Raising a Skepchick
Darcie Hodgkins Langone

When my daughter was born, I vowed never to lie to her, never to create a set of untrustworthy myths and religious beliefs that could fail her when life became unbearable. For the most part, I have kept my vow. There have been a couple of messes along the way (“Of course I believe in Santa Clause. You wouldn’t lie to me,” says she) , times when I was not entirely sure whether I was telling her the truth or not, and the time I told an outright lie, betraying my goal.

Here is the thing: I don’t believe in heaven. I do not know if there is a God, I am not sure where I stand on karma, and I cannot wrap my mind around the idea of Hell. I know that humans are minute beings in an immense universe and that I don’t have to know all the big answers— but that the search for those answers is fun. I think the Christian concept of God stands on a shaky foundation, and that the idea that children pick their abusive parents in order to “work through their karma” is offensive. All these things and more I have discussed with my kid. By seven years of age, she made the informed decision that Manichaeanism made the most sense to her; obviously, there are two gods fighting it out somewhere.

It is reasonably uncomplicated to plant in your child the intellectual curiosity needed to pursue a skeptical life—just talk to him or her consistently and don’t dumb anything down. A problem arises however, when the child leaves the sphere of the rational and requires an answer to meet a different need, a core need. It was late one night and I was tucking my little girl into bed after a long day filled with guests and the rainy, windy weather for which Seattle is known. She was exhausted, as was I. We were snuggling and burrowing when she burst into tears and asked, “What will I do when you die, Mommy?”

Boom! I lied. Before I could think it through, I was desperately dragging us both away from the psychological abyss of what I believe and she suspects—dead is dead. I cannot go there with her—the thought of leaving her alone in this world is not something I can think about with sanity and obviously, neither can she. I told her that when Mothers die they spend eternity standing right behind their child, watching over him or her until the child also dies, and so on through the cycle of life. I heard myself speaking and immediately my conscience began to question my answer, but I knew my motive.

Anyone who tells you it is easy to raise a child is either crazy or a liar. It was not just that I was afraid for her ability to sleep that night. I was afraid for her, period. Is it right for me to teach her to question everything, to take always the stance that anything that seems too good to be true probably is and that there is no big daddy in the sky who will take her troubles away? What resources will she draw from when I am no longer here?

Life is arduous and it is not for me to take a spiritual resource from anyone. If believing in God helps someone make it through his or her long, dark night of the soul, well, that is not for me to judge. It is my job to prepare my child for her life though, and I think that a skeptical mind will help her survive the challenges ahead. Maybe it’s not so uncomplicated to prepare a child for a skeptical life after all.

Darcie Hodgkins Langone is a writer and grad student living in Washington State. When she is not at her day job, editing publications for a community college, she can usually be found lecturing her children on developing morality without religion or looking for a place to hide and read a good book.