The religious needs and experiences of individuals have been matters of abiding interest to me for about half a century. I am disappointed when I learn that a television series called Primates is about monkeys, not archbishops; when Luther turns out to be a moody detective rather than an equally moody theologian and I note the existence of a film called End of Days, but don’t watch it as I suspect it is an action movie with Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Due to rebarbative aspects of social media, I have in recent years sometimes been called ‘Christ-killer’ and ‘supremacist’, either because I’m Jewish or because this passes muster as legitimate criticism of Israel, for which I am considered a proxy.

‘Supremacist’ lingers in my mind more than ‘Christ-killer’ and I ask myself this question: isn’t it quite usual for people of faith to believe themselves beloved of God or that the practice of their faith is a proper way to live their lives?

‘Seek the peace of the city to which I have brought you,’ God tells the prophet from Anathoth (Jeremiah 29:18) . Thus also with faith: there is a tendency to believe the faith we are born into and pray in that language.

This is an age when faith loses hold of imagination and a view like that of Lucretius holds sway,  that religion crushes, leads to crimes, wars and ‘the foul impieties of men’:

quod contra saepius illa religio peperit scelerosa atque impia facta

(De Rerum Natura 1:80)

If you remove religion from society, some will go underground and practice in secret. In our relatively free society, many, perhaps the majority, believe that religion is an affront to reason and they are free to discard it, which is as it should be, freedom being better than compulsion.

There are those who would replace religion with the concept of historical necessity or any ideology of right or left which promises a teleological fulfillment, a working out of things in a distant future time.

I contemplate the deification of Jeremy Corbyn on certain social media sites. I have written before about the frequency of the word ‘crucifixion’ used by Corbynists to describe the election losses and Mr Corbyn’s resignation as Leader of the Opposition. A crucifixion needs a Pilate, a Caiaphas, possibly a Tiberius and definitely a Judas and it needs a crowd of extras: Jews shouting ‘Crucify him, crucify him.’

Many were crucified but Jesus was a case apart, Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudeorum. Being called ‘King of the Jews’ makes the crowd’s choice of Barabbas somehow implausible but we have had two millennia in which to ponder the inconsistency.

The epic narrative of the New Testament pervades the posts, threads and memes of Corbynist social media. Corbyn himself is seen as above and beyond all ordinary men. In the beginning was the Word and the Word was Corbyn. The comrades speak of his return to bring about a reign of justice and fairness, which no other person – not even John McDonnell or Richard Burgon can achieve. They were only ever mortal disciples.

Thus, I read with some horror the avowals of faith, juxtaposed with an obsession with Israel and Zionism as an unworldly evil, comparable – and, in Corbynist groups, very often compared – with Satan.

I can see clearly the beauty of Christianity and Islam, Hinduism and Buddhism, Sikhism, Shintoism, Jainism and the Bahai faith. Obviously I see the beauty of my own religion, Judaism. But the adoration of the former Labour leader looks to me like trouble. A Corbyn government was averted by a clear General Election result. Many Corbynists say it was rigged, by a combination of media lies, fraudulent counting and perfidious Zionists and speak of the present government being overthrown. Perhaps they see an End of Days on the horizon. Maybe I should watch the film with Arnold Schwarzenegger. It can’t be as bad as anything the Corbyn worshipers have up their sleeves.