GOOD Friday was spent sitting round with lapsed Catholics drinking wine, eating meat and using the Lord’s name in vain, punctuated by the odd person saying, “Don’t tell my parents.” What a thrill to stare eternal damnation in the face with a chop in one hand, a glass of cask wine in the other and a mouth full of blasphemy while still being scared of your mum and dad. All the while not believing in God. We don’t believe in heaven any more, but as sure as hell something’s making this snag taste so good. It’s probably the confidence of our contradictions.

A dozen wide-eyed children were rigid with fascination as we recounted Good Fridays of our childhood, on which being happy and watching television were classified sins.

“What’s a sin?” asked the 11-year-old atheist. I could have sung with joy knowing a child knew right from wrong and good from bad but knew not what the word “sin” meant.

Sin. The conflict of desire verses programming may explain the common myth (or as we micks like to think, well-known fact) that Catholics go off like a frog in a sock in the sack. All that programming of wrongness makes some things feel so right. We all have guilty blocks of chocolate hidden in our glove boxes. The thrill of the illicit. But it’s not all good.

Last week a lapsed Catholic atheist mate of mine told me she was gay. I’m shattered. She doesn’t fancy me. Don’t touch me, I’m fine. Truth is I bullied her into telling me because of my interest in the physical manifestation of the emotional. She’d suffered debilitating migraines for years. She vomited blood and needed injections and hospitalisation. I kept prodding until I found out what it was that was making her head explode. This is how it went: “Are you gay?” “Yes.” “Have you told your parents?” “No.” “Tell your parents and the migraines will go away. They’re proud of you and they love you. There is no perfect time. You’ll wonder what took you so long, but you’ll be thrilled you didn’t wait a moment longer. Nothing is ever as bad as you think it will be. The body never lies and the truth will set you free.” Hell is truth seen too late.

The next day my beautiful friend, the embodiment of integrity, truth, honesty, love and acceptance woke with a shocking migraine and unexpectedly made the brave jump over her invisible electric fence of rejection and told her parents. The conversation went like this: “Hello, it’s your mum. How’s your migraine?”

“Mum, I’m gay.” Her family has embraced her in a way she’d never have dreamed of. Yes, they had suspected, and sure, the emotional digestion will take some time.

My mate and I debriefed about the deep-rooted brainwashing of children by religion. No child is born religious, homophobic, racist or sexist. They are programmed. Children’s brains are malleable to promote the survival of the species. Here’s how it goes: “Hey, little cave kiddy, don’t eat those poison berries or you’ll die.” Imprint equals better chance of survival. The more malleable the substance the better chance of imprint. Religion has successfully exploited this evolutionary leg-up to its advantage.

Scientists from the US National Institute of Neurological Disorders searching for the neural “God spot” found not one but several spots, “supporting the idea that the brain has evolved to be sensitive to any form of belief that improves the chances of survival.” According to Professor Jordan Grafman, “some evolutionary theorists have suggested Darwinian natural selection may have put a premium on individuals who were able to use religious belief to survive hardships that may have overwhelmed those with no religious convictions … Religion and the belief in God, they argue, are just a manifestation of this intrinsic, biological phenomenon that makes the human brain so intelligent and adaptable.” And consequently so vulnerable to corruption and with such potential to engineer.

I’m with Richard Dawkins. Indoctrination of children into religion is child abuse. Children should have the right to be raised free from their parents’ superstitions, prejudice and mumbo jumbo. Let them make up their own mind when they’re adults. Instead, let us use our powers for good and brainwash our children with tolerance, acceptance, rational thought and unconditional love.

Children are indoctrinated into religious belief by emotional manipulation and mining the God spot in their reptilian brains. They are programmed to play by the rules or God won’t love them and will send them to hell, and this means children are being hard wired with religion-approved racism, sexism, bigotry and intolerance.

Despite dismantling much of our hardwiring, even we who have seen the light of truth find gnarly little knots deeply imbedded long ago by a society with a vested interest in controlling us through guilt and fear, and a brain responding to an unsophisticated biological predisposition.

WEEK one, Planetshakers. Week two, the Quakers. Week three, and in the final instalment of my interrogating-reality triptych, I sat through Sunday Mass on the same pew I grew up on at my childhood parish. But this time with my atheist sons. How did they become atheists? That’s the way they were born.

Entering the cathedral of misogyny, deception, manipulation, chauvinism, hypocrisy and bigotry, all wrapped up in ‘If you don’t swallow this hook, line and sinker you’re going to hell’, felt like coming home. I’m not bitter, just being descriptive and honest. Going back was fabulous because it reminded me I’d escaped.

Under the same roof where I’d been baptised, confirmed and brainwashed, my six-year-old asked: ‘Where’s the Pope?’ I laughed. Until the 11-year-old said: ‘Here he comes.’

