ABSTRACT
Having been to sea as scullion and deck-hand, upon joining the Navy when World War II began, I had thoughts of becoming an officer and a gentleman. In the recruiting office, the first form I was to fill in asked my religion. I pencilled in “atheist,” even though I had not fully thought through my position with respect to God or the gods: I was to agree with the novelist Dermot Healy, one of whose characters, an Irish language tutor, says, “I love the man who made the world, but I don’t believe in him.” The chief petty officer in charge, who looked like an alcoholic bishop, inspected my form and told me, “Son, I wouldn’t put that down if I was you.” The Navy didn’t like atheists. It was going to be a long war, and I might want to be promoted. He erased “atheist” and carefully printed in “Prot.,” so an official “Prot.” I remained for the duration.
