Religion was never discussed in my home. I never heard of it until I was in the second grade. A kid started telling me about this person named "God" who lives up in the sky, sees everything we do, and has tremendous powers to affect everyone's life. I thought it was a really great story, the kind that kids make up, and I was laughing with delight at his cleverness. I couldn't understand why that made him feel bad and he walked away.
When I got home I asked my mother why he had behaved that way. She sighed and sat down with me. She told me that some parents tell their children stories like that, but she and my father had not. I understood, "Like Santa Claus, right?" and she agreed that it was very much like that. They had already told me the truth about Santa Claus and I asked when his parents were going to tell him the truth about God. She sighed again, more deeply, and said that many parents never tell their children the truth about God, so when they grow up they still believe in the silly story. I said, "But I had already asked a lot of questions about Santa Claus because the story didn't make sense. How can reindeer fly with no wings? How can one man go to every house in Chicago in one night? We don't have a chimney so how does he get into our house? Even if you had never told me the truth I would have figured it out by now. After all, I'm seven years old, not a stupid little kid. This God story is even sillier than Santa Claus. How could a grownup be stupid enough to not know that it's just a story?"
This time her sigh was very long and very sad and she didn't quite know what to say. Finally she just said, "Well you know that some children your age still believe in Santa Claus because their lives are very sad and the Santa Claus story gives them something to be happy about? I really didn't want to have to tell you this so soon, but many grownups have very sad lives too, and the God story gives them something to be happy about."
"How could any grownup be that sad?" I asked. "You get to make all the rules, you get to stay up late every night watching television, you get to drive cars, you get to go into town all by yourself, you get to decide what kind of dog we're going to have, you don't have to eat anything you don't like, you get to go off and do these fun things you call 'jobs.' You don't even need
Santa Claus. How can any grownup be so sad that he needs
God?"
She had to think about that. Finally she said, "I guess some people like to be sad, because then they can talk to God and he makes them happy."
When I was about fifteen, one of my teachers watched me walk into the classroom and said, "Well here comes Fraggle Rocker, that old cynic." I had to look the word up in the dictionary. After thinking about it for a little while, I said, "I know exactly when I became a cynic."
I wrote about this experience once before on SciForums, maybe even twice. I'm sure the accounts don't match up in all the details. It was sixty years ago, after all.
Like all kids I had some serious complaints about my parents and had some difficulty finding my way in life. But they taught me three wonderful, important things for which I have always been grateful--things that I now realize were utterly amazing, in the 1940s and 50s:
- People are all the same, no matter what color their skin is.
- Violence is never the right way to settle a disagreement.
- There are no gods. It's all up to us.