The priest, obviously drawn by the unusual sight of new people, approached us to welcome us to his flock. I shot out my hand. ?Hi, I’m Catherine.?

All the blood drained from his face. ‘You’re that writer?’ ‘Yes,’ I replied. I happily introduced my sons, who, in an uncharacteristic display of manners, shook the priest’s hand and said, ‘Nice to meet you.’ The priest wandered off in a daze. Or was it a trance? Maybe it was religious melancholy.

After surveying the “good news” of carnage and damnation on the wall, the 11-year-old asked what a virgin was. I explained. Then he said, ‘Is there something wrong with sex?’

When I was four, one of the girls from a “good” family who sat two pews in front of us got pregnant. She was 15. She married on a Saturday afternoon wearing an orange kaftan. She wasn’t allowed to wear white because she wasn’t “a bride”. The poor girl was being shamed and made an example for the rest of us.

On the way home from the wedding I remember Dad saying to Mum: ‘I feel for her father.’ I remember wanting to jump over the front seat and ram my father’s head into the windscreen.

In the ’70s this building, so groovy it could have been designed by the dad from The Brady Bunch, was Rock Mass Central. The breeding baby boomers had the place packed with little Gerards, Damians and Bernadettes singing along to Sister Janet Mead. The sad little crowd last Sunday was mostly made up of defeated-looking nannas who could whip up a pav at the drop of a crochet hook, plus a handful of Asians.

Mass had the feeling of a miserable couple married for 40 years just going through the motions; passionless, soulless and loveless. Too late to back out now.

The priest said there would be no ‘sign of peace’ because of swine flu and instead of shaking hands we should just nod to each other. Apparently God’s not that almighty. I couldn’t help drawing a comparison with the Vatican’s refusal to endorse the use of condoms to prevent the spread of AIDS in Africa. Who cares if we lose a couple of golliwogs, but we can’t have white people getting the sniffles.

Time for Communion, when bread and wine is turned into the actual flesh and blood of Christ by the priest. Because he’s special. They call it transubstantiation; I call it bullshit. The congregation lines up and shares in this “celebration”, as long as you’ve officially been given the nod via a bizarre bridal ceremony around the age of 10 known as “first Communion”.

As we lined up, I thought about priests refusing gay people Communion, which is hilariously hypocritical when you consider the amount of hanky-panky some priests get up to. And that’s just the stuff we know about. There’s a list of things that exclude people from receiving Communion, including ?not believing in transubstantiation, participating in an abortion, homosexual acts, sexual intercourse outside marriage and deliberately engaging in impure thoughts?.

When it was my turn the priest picked up a wafer and said: ‘The body of Christ.’ The expected response is ‘Amen’. Instead, I said: ‘I have three children and have never been married. I’ve used contraception, had an abortion, use the Lord’s name in vain, think transubstantiation is a crock and I’m an atheist. And I’m not sorry.’

Actually, I didn’t say that. I wanted to, but I felt sorry for the priest. He looked tired and worn out. I thought of Dan Barker, the former evangelical preacher who is now one of America’s leading atheists and who is gathering the names of atheist clergymen and women who only stay in their jobs because they don’t know how to do anything else. Hell is truth seen too late.

AS I was leaving for the Quakers’ meeting, my mate said: “You need to get there 10 minutes early for the Unveiling Of The Relic”.

“What happens then?” I asked.

“Well, the men with the beards, wearing the hoods, shave, brand and sacrifice the newest member, known as The Unclean, before they perform acts in the Circle Of Darkness on The Goat of Truth.”

“So who quakes?” I asked.

“Everyone,” he said. “Wear clean undies. Trust me.”

A discussion then followed about what Quakers were, that, typically, ended up more about what they weren’t. “Aren’t they the ones with the big hats and buckles?” No, they’re the Pilgrims. “Aren’t they the ones who make furniture?’ No, they’re the Shakers. “Well, are they the ones with the horses and buggies, Abe Lincoln beards and Little House On the Prairie outfits, who raise barns?” No, they’re the Amish.

Eventually, and after a mention of Uncle Toby (as in the oats), I was off for some red-hot Quaker action. And I was excited. In a grey carpet, fluorescent lights, lots of pamphlets, instant coffee kind of way.

And I wasn’t disappointed. There was indeed grey carpet, fluorescent lights, lots of pamphlets, instant coffee . . . and 20 chairs in a circle.

If you like sitting in a circle staring into space, you’re gonna love the Quakers. They’re the Claytons religion. The religion you have when you don’t have a religion. Because they’re not a religion. They’re a “religious society of friends”. You don’t even have to believe in God to be a Quaker. You don’t even need to be a Quaker to be a Quaker. You can sign up and become a member, or just be an “attender”. Jesus! Would it kill you to give me something to be scared of? I’m an escaped Catholic.

They don’t have a church. Or clergy. Or parishioners. Or a doctrine. Just friends, a room, and an ethos of truth, equality, peace and simplicity. Selfish, power-hungry bastards.

