The believable atheist feels the soul of a writer growing inside of him. He knows what it is to create new worlds, man and woman, false gods, and snakes. He recognizes this kind of work when he sees it, and he respects it for what it is – a kind of truth.
Raised without church by a recovering Catholic of a father and an unaffiliated mother, the believable atheist became less and less interested in finding religion. His parents, on the other hand, were simultaneously born again and became Evangelicals.
I cannot understand their obsession, he says to himself. He cannot fathom how anyone could devote so much time to just one book. His eyes take in his many bookshelves and his tongue briefly savors the titles and exotic names of authors.