Nick Wright, Humorist
I grew up in a backwards hellhole of a province not too far from here known as Prince Edward Island. A short generation ago, animosity between Catholics and Protestants was still part of daily life. My own mother could never tell my great-grandmother that she was a Catholic for fear of retribution. In her own words, though, “that situation worked itself out when she died.”
Now, one might easily jump to the conclusion that I think religious segregation is a bad thing. Actually, I believe quite the opposite. As a staunch non-believer and frequent blasphemer, I would love to see the religious — and even worse, the “spiritual” —segregated away from me altogether.
Religious animosities actually gave rise to very positive side effects within Island culture back in the day. We today still enjoy a few of these perks.
The best side effect (one for which I am infinitely grateful) is that it is considered rude to talk about religion with people outside of your church, family or close friends. Friendships or business relations would have been impossible if people were always bickering about their beliefs. So, out of common courtesy, everyone soon learned that it was best to just not talk about these things at all. For the love of God, I wish Halifax would take the hint on that one.
I hate religion, and I will proudly declare this whenever asked — however, what I hate more than religion is being asked about it, and being thus forced to explain this view. One’s choice of faith (or lack thereof) is a personal one which they have most likely put quite a bit of time and energy into. So why the hell do people feel the need to pester me about their spiritual views?
Those of you who use sidewalks on a frequent basis know that they are a means of conveyance from one spot to another. Often, when one mounts these sidewalks, one has a set destination and estimated time of arrival in mind.
This is a fairly basic principle of urban life. Yet members of such organizations as the Church of Latter-Day Saints, and the Hare Krishnas, to name two of the worst offenders, just don’t seem to understand this concept.
I would really like to see the statistics of how many people a year have a sudden crisis of faith while rushing to catch the bus. Has anyone ever decided to convert after smelling monastic hippies on the corner of Spring Garden Road? The whole concept of street missionaries just seems ludicrous to me. If I were interested in learning more about Joseph Smith and his magical Technicolor underpants I would buy a book about him. I harbour the same indifference toward the Krishna, although I will concede he is a lot cooler-looking than the god I was encouraged to worship as a child.
Street witnesses and door-to-door missionaries are not the only people who talk about religion in inappropriate situations. While I was hosting a party this summer, I had the immense displeasure of meeting two young ladies who didn’t believe in dinosaurs. Until this rendezvous, I had actually believed that such people were invented by Richard Dawkins as an ingenious marketing ploy to sell antagonistic documentaries.
I pride myself on my skills as a host, so I invited them into my home to partake in my festivities. This, I later found out, was a mistake. About an hour after their arrival, they began what I’m sure they thought was an enlightened spiritual debate. For the record, there has probably never been anything close to enlightened spiritual debate in a room where Jagger-Bombs are being served.
A shouting match soon ensued. I may or may not have said some things which I am or am not very proud of. The end result was a night filled with animosity, where merriment should have taken precedence.
Religious discussion can be great sometimes. Learning about other cultures can be informative and enlightening — provided it happens in the proper venue. But, as a close friend of mine once said, religion is also “very similar to a penis.”
“It’s ok to have one, and it’s great to be proud of it. But please don’t whip it out and wave it around in public.”
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