“Our worship follows no ritual or order of service. We gather together in a silent meeting, for an hour.”

And so we did. Sitting round a coffee table covered in pamphlets with a pot plant in the middle, we mostly sat in silence. Part meditation, part group therapy, part sitting in a doctor’s waiting room.

Every now and then someone would say something about faith, journeys, occasionally even God. One woman talked about a Quaker meeting as a place you come to have your answers questioned. The idea is the spirit connects us all and anyone moved by the spirit can speak.

I was more moved by a dozen people sitting in silence than I was last week by a thousand or so being force-fed mumbo jumbo between power anthems at Planetshakers. I felt more connected to the man asleep next to me at the Quakers than the Planetshaker who spoke in tongues through a song about Opening Your Legs For Jesus, or something.

At the end of the meeting we all held hands and had coffee. I chatted with some Quaker friends who were lovely, despite their belief in an imaginary friend in the sky. They talked about how Quakers are about working it out yourself. DIY spirituality. And how the nature of people being attracted to spiritual anarchy made it difficult to get decisions made and stuff done at times. “God loved the world so much she didn’t send a committee,” one joked.

I couldn’t help thinking there’d never be a Quaker terrorist cell. Their inherent non-conformity would make it impossible for them to be extremist about anything. I relate with them. The only thing I believe in is nihilism.

Quakers are mavericks. God, no God. Member, no member. Turn up, don’t. They encourage people to explore other religions. “Quakers do not have a fixed creed, but believe that each individual must find their own understanding of God, and is guided by their conscience in finding the way to live.” Feel free to give me some rules to break at any stage.

It’s hard to be cynical about the Quakers, but that’s not going to stop me. I kept thinking about comedian Bill Hicks talking about the anti-marketing dollar being a good market.

Despite the sensible shoes, serviceable clothes and no-nonsense haircuts, the Quakers know how to have a good time. They’re holding a ’50s night next month called Quake, Rattle and Roll. You gotta laugh. Or not.

THE promise of awesome worship. That’s what got me rocking up to a Planetshakers meeting. And I wasn’t disappointed. They said “awesome” 20 times.

Planetshakers is a megachurch, which is like a spiritual mega-meal deal. Pizza, Coke, chocolate bavarian. If we could masticate it for you and pump it into your stomach, we would. Because we love you. And so does Jesus.

Standing outside Planetshakers surrounded by chirpy, bogan-cool teenagers fizzing with excitement, one of the two gay atheist friends I was with described the crowd as ?very Australian Idol?.

It was the first time I’d been excited about going to church. I spent every Sunday of my first 18 years sitting on wooden pews listening to a bloke talking about his imaginary friend in the sky who did magic tricks. Women were virgins, saints or whores. Men were the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

Outside Planetshakers it felt as if we were about to see a rock concert. And we were. As the band fired up and went off like a frog in a sock, I thought: ?I don’t care what they’re selling but I’m buying it.?

Christian pop, ’80s power anthems, Metallica meets Cheap Trick. A mosh pit for Jesus was jumping with teenagers in rapture and a balcony of Planetkids went off for Christ. Music blared from the stadium sound system while the screen seduced us with slick videos edited so fast the phrase “subliminal image? kept popping into my head. Lyrics flashed up: ?Come like a flood and saturate me now.? I wondered what Freud would have made of the disproportionate use of such words as “come”, “touch” and “feel”, and the phrases ?move within me? and ?being filled?. My favourite was ?King of Glory, enter in?.

Sexual psychoanalysis aside, the Planetshakers are clearly awesome, with lyrics such as: ?How can I explain the way u make me feel ‘cos Jesus your love for me is so unreal.? Several references were made to not being ashamed of Jesus (despite no one having suggested they were).

The room was buzzing with anticipation. I felt like a kid expecting Santa to arrive. It felt as if Jesus was going to turn up any minute.

Then out came the pastors. Middle-aged blokes peppering talk about Jesus with constant references to the footy, reality shows and McDonald’s. Almost swearing with “flipping angry? and ?What the heck?? and plenty of “awesomes” thrown in to convince everyone they were down with the youth.

A pastor banged on about sacrifice and said it wasn’t important how much we sacrificed just as long as we gave as much as we could. No matter how small it was. I didn’t know what he was on about until the giving cards came round. And a little bucket for coins. No lid with a slot. A big open bucket, so you could be shamed by your paltry donation.

Then there were the plugs for the Mighty Men’s night and Beautiful Women Seminar. Male volunteers were encouraged to get involved with the ladies’ seminar with the promise of “being able to tell 3000 women what to do”. Beautiful women. Mighty men. Note: not mighty women and beautiful men.

Then the headline pastor came on, all charisma and awesomeness. He spoke of worship, sheepgate, building in salvation, sheepgate, sacrifice and a bloke called Eliashib. And more sheepgate.

