The biblical downpour currently lashing Toronto - though probably a delicate sunshower by Vancouver standards - has turned my thoughts to religion. Like how things would go if, like Noah, your faithful correspondent was chosen to survive this flood.
Instead of two of every animal, I would have three neutered cats. And instead of a watertight ark, an inflatable bath pillow.
Oh wait, here's an update: there is no bath pillow. Mankind is doomed.
Yes, I make light of one of the foundational narratives of three major world religions. My atheism may not burn bright, but it burns true. And so, when I'm not seeing myself as a sort of Noah Lite, I wonder what could make me cash in my skeptical chips for faith. Would it be love? Or at least lust, and a promise of a KitchenAid stand mixer from the wedding registry? Let's say some future suitor asked me to convert. Could I do it? No, and not even for a stand mixer. Even if I loved somebody, I couldn't go from something I didn't believe in to something else I didn't believe in, and exchange one flavour of polite disbelief for another. I don't deny that religion can mean something. And perhaps I'm jealous, and impressed, because it takes such a level of trust to believe. But it's trust that I do not have, and can not fake. Even as a flood seems imminent, the interaction between condensation and evaporation causing all this rain is beautiful enough for me.
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