time,’ I explained, playing for time. ‘That never happens. Not until you’ve walked away and ruminated on all the clever stuff you should have said. Still, I’d probably resort to paraphrasing Hitchins and tell him to take that giant enema so he could be buried in a matchbox.’
‘But Oph, old chap,’ Kathy said with a hint of a smirk, puffing on the dying spliff, ‘he might not understand that! Besides you’re much too polite to say anything of the sort.’
That was the good thing about old friends – you could talk about anything and have a laugh without having to watch what you said. I topped up the wine. Tobes’ laughter drifted through from the kitchen where he was nattering to Liz while she sorted the dressing for the salad.
‘That’s the trouble, isn’t it? Religion stops you thinking. I’d never change his mind. He’d never even question it.’ I observed reflectively, swirling the wine around my glass, looking sideways at Kathy.
‘So, what do you think the world’d be like without religion, Oph?’ Kathy demanded, draining her glass and topping it up, passing me the spliff.
That was an interesting question. I wanted to say straight off how much better it would be, but there was more to it than that. Phew. The more I pondered that the more the implications were enormous.
‘I dunno, Kathy,’ I mused, frowning and pulling on the spliff. ‘It’d be a lot different. Just think – if we didn’t have all that energy put into building all those churches, temples and cathedrals; if everyone hadn’t wasted all that time and energy in pointless ceremonies and prayer; if we hadn’t been held back for thousands of years with all that superstition.’ I was warming to it. My imagination was already extrapolating out the possibilities, all the better uses those energies could be put to —– ‘If all that energy was put into more positive things!!’
‘Yeah, but Oph,’ Kathy retorted rather aggressively, reaching across for the spliff, ‘those temples are beautiful, and the music and art. Wouldn’t the world be a dreary place without it?’