As people yelled, ?Yeah!?, ?Amen!? and “Awesome!? I wanted to yell, ?I don’t get it?. I love the way religion convinces people by making things deliberately incomprehensible and you feel too shy to say “I don’t understand” lest you reveal your stupidity.

After “sheepgate” the pastor asked us to close our eyes and bow our heads. He urged people who had left Jesus, had never had him in their heart, or were confused, to raise their hands so they could be prayed for.

He sounded like a real estate agent. ?One over there, thank you, sir. Anyone else? I’ll wait a few moments. Yes, one down the back.? Dummy bidders anyone? Then bewildered-looking new disciples were led out by the old hands.

The crowd left believing they had been moved by God and touched by Jesus. They hadn’t. They had been seduced by slick video packages and had their emotional desire for love, community and certainty met by manipulation. It wasn’t the Holy Spirit; it was just people.

Aren’t we awesome enough?

P.S.

After writing this I received an email from a Planetshaker who suggested “rationality is a weak basis on which to construct your argument”. If you’re reading I’d like to thank you for the mail and as far as your personal invitation for me to pay a second visit to Planetshakers and give my life to Jesus during the altar call, and experience for myself the undying love of Christ. Thanks but I’d rather lie in the bath and masturbate with a crucifix while calling out the name of Satan.

I think I may have just incited the first Christian suicide bomber and the first Catholic fatwa. Go on, excommunicate me. I dare you.

I am in Go Back To Where You Came From. Starts August 28th SBS 8.30.

You’re going to love it! I am doing a secret gig about it! Join The Age’s
Green Guide’s Daniel Burt and I for a live Q&A Sun Sept 9 at Bella Union
Bar. Unrecorded. Unedited . All the scandal. All the goss. BOOK
NOW! Will sell out.

WHAT do you say?” the mother said as the toasted sandwiches were put down in front of her twin boys. The boys placed their hands together in a prayer position and said, “Thank-you, Lord.” I laughed. We were in a cafe. I laughed because they thanked God but they didn’t thank the woman who made the sandwiches and brought them to the table. They didn’t tip either.

My second-best laugh recently was at the news that Australia’s largest outdoor advertising agency, APN Outdoor, rejected an attempt by the Atheist Foundation of Australia to put slogans on buses.

British atheists have 800 buses around Ol’ Blighty emblazoned with: “There’s probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life.” So the Little Aussie Atheists decided to do their bit for the cause. The cause being freedom of speech, rational thought, intelligent discussion and consciousness-raising. In the same way religious groups try to spread the good news to help ease people’s existential pain, so too are the atheists. One man’s good news is another man’s harmful propaganda defacing public spaces.

As a rule, we atheists don’t tend to try to convert. Enlighten, suggest and argue? Sure. We’re a bit, “Well if you’re intelligent enough you’ll work it out eventually.” Blame the existence of child abuse, torture, war, hunger, poverty, pain, the inequitable distribution of wealth and the fact that God doesn’t have a Facebook page. This Epicurean riddle comes in handy: “If God is willing to prevent evil but not able to, he’s not omnipotent. If he’s able but not willing, then he’s malevolent. If he is both able and willing, whence cometh evil? If he is neither able nor willing, then why call him God?”

The Atheist Foundation of Australia approached APN with a slogan and a fistful of cash. APN, a company that has run religious and political slogans in the past, initially said: “Sounds good, no problems.” So APN and AFA spent three weeks tweaking, diluting and compromising until APN abruptly pulled the plug. End of discussion.

How offensive was the message? Was it, “Sucked in, there’s no God. Ha, ha, ha”? Was it, “Those hours in church bored out of your brain, those years of guilt and all those prayers? Wasted. God’s not real”? Was it, “The look on their faces when they find out God doesn’t exist? Priceless.”

No. It was, “Atheism — Celebrate Reason”. How scary is that? That was after “Atheism — Sleep in on Sundays” and “Atheism — Because there is no credible evidence” were knocked back. How flimsy does APN think people’s faith is if they’d be rocked by a gentle comment like that? How fragile would someone’s faith be if they were rocked by a gentle comment like that? If I were a believer, I’d be offended that someone would think my convictions were that shaky. How dare someone assume I was living in some state of suspended intellectual adolescence?

Aren’t we a multicultural, multifaith country that prides itself on diversity and tolerance? So APN, what gives?

APN has cracked open a can of “No Comment” on this one. As you would, considering Spain and Canada are all running the British slogan, America’s going with “Why believe in a God? Just be good for goodness’ sake” and Italy, home of The Grand Poobah of The Roman Catholics, is going with, “The bad news is God doesn’t exist. The good news is we don’t need him.” Ireland will run something similar.

