On Atheism and the Acceptance of Religion (In Some Sense)

I used to date a woman who was a devout catholic.  Every day, come rain or shine, she attended mass.  I went with her many times, because I was fascinated by the homilies.  If you're not catholic, the homily is a commentary given by the priest after a reading of a bibilical passage -- an interpretation and explanation, if you will.  I liked to hear the statement on morality, and then the priest's explanation, because it's really useful to hear this stuff.  How else do you know what you believe, if you don't hear what is possible, and decide how you feel about it?

I laugh a bit now, when I think of her.  We had sex, she wore leather, and she was an ardent supporter of the death penalty.  And yet, she parroted the catholic teachings of abstinence-only education, she claimed to be a vegetarian, and she was a strong supporter of "life" in the sense of "abolition of abortion."  I kind of wonder why I was ever with her, now. 

Not that I demand absolute consistency from my friends and lovers, because I don't.  Expecting that kind of thing out of a human would be setting oneself up for disappointment.  But I do wonder how someone can espouse a philosophy publicly, and deny it privately, at least in some sense.  I may be many things, but at least the face that I reveal publicly (in terms of my life philosophy) is the same one that I show to my closest friends and relatives.  I wonder: how can one decry the use of animals for food, but yet wear leather pumps?  It's okay to kill an animal for its skin, but not for its flesh?  How can one tell teenagers to practice abstinence in public, but fuck like a bunny in private?  Weird.

Finn didn't come back from the forest last night.  He goes out almost every day, and spends hours in the woods before coming back, happily meowing, to chomp at his food bowl and then sleep in a tight curl at our feet.  It's been predictable and familiar, all spring and summer long so far.  But last night he didn't come back.  We shook the treat jars outside, trying to call him back, over and over, until far after dark.  At midnight it became apparent that he was not coming back that night, and my imagination turned towards the worst.

I woke up with the realization that I really had become attached to that small animal, and the thought of his permanent absence gave me pause.  I woke up at 9:00am, somewhat depressed.  I went through the motions of the day, going to the store and doing chores, but I just kept thinking: Finn, where are you?

Finally, I decided this: it was a great pleasure to have known that small animal.  We gave him a good life, and he enjoyed his time in the forest to the fullest.  I had no regrets about letting him roam free, even if it had ultimately resulted in him getting caught and eaten by some predator.  He would have hated a life cooped up inside.

So I drove back home, thinking about how a little creature like that can give such companionship and satisfaction to one of us lumbering primates, and felt better.  As I walked through the door later in the afternoon, the first thing that Laura said was:  Guess who came home.

Finn was sound asleep on the chair next to her.  He had apparently eaten a full bowl of food, and has now been sleeping on the spare chair in my office for close to nine hours, interrupted only by me or she as we come in to pet him and scold him for causing such worry.  No one knows what he had been up to all night and half the day, but he had come home tired and hungry and was happy to be back.

In a way, I guess that I can see how people turn to religion sometimes.  Feeling what I did about just a kitten, I can't imagine what it is like for someone to lose a child to a predator.  And in a way, everyday life is a kind of constant beat-down.  It makes sense that people turn to a source of hope like religion.  I may disagree with its precepts completely, but I cannot deny that solace.

I am glad that Finn has returned.  It means that I get to appreciate his company for a little while longer.  As an atheist, I know that that is valuable -- having him here, well, that's a just a brief moment in time, and I need to enjoy it.  But I also need to do right by him.  Finn would not love his life if he were locked inside -- he needs to be free.  So I will let him out into the forest again tomorrow.