My late mother – who was I suppose a devout Roman Catholic – was accustomed to announce with moderate conviction that the sun always dances on the morning of Easter Sunday. I am uncertain what if anything she derived from that patently metaphorical observation but she nonetheless insisted upon repeating it year after year. Religiously. Religion meanwhile is collectively acknowledged to be under critical examination; and by other accounts it is generally on the way out. Picturing the performances of those professing the Christian faith – from swinging incense lamps, extraordinary costumes, curious prerogatives for eating and drinking, and the astonishing magic of television clerical personalities – it is to my mind befitting that the questionability of it all should arise.

Overall the thesis is that – whatever the legitimacy or persuasion of religion – people should be entitled to glean from it whatever improves their lives. The problem is that religion – like most other associations – depends as much upon its superiority to others as it does upon its private emanation to its own members. Any congregation, any conclave, any herd or mob identifies itself not only by its qualification but also by its disqualification from others. The historical record of the outright bloody battles fought by competing religious factions constitutes a disgrace to reason and humanity. The underlying theme was always one of power and control – often irrespective of religious philosophic niceties. Religion was merely a man-made fence for the sheep.

Consequently there has developed a proposition that religion is employed as a manipulation by some over others. The expression of manipulation can be as ostensibly pure as nut-cases in the desert alone, or fanatics in remote enclaves with devotees, or “the faithful” parading on Sunday morning in architectural wonders like the Vatican or St. Paul’s Cathedral on Ludgate Hill, London designed by Sir Christopher Wren and built between 1675 and 1711.

It is axiomatic that if one adopts a particular religion, the authenticity of it entails conflict with others which haven’t the identical scheme. The chasm is even wider between those who are and those who are not religious of any stripe. Reaching this pinnacle of estrangement is regularly identified as mere rhetoric because the doctrines of theology or individuality have much in common; namely, creeds of belief designed to bind.

Religion seeks to distinguish itself by acquainting its faith with the supernatural. Many have attempted to address or challenge the possibility of supernatural power – including casual critiques by writers, philosophical investigation by the likes of Descartes, Hume and Wittgenstein, social enquiry by Thomas Paine and satire by Voltaire. None of them has been universally successful. Significantly the attack upon religion was often aligned with anarchy (such as the French Revolution).

The alliance between state (government) and religion (community) is well known. The distinction between the two is one of social construction – theory and management. On every level there are so-called interested parties seeking to maintain their own dominion and financial advantage. What a clever wheeze it is to propound something which is both improbable and unprovable; and, by the allure of that uncertainty (and threat) to control what to oneself is either palatable or experienced (at the cost of what is not).

Religion is by definition a binary product.

The etymology among the ancients (Servius, Lactantius, Augustine) and the interpretation of many modern writers connects it with religare “to bind fast” (see rely), via the notion of “place an obligation on,” or “bond between humans and gods.”

Tying oneself to such catechism cannot but limit one’s thinking. Once again the binary nature is but a mooring, not the assurance of expanse such as overlooks the adjacent horizon. The satisfaction of clarity need not be limited to habit or notions of restraints. Yet it challenges our sense of community to reject these anchors of meaning.