The number of churchgoers in Australia is about 9% and dwindling, the diversity of spiritual belief is flourishing and atheism is going off like a frog in a sock. In his inauguration speech, President Barack Obama, a man raised by atheists, mentioned non-believers. We exist. Like it or not.

Why does the media appear to have a vested interest in portraying atheists as a bunch of radicals rather than dealing with it as the mainstream issue it is? What’s the fear?

Fancy advertising taking the moral high ground. Since when has the advertising industry worried about offending women by sexually objectifying them, Muslims by advertising alcohol, vegetarians by plugging meat and anyone even remotely interested in the environment by promoting petrol-guzzling four-wheel-drives as a fashion statement. This rejection of what is free speech and falls clearly inside the guidelines of taste seems odd. Perhaps, dare I say it, discriminatory?

David Nicolls, head of the Atheist Foundation of Australia, told me that he and his crazy rationalist mates are not taking this lying down. He’s made an official complaint to the Victorian Equal Opportunity And Human Rights Commission. Watch this space.

Here’s my theory. God has narcissistic personality disorder. Stay with me as I indulge in two of my favourite pastimes: illuminating monotheistic religion’s exploitation of the human desire to feel safe, loved and special; and my constant need to question and expose maladaptive behaviour. Let’s pathologise!

Here’s the deal: tick five in the diagnostic criteria and we have an NPD winner!

* Feelings of grandiosity and self-importance (I am God); exaggerating accomplishments (I made you and the world) to the point of lying (I exist and there is a heaven); demands to be recognised as superior without commensurate achievements (Worship me and only me because I am great and almighty and I know everything).

* Obsession with fantasies of success, power, brilliance, beauty or perfect love (I will love you, you will love me and we will live happily in eternity).

* Conviction you are unique and special (I am almighty. I am the one and only God).

* Requires excessive adulation, attention and affirmation – or, failing that, wishes to be feared (Worship me. And me only. Or you will feel my wrath. Worse still, you will not come to my party in heaven).

* Feels entitled. Demands automatic compliance with unreasonable expectations for special and favourable priority treatment (Follow my rules and rituals no matter how barmy, or you’ll go to hell. And don’t question me. Because I am God).

* Is ”interpersonally exploitative”: uses others to achieve his or her own ends (Kill in the name of God. Wage war in the name of God. Cut off family members in the name of God. Punish children in the name of God. Discriminate against homosexuals, non-believers and women in the name of God. Spread the word and convert others so I have more power in the name of God).

* Devoid of empathy (Kill in the name of God, etc).

* Behaves arrogantly (I am great and you are sinners); feels ”above the law” (Kill in the name of God, etc).

Atheist pin-up boy Richard Dawkins describes God as “the most unpleasant character in all fiction. Jealous and proud of it. Petty, vindictive, unforgiving and racist. An ethnic cleanser urging his people on to acts of genocide.” Mm, smell that NPD!

It has been suggested that Hitler, Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot, Kim Jong-il, Saddam Hussein, Osama bin Laden, Bill Clinton and Barack Obama suffer NPD.

NPDs are often extremely successful in business, politics, entertainment, sport and the clergy. It’s believed a highly emotional, chaotic childhood results in a sense of inferiority, which hobbles NPDs’ ability to be true to themselves; instead creating a false reality. Which becomes their reality.

They are charismatic, persuasive and intelligent and become skilled actors who can fake any emotion and have the ability to make you glow with their favour. But they are deceitful, ruthless, manipulative users who are unpredictable and emotionally erratic. The emotional transaction is wildly out of whack. They expect the best but give very little. They cannot love and have no empathy. But they are emotionally needy and crave attention so hone their skills to attract love, admiration and attention to fill a hole inside them that will never be filled.

NPDs don’t feel they exist without an adoring fan club, so they create their own fantasy world in which they are king. With their manufactured charisma and genuine hauteur, they make others feel special by granting small mercies and bestowing their favour.

Which is how people get sucked into the transaction of worshipping a God despite no rational evidence. Babies die in ditches every day, yet God helps Hollywood stars win trophies. “Ah yes, the Lord works in mysterious ways. He helps me find my car keys occasionally. And because he’s so famous, and he noticed me, that makes me special. So I keep believing. Because if I don’t, I won’t be special.”

My 11-year-old atheist gave me the revelation that God had NPD when he said, “I think we invented God and then God invented us.”

It was Galileo who said, ”I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason and intellect has intended us to forgo their use.”

WHAT were we going to talk about all weekend? Nothing? Could we scientifically prove the existence of Richard Dawkins? What does an atheist scream during sex? “Truth, evidence and reason?” We’d heard them all.

We atheists were in heaven at the Rise of Atheism Convention held last weekend. More than 2500 people, who for many years had felt like the only atheist in the village, were suddenly luxuriating in a free-thinking soup. There were enough people who looked like Trekkies and scoutmasters for The Chaser boys to say, “Welcome to the Global Atheist Convention, or Revenge Of The Nerds 4,” and for all of us to laugh.

