An Atheist's Journey
Born into, and raised within, a culturally Catholic Family, I will always be, at my center, whatever my currant understandings, the small Catholic boy the Sisters of the B.V.M inculcated in me. “Give me a child," said Aristotle, and some say Ignatius of Loyola, "until he is 7 and I will show you the man.” I still posses a nostalgia for that child.

Not that I ever believed in anything. I thought Santa and the Easter Bunny were frauds long before my contemporaries; the Christmas Eve after I turned five, I'd heard my parents wrapping gifts as my mother remarked, "mark that one, From Santa." I don't remember feeling shocked. It was just a fact I tucked away in my head, and went back to sleep. The Tooth Fairy was leaving dimes under my sisters pillow until they were twelve; the bitch never left me a nickel. I still have a child's tooth, or two, tucked away, I think, among my memorabilia.

I think I wanted to believe; I loved, and still love, the rituals of the Church. I had a comprehension of the symbology of the Mass, of the climbing up the steps to the altar, of the sacrifice of a son, connecting Abraham and Issac with Jesus and God, that probably most adults in the pew didn't have. I couldn't have explained my comprehension, outside myself, I just recognized it as important.

Just before I turned six, I got my first library card; I was introduced to Eden. As soon as I was able, I went to visit it, myself. I read, I read everything I could understand, and a few things I couldn't. I particularly loved fairy tales and myths. I became a prepubescent scholar of ancient Egyptian, Greek, Roman, Norse mythologies. When what was available for my age group was exhausted, I learned how to use the card catalogs so I could find the information in books above my grade level. Because most of them were considered above my eight to ten year age level to be considered appropriate for me to check out, I had to read them in the library, sometimes taking notes for later contemplation.

I began to notice, here and there, a kind of similarity between religions, including the one I was being taught in my Catholic school, dying gods being risen to life, e.g. When I stumbled into some myths of the Near-East, like Babylonia's Marduk, I began to notice how the gods always replaced some other god, sometimes peacefully, but more often, violently, with the victor's god becoming supreme, and the lesser god amalgamated into the new god, or diminished, or even destroyed. I made no conclusions. Just filed away what I read in the same way I had filed away my knowledge of the reality of Santa Claus. I just nibbled at the fruits of the tree.

to be continued