John Rachal's Blog

I’m pretty sure that Leo is a theist and Lucy an atheist. I arrive at this conclusion based on Leo’s literally trembling fear during a thunderstorm and Lucy’s ability to wholly ignore it. Leo, like so many of the quivering bipeds in the mists of pre-history, quakes and shivers because he fears the terrorizing gods who thunder at him, demanding submission and obeisance in exchange for his continued meager existence and the possibility of finding a few bones and roots to gnaw on. He is in the early stages of forming some primitive canine religion, acknowledging the vast potency of the beings who control and threaten his pitiable life, and propitiating them with sacrifices of one or two of the rodents whose calories he can barely afford to forgo. Their anger subsides; they let him live. For this generosity, he establishes holy days, erects crude wooden effigies and stone idols, and spreads the word among his species of the means by which his terrifying, thunderous masters may be appeased. His fellow canines, having heard the thunder and as fearful as he, need little persuasion. He becomes what his descendants will call a priest. He is rewarded by finding a deer, dead only a week. He rises to leadership in the community, promulgating a rudimentary creed, and accepting tribute from his flock. He sits by warm fires, built by others. He has first crack at the scorched rabbit. Except when the gods get angry again, and he again cowers all a-tremble, life is pretty good.

Lucy, on the other hand, is not among the persuaded; no proselyte she. No thunder gods for her. Atheist all the way. Her eyes roll at her brother’s quaking. If she grudgingly acknowledges any masters at all, they are her parents; and her mind is clear that in truth they are, unknown to them, her subjects. She sleeps on a grand bed surrounded by them for her protection, lording that status over her lowly, credulous brother. Still, she is not without dignity-robbing, bone-deep fear, however fully divested of religiosity: If there is packing and car-loading, her advanced intellect warns her of abandonment and the inevitable shifting for herself thereby necessary. What new subjects—indeed, vassals—among the unwashed masses will be found to provide, provide? And going to the groomer for nail-cutting? I blush. She moans, cries, excretes, as if she is on the rack. But once back home, she resumes her regal status and lordly manner, pretending her sniveling never happened.