There were loads of great lines. I loved Sue-Ann Post’s take about religion being like going without the lobster in favour of the invisible dessert; A. C. Grayling’s “Religion and science have a common ancestor – ignorance”; Dan Barker, ex-minister, now atheist, who spoke about his debate with Cardinal George Pell.

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“The debate topic was ‘Without God we are Nothing.’ Maybe without God he is nothing.”

Funniest line of the weekend? “Here’s a two-word argument against religion: Senator Fielding,” from ABC’s science guy and confessed ”congregational hedonist” Robin Williams. He was referencing Fielding’s appearance with Dawkins on Q and A last week. Watching Fielding, a creationist, speak, Dawkins looked as if he was witnessing a talking cat.

And no, we didn’t all agree on everything. But we were all open to rational debate.

When any topic is off limits for rational thought and critical analysis, it infects the way we think about everything.

Becoming an atheist, I’ve become fascinated by religion. When I was a believer I was very uncomfortable discussing or reading about religion because so much of what I read conflicted with my fundamental beliefs.

When you no longer believe, it’s fascinating to look under the bonnet and see how it all works.

There weren’t enough women in the line-up. But the percentage and the gravitas of tasks given to them was far greater than usual.

Sure, there was a ”women’s panel”. But Sue-Ann Post was the opening act, and I was the closing act on the opening night. And Taslima Nasrin, who now lives in exile due to religious persecution, was a highlight.

Educator and sceptic Kylie Sturgess introduced Dawkins to the stage. I wondered how many times he’d been introduced by a woman.

Leslie Cannold and Jane Caro and I have decided to address the common refrain of ”We couldn’t find any women to speak” by setting up a website called No Chicks No Excuse, with a list of women speakers on diverse topics.

Here are some questions atheists are frequently asked:

What do you actually believe in? Truth.

Isn’t atheism just another religion? No. A religion believes in supernatural power. Sure, Dawkins is super and natural – but he’s not supernatural.

When I asked what the difference was between a religion and a cult, someone replied “a good accountant”.

The ”atheism is a religion” question is best answered by the Non-Stamp Collector, a YouTube animator who says: “Saying atheism is a religion is like saying not collecting stamps is a hobby, off is a TV channel or bald is a hair colour”.

Why are you atheists so angry? If beauty is in the eye of the beholder then anger is in the sphincter of those people whose beliefs are being confronted. No one who agrees with Dawkins has ever called him strident.

The word ”militant” has become synonymous with atheist. Militant is simply a word used to describe someone showing opposition in a way the people being opposed don’t like.

And yes, atheists have killed, tortured, lied and stolen – never in the name of atheism, but because they’re bad.

Jews, Muslims, Christians and atheists are generally moral people. But that’s not because they’re Jews, Muslims, Christians or atheist. It’s because they’re people.

I do hate. I hate religion taking credit for most people’s innate goodness.

WASN’T it hilarious how World Youth Day was an attempt to make Catholicism appear all modern and trendy, but what it achieved was to highlight how deluded and anachronistic the religion is?

The cavernous gap between the fresh-faced young teenagers and the old blokes in frocks and party hats was never more apparent than when the words “pilgrim” and “texting” were used in the same sentence. Repeatedly.

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I had to laugh when I heard that “Ratzinger Rules” had been spray-painted on the Hyde Park War Memorial. And when I saw pilgrims chanting, “Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! Oi! Oi! Oi!” I can’t help wondering how the teenage pilgrims coped with their hormones and no condoms and what the consequences will be in a few weeks’ time.

The fusion of wild youth and religious rapture is a complicated reality. A complicated reality I assume was responsible for the GOD ROCKS! graffiti I saw on an old stone church yesterday.

I don’t give a stuff what people believe in, but it won’t stop me poking at it or prodding it. Why should religion be any exemption? Telling me I’m going to hell won’t bother me because I have the Flying Spaghetti Monster, the Invisible Pink Unicorn and Bertrand Russell’s Teapot in my heart. Google them if you are in the market for some red hot enlightenment.

Over the past couple of weeks Catholic-bashing has been elevated to the level of an extreme sport. Put your hand down at the back there, I’m allowed to. I spent every Sunday for the first 18 years of my life sitting in a medieval torture chamber listening to a bloke bang on about his imaginary friend who did magic tricks. Then the next 20 years massaging, editing and pruning the brainwashing into something that fit until suddenly I woke up one day and realised I was an atheist.

I wasn’t searching for anything. I wasn’t dabbling or questioning. I wasn’t having any kind of spiritual breakdown. I just opened my eyes one day, looked around and realised that I had once been standing in a house and one by one the walls had collapsed and there was no longer a house there. I was standing out in the open. It was very liberating.

Funny though. For a while I would go to pray and then remind myself that I didn’t believe. These days I send out wishes. I know, just as crazy.

