When I went to college and first met the man who would later become my husband, he was a committed atheist.
I was a committed Christian. And yet in spite of our differences – or perhaps because of them – the two of us talked about faith and spirituality a lot.
That’s in no small part due to the fact that we took upper-level philosophy courses together. In class we analyzed Plato and Nietzsche and Kierkegaard and Foucault and pondered questions about existence and nature and the purpose of it all; those questions naturally followed us after the seminars ended. We debated. We argued. We shared our experiences as we developed a friendship.
But it wasn’t just a philosophy thing. In college, those kinds of conversations were the norm for most people I knew. I shared my literature classes with three English majors to whom I grew close: a chain-smoking…
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