Losing My Religion Or: How I Lied To My Mother About Being An Agnostic

A couple of months ago, while I was still living in Savannah finishing up my final semester at SCAD, my mother came to visit me. As we were driving around town, taking in the southern splendor that is Savannah, we drove past a church. My mother asked if that was a Catholic church. I said I thought so, but I wasn’t exactly sure.

She then continued questioning my knowledge about the other catholic churches in town. I told her that my knowledge of the churches in town was very scant at best. Slightly frustrated, she asked, “Well, what church do you go to?”

“Oh, shit,” I thought.

You see, I was raised Roman Catholic, and so while growing up, my family made it a habit to go to church every Sunday. I did the whole nine: baptism, reconciliation, confirmation – all the big sacraments excluding matrimony. When my parents divorced, and my mother couldn’t take me to church because she worked on Sundays, I started going to a Presbyterian church with Jeff and his parents, thus continuing my weekly dose of the Lord.

It’s hard to pin-point exactly when I started to “spiritually drift” as it were, but I became dissatisfied with not only my religion, but religion in general. Through my final years of high school and my first years of college, as my intellectual curiosity began to blossom, I soon discovered that I was a Christian by default, not by choice. To “go through the motions” seemed incredibly insincere and fraudulent to me. I was simply enacting a ritual that had been programmed into me since birth with little to no emotional (or spiritual) attachment involved. I finally came to terms with my detachment, and by the time I finished my undergraduate studies, my progression into atheism became complete.

Of course, I never told my mother.

My mother is totally ignorant of this intellectually awakening I had, and I would be damned (to use an apt expression) if I were to break this news to her on a causal autumn day of touring the city. She drove all the up from Florida to visit me and enjoy the sights and sounds that Savannah had to offer. Why should I ruin her trip by saying something I know is going to upset her? Especially something this paramount as one’s belief system (or in this case, lack thereof)?

I couldn’t lie to her. Granted, it would be rather convenient. It would spare me the headache and aggravation of getting into a tense, weighty discussion in which I didn’t have the strength to partake. I try my best to live a life devoid of lying in order to avoid conflict. When pressed, I say the truth, despite the consequences.

But not this time. This time was different. My mother, for all intents and purposes, was still a Roman Catholic, and if she knew that her oldest child – her only son – was an atheist, well, I might as well have said I was a devil worshiper who rapes retarded boys.

What to do? I had to say something.

My mother pressed on: “Why don’t you know anything about the Catholic churches around here?”

“Because I don’t go to church.”

“What? Why don’t you go to church?”

“She’s not relenting,” I thought. “I better say something before she gets me frustrated.” So I bit the bullet and responded by saying what I thought would be the best compromise.

“I’m an agnostic.”

Dead fucking silence.

It was so quiet that if God DID exist and decided at that moment to talk, whisper, or even clear His throat, I would’ve heard Him.

Finally, my mother broke the silence by exclaiming dismissively, “You’re so full of shit.” (My mother, ladies and gentlemen. What can I say? Enjoy the rest of the show).

My mother’s girlfriend, Caroline, chimed in with, “What do you mean by agnostic?” I then proceeded to outline (for sake of time and brevity) what it is to be an agnostic: someone who doesn’t believe in any of the religious dogmas or other monolithic systems of thought that claim to know the mysteries of the universe, that, despite the lack of convincing empirical evidence, they still believe in a supreme being/elemental essence/cosmic creator and a phenomenological world.

My mother said, “Oh, so you just aren’t a Christian.”

“Damn it,” I thought. “This woman’s really pushing it.” Now I had to rely on simple tact…

“No, I’m not. I just believe that no one’s gotten it right, that’s all. As far as I’m concerned, no one really knows anything.”

Which was SLIGHTLY true. But to be perfectly honest, I’m not an agnostic, because I don’t believe in a spiritual world or a world that is beyond human perception. I believe that matter exists, and that’s all. No Heaven. No Hell. No platonic forms. No ghosts or spirits or chakras or auras.

And most importantly, no God.

My “little white agnostic” lie quieted my mother. She sat back satisfied, albeit a bit relieved. She relaxed and said, “Oh, okay,” which, though ostensibly innocuous, subtextually meant, “Thank God my son isn’t a Satanist pedophile. At least he believes in something greater than himself.”

She was right about the latter. I do believe in something greater than myself – I just don’t think that thing is God. But I’ll leave that for another blog…

At this moment, I felt content to leave well enough alone. For whatever reason, deceiving my mother into thinking that I still allowed the possibility of a spiritual world existing seemed less threatening and catastrophic than telling her that I was a full-blown atheist devoid of any spiritual inklings or tendencies.

But that day will come. I’m sure one day while in the middle of one of our phone conversations, she will catch me off guard and ask me outright (I wouldn’t put it past her). And having the luxury of distance will definitely make such discussions a little easier to manage. And with that hurdle finally conquered, only one question will loom ahead, forever concerning me to no end…

How the hell do I break it to my father?