I question some of my progressive, believing mates about if they believe in Noah’s ark, the Immaculate Conception, Adam and Eve, the Resurrection, even heaven, and they squirm a little and try to change the subject. They get vague, defensive and then start muttering something about faith and mystery and a power of love that unites us all.

Sure, it would be easy to torture them, but they’re adults and it’s their life. I just can’t see why it’s so difficult to have a rigorous discussion about it. I feel no need to convert them. I just want them to know that if you are brave enough to place your hand through the invisible electric fence there’s a bigger world beyond.

It’s been a revelation to me a year since my “epiphany”. I feel as if I’m walking through life with the blinkers off. Suddenly all the religious mumbo-jumbo jumps out as so bonkers. Wearing certain things, eating certain things, mumbling certain things at certain times so some imaginary friend will let you into a club in the sky when you die. I want to do my living now, thanks. I’m not afraid of dying. I’m afraid of never having lived.

There is a school of thought that suggests atheists should not call themselves atheists but just say we apply rational thought to everything and religion is no exception.

As Sam Harris, author of The End Of Faith, puts it, “I think that ‘atheist’ is a term that we do not need, in the same way that we don’t need a word for someone who rejects astrology.

“We simply do not call people ‘non-astrologers’. All we need are words like ‘reason’ and ‘evidence’ and ‘common sense’ and ‘bullshit’ to put astrologers in their place, and so it could be with religion.”

I don’t care what people believe in, but I do care that religion impacts on political discourse, public policy and that it stunts the ability of people to think for themselves and question. And that it kills people and causes suffering. But most of all I care that the invisible electric fences that are wired in the minds of children brainwashed by religion are difficult to remove. And impossible if you don’t even know they’re there.

A quote attributed to Stephen F. Robert sums it up for me: “We are both atheists, I just believe in one fewer god than you do. When you understand why you dismiss all the other possible gods, you will understand why I dismiss yours.”

Peace be with you.

IT’S easy to forget that we’re just mammals wearing clothes. I’m always reminded when the spring racing carnival comes around of the primal urge we have as animals to procreate. The females of the species slink about in their strappy, low-cut dresses and high heels, and the males of the species scrub up in their cheap suits and wraparound sunglasses, both drawn to the breeding ground during mating season, and then become socially lubricated with alcohol. Sure, there’s the odd accountant on his RDOs wearing a nappy and sporting a beer can on his head with a tube going into his mouth. He can be explained by the term “natural selection”.

Don’t go thinking that my landscape of friends and acquaintances is one hotbed of adultery, but there has been disproportionate talk (and some action) in recent times on the subject of extracurricular intimacy. We’re talking flings, one-night stands, crushes, online romances and full-on affairs involving people in committed relationships. Which has made me ponder the mammals wearing clothes thing again.

Does anyone want to eat the same meal every night for 40 years? Wear the same shoes every day? Is it possible? Is it healthy?

Lifelong monogamy is an unrealistic expectation that makes people feel like failures. And if you don’t believe me, take one look at the divorce statistics. People are torn between their emotions and an archaic expectation that was conceived when the average life expectancy was 30. Monogamy is a wonderful way to maintain what the church and the state would call “social order” and, more importantly, to ensure paternity to hand wealth down to offspring.

Things are different now. In First World countries most people’s lives are no longer just about survival. Seeing survival’s sorted, we’re distracted by the promise of stimulation, happiness, constant change and upgrading. Eating our way up the food chain via hedonism and desire.

Yes, of course I think lifelong monogamy is a wonderful concept. And I would love to think that we would all find a mate for life and live happily ever after and be buried in the ground side by side for all eternity and never fancy another person. But it’s an unrealistic expectation. That is not to say that we shouldn’t try our best to achieve it. You can’t go into a relationship thinking: “I’ll stay till I get bored or she gets fat.” The mantra of for better or worse, richer and poorer, sickness and health is something that applies to all relationships. Not just sexual ones.

We have to remind ourself that lifelong monogamy is almost impossible and not beat ourselves or other people up if that goal is not reached. Sure, some people manage it, but they are even fewer than you think. Don’t tell me that behind every one of those rock-solid 50-year marriages there hasn’t been a stolen kiss, a lust-filled night or yearning for the one that got away. Forty years without one flush of attraction for another. I don’t buy it.

Lifelong monogamy is as big a fluke and as unattainable a goal as being a supermodel. It’s a lucky equation of genetics, environment and airbrushing.

I’m never surprised that people split up. I’m surprised they stay together. Being in a relationship is not simple. Or easy. Ask anyone. It’s not possible to experience a long-term relationship and not at some stage think: “How bad does it have to be to leave?” No matter how well you think you know someone, you don’t know the person you are embarking on a relationship with. They don’t even know themselves. How is it possible to know how the two of you will grow and change, how you will cope with the different terrains and how you will respond to each other’s reactions? Apparently, arranged marriages last longer than the romantic type. But are they as happy? Or happier?

