“The person who is certain, and who claims divine warrant for his certainty, belongs now to the infancy of our species. It may be a long farewell, but it has begun and, like all farewells, should not be protracted.” Christopher Hitchens
I am not a religious man. Sure, my family tried to raise me as a religious individual, but I wore them down until they didn’t want to try anymore. Mind you, I wasn’t actively trying to resist the religious tradition they were trying to give me, I just seemed to be incompatible with it. When they would bring me into the church they would be forced to sit in the far back, so that my voice wouldn’t echo off the front wall and no one would have to hear, “Wait, wait, this guy lived inside a whale? How does that work? Wouldn’t he be digested? I thought whales ate plankton?” However, all my close friends were of a more religious bent. They were avid members of the youth group and sometimes I would tag along. From what I could gather through these small acts of reconnaissance, if you were under the age of eighteen, an ancillary part of your personal relationship with god was listening to a middle aged and overly sensitive bachelor play impoverished chords on a guitar while singing along and working on our various, macaroni, popsicle, or popcorn projects. But certainly none of this led to any anger towards the church or anything like that, just a sense that I would rather be home watching TV then listening to the aforementioned guitar playing.