Sunday, 11 March 2012

The Big Questions.

I am hungover. This seldom occurs, as I don’t drink, except occasionally at communion (you don’t know whether I’m being serious, do you?) However, when it does happen, the logical response seems to be to watch The Biggest Loser USA. What could make you feel better about your current condition than seeing the largest individuals known to man in various states of crying, vomiting or screaming in pain? There is certainly something therapeutic to it, it provides an inner peace (though not literally, I’m sat with a bucket and my innards don’t feel very peaceful.) In spite of this, today, as I stumbled out of bed and took up my place on the sofa (a spot which I endeavour not to move from until bedtime,) instead of fulfilling my heart-warming plan of watching “losers” turn their lives around, I stumbled upon something that made me feel a hell of a lot worse.

The Big Questions. Now, I am not a Sunday-morning-TV kind of guy (I am much more partial to Saturday Kitchen,) and thus I have foregone the experience of enjoying weekly philosophical debate live on the beeb. I really have missed a trick, because the programme was completely absorbing (enough so that I have delayed my fatties until I wrote this post, which speaks volumes.) The motion was “is fundamentalism undermining faith?”

Now, I love an argument, but never before have I found myself literally screaming at a television (discounting my verbal abuse of Keith Lemon to “get off the screen-” admittedly using a few more expletives. Seriously, he’s not even funny.) I’m going to restrain myself from getting a bit too deep for what should be a day of rest (praise be to Jesus,) but I don’t think fundamentalists quite grasp the paradox of their ignorance. Now, I am clearly an expert in this field because I won the “Hook Religious Studies Prize” in Lower Sixth, so you should all bow to my superior understanding (except Isabella because she’s Christian faith leader and she knows her shit.) I would consider myself a man of faith; I’m not a practising Christian but I like to think there’s something out there (I’m pretty sure in writing that, Alex Rankine’s heart has just stopped. Also, upon reading it back I sound like I’m referring to alien life-forms, which I’m not, though who wouldn’t like a nice Martian buddy?) Personally, I’m of the opinion that everyone should entitled to think whatever they want to think- hey, I was even invited to be a Scientologist when I went to New York and I definitely considered it, though I was 12.

Now, without wanting to sound like I think the world is one big gap advert, things seem to work best when cultures are tolerant of each others’ differences. Therefore, I am baffled by the fact that intelligent men and women can say that “God loves everyone” and then in the same breath “but if you’re not part of my religion, you’re going to hell, soz.” Surely, if God is the master player and we are merely the sims, he wouldn’t create us just to go to down in flames (literally.) At risk of quoting Mean Girls... Hell, I’m just going to do it: “I wish we could all get along like we used to in middle school... I wish I could bake a cake filled with rainbows and smiles and everyone would eat and be happy.”

Literally, if God made man in his image, then that applies to all races, genders, sexualities, ages and people generally. Nowhere in any of the sacred texts does it say “and so God forgave man for his sins. Except the gingers. He made a mistake with those.” Believe or don’t believe what you want and let everyone else do the same. It’s all chill that way and we can sing kumbayah around a massive campfire.

I’m sorry that I have just blogged about this because I know it’s a bit of a risky move to write about religion, but I haven’t done that- I’ve written about intolerance and a pretty great TV show. If ever you have a free Sunday-morning then have a gander and you might be made as impassioned as I have been.) However, next time, I promise to write about something less controversial like gardening or Glee, so you don’t think I’m some sort of nutcase- (honestly, I’m not.)  

Anyway, in the wise words of Danny Kenny, “it’s all bollocks anyway.” I’m off to watch my fatties now.