It’s not your fault if it doesn’t last as long as you would hope. I was almost going to use the word “fail” there as in “it’s not your fault if it fails”. But it’s not about failure. I don’t see the end of a 20-year relationship that has run its course as a failure. Nor do I see a 40-year relationship full of passive aggression, sulking and discontent as a success.

But what about the notion of spiritual theft? An open relationship is one thing, but what about a secret connection on the side that is filling the desire for something more breathless, more glittery, more slippery, more illusive. Something you just don’t get in a long-term relationship. Some people have confided in me that an affair has saved their relationship. We hear all the bad affair stories, but never the good affair stories. Most would say that it’s not right, but I can see that some people may feel that if no one is being hurt, that it is not totally wrong either.

An afternoon with Clare Bowditch, Marieke Hardy and Catherine Deveny BOOK NOW!

Other countries fight for their independence. We could just have ours, writes Catherine Deveny.

EVEN if the Australian flag had a picture of a bloke called Davo chucking a brown-eye on it or the image of a pav whipped up by Aunty Bev, I don’t imagine that I could ever be a flag waver. But at least if our country’s flag did have these pictures, I’d be able to look at it and not feel like a 40-year-old still living at home with my parents.

Still being part of “The Empire” feels exactly like that. Like we are living at home with our parents. Despite attempting to delude ourselves that we are “world class”, a “global leader”, or “part of the axis of evil” – sorry, meant to write “member of the coalition of the willing” – we are a dole-bludging bong-head living out the back of our parents’ place. (No offence to dole-bludging bong-heads living out the back of their parents’ place.)

Even Prince Charles thinks that it’s time we flew the coop. He’s gone down to the bungalow, stormed in and said: “Are you still here? One thought one got one’s arse into gear ages ago. One might consider pulling one’s finger out and getting one’s own life.”

And what have we done? Sat there in our tracky-dacks and boxing kangaroo singlet, handed the spliff to our mate Knackers, picked up the PlayStation controller and said: “Can’t be stuffed, mate.”

Because we tried once. Didn’t work out. So we just continue self-medicating with a couple of she’ll be rights and a lie down every arvo. “‘Cause if it ain’t broke mate . . .” But it is. Australia is broke because it’s never been fixed. It’s never been assembled. It’s still in the flat pack with the allen key.

Are the English going to have to chuck us out first? Are we that laid back? $100 says that England’s going to be a republic before us. “Sorry chaps, we are selling the family home and buying a campervan. To use your own term, ‘you’re rooted.’ ”

How embarrassing is it that we aren’t a republic? I cringe when I meet folks from abroad and they realise that we are still part of the Commonwealth. I shrink when they ask why we have England’s Queen on our coins, only for me to tell them that she’s our Queen too. They’re flabbergasted.

I have often wondered why the Queen can have the top job in Australia despite the fact that it defies our equal opportunity laws. “Yes, we proudly enforce our meritocracy and rules of equality . . . apart from the boss lady because that’s different.”

So much for common wealth. The Queen’s fortune was recently conservatively estimated to be about $US500 million ($A590 million) by Forbes magazine. Some suggest that it’s closer to $US10 billion. Would it kill her to spread it round a bit?

I hate to admit it, but a recent trip to America had me envious of their flag. A flag they chose and were not allocated. They talk of their founding fathers, their War of Independence and their coming of age. They made a decision. And they fought for it. East Timor has self-determination and we do not. What a scathing example of our apathy that is. How easy it would be for us. And how difficult it was for them.

Let me simplify this for you. We have a referendum. The question is: Do you want us to be a republic? Tick the box. A. YES. B. NO. C. LET ME ASK MY HUSBAND.

Keep the Westminster system. Personally, I’d be happy with a benevolent socialist dictatorship, but that’s what happens when you have a columnist from the People’s Republic of Moreland.

As far as a president is concerned, I don’t give a rat’s about the process. The president could be Tony Mokbel’s rug for all I care, just so long as we are a republic. And why do we need to call our head of state the president? How about something more Australian. Like “the Big Whoop”. “Please Stand for the Big Whoop of the Republic Of Australia. Shane Keith Warne . . .”

What do we do about the Commonwealth Games? We change the name to the Piss-Weak Countries Who Have Bugger-all Chance of Winning at the Olympic Games. All those royal hospitals, royal societies, with your royal this and royal that? Change the word from “Royal” to “Bonzer”, “Ripper” or “Beaut”.

Being a republic will make a monumental difference to Australia. We will stop looking to other countries and look at ourselves. Our confidence will blossom, our dynamism will flourish and our imagination will run wild. Our originality will leave other countries thinking: “If they can do that, maybe so can we.” And it will affect our daily lives.

It will break my heart if I don’t die in the Republic of Australia.