Unless you've been living under a very large rock, you will undoubtedly know what happened in Paris last Friday. Nearly 130 people are dead; more than 300 are injured. And make no mistake- these people were casualties of a war between Islam, and the rest of civilisation. As Katie Hopkins points out, acerbically but truthfully, don't tell me this isn't about Islam.
Don't insult my intelligence, and don't spit on the memories of those who died, by pretending that the sick, twisted, repugnant political ideology masquerading as a religion that is Islam, somehow has nothing to do with what happened.
Much has been written about what happened. More is to come. Hell, I have my own thoughts on the subject, which I'll try to get around to posting at some point this week. But in the meantime, we need to take a lesson from a man who understood the nature of evil better than most.
That man would be Clive Staples Lewis.
The author of The Screwtape Letters pointed out in that book that the one thing that evil absolutely cannot stand is to be laughed at. That is why the loving, benevolent, righteous Creator of our Universe plainly has a sense of humour; that is why we have the capacity to laugh. That is why the greatest and most effective satire reduces the tyranny and stupidity of those without humility and wisdom to simple acts of comic idiocy.
And that is why Islam, in which- by the admissions of its own most fanatical adherents- there is no such thing as "fun", absolutely cannot abide being mocked.
With that in mind, let me tell you a joke that, if you were to tell it in an Arab city, would cause pretty much everyone's inner jihadist to get "triggered"- with, one can only hope, spontaneous combustion taking place immediately thereafter. I'm not going to tell you who told me this first, but suffice to say, it's gloriously non-PC- as long as you ignore the fact that the first part couldn't actually happen in real life, anyway:
A Muslim dies and goes to Paradise, where he is greeted at the Gates of St. Peter by an imposing, white-bearded man in a beautifully embroidered robe. He immediately prostrates himself before this man and says, "The noble prophet Mohammed! How I have longed to meet you in the afterlife!"
But the bearded man replies, "My friend, I am not Mohammed. I am merely St. Peter, the keeper of these gates. If you wish to find Mohammed, go around the corner, climb up that ladder there to the very top, and you will eventually find what you seek."
The Muslim bows and hurries away, then scrambles up the ladder. He climbs and climbs seemingly without end, until at last he reaches the top. At the end of his journey he meets an even larger, more imposing, more magnificently robed man with an immense beard and a staff. Falling to his knees, he proclaims loudly, "Noble prophet Mohammed! How I have longed to meet you!"
But the man in the splendid robe with the staff replies, "My brother, thou art mistaken. I am not Mohammed. I am Moses. If thou wishest to meet Mohammed, go thou to that ladder over hither, climb to the very top, and there shalt thou find what thou seekest."
Our friend bows and hurries away, and once again climbs all the way up to the top. There, he meets a man in a stunning robe of white and gold, with the bearing of a king and a halo arrayed over his head. He falls to his knees and once again exclaims, "Mohammed!"
But the man responds, "My son, I am not Mohammed. I am Jesus Christ. That which you seek is farther beyond yet. Climb these steps behind me, and you will find it."
At the top of those steps, the now exhausted Muslim comes across a vast table, richly laden with wonderful food and drink of all kinds. At the head of the table sits a man of vast stature, whose very visage is awesome yet terrible to behold, around whom angels dance and sing melodies of unearthly beauty.
The Muslim, at the end of his patience, asks the man, "Are you Mohammed?!"
But the man, in a voice as deep as thunder yet gentle and soothing as honey, responds, "My child, I am the LORD. I know where the man is that you seek. But you have journeyed far to reach this point. Will you not sit, rest yourself, and partake of some food and drink? Perhaps some pastries and coffee?"
Well, one can hardly refuse the LORD's hospitality, can one? So the Muslim responds, "Yes, o Lord, some coffee would indeed be most welcome."
The LORD promptly turns around and snaps his fingers briskly at someone behind him, and in a voice filled with immeasurable authority, thunders: "MOHAMMED! Two cups of coffee and a bran muffin, right away!"