Belief is a human oddity. Explaining it to Henry I get nowhere, they haven’t the words in Dog. Grace, beauty, kindness, victory, goodness, guilt, God – what in blazes am I talking about! Henry knows what he observes. Whatever is, is – how could it be otherwise? And what isn’t is baloney. Henry’s senses sometimes mislead him – that big rock isn’t a bear – but such misinterpretations can be straightened out by inspection. A few sniffs and maybe a wary pat with a paw prove the rock’s no threat. Guaranteed, the rock isn’t a spirit in disguise (whatever a spirit is).

This oddity quite recently gave rise to the activity we call philosophy. By recently I mean some thousands of years. It’s been two hundred thousand years, we’re told, since humans cooked up language. Since the earth is four and a half billion years old, that’s an eyeblink. Belief needs language to give it shape. How can you believe in what you cannot express?

When and why did humans develop this oddity? We evolve capabilities, do we not, to preserve ourselves? Darwin’s supposition seems irrefutable. For every aspect of our makeup there’s a practical purpose. Our minds, no less than our bodies, work the way they do to keep us alive.

Here’s my hunch – untranslatable into Dog, but pretty simple even so: the purpose of belief is to suspend curiosity so we can get a good night’s sleep.

What makes human existence exhausting is too many questions. That was Eve’s problem in Eden – she couldn’t leave well enough alone. The more questions we ask, the more our ignