Channelling Bertrand Russell

There is a certain kind of atheist – we have all met him – who is not merely indifferent to organized religion, or puzzled by it, or scornful of it, but who is inflamed to purple rage by the contemplation of it. My own father was of this kidney. He would open conversations with perfect strangers by saying: “Isn’t it obvious that all the world’s problems are caused by religion?” At Easter time, when the TV news showed a clip of the Pope blessing the crowds in St. Peter’s Square, Dad would rise from his armchair and actually shake his fist at the screen, growling: “You bloody fools!” You read about people shaking their fists, but you don’t often see it. Well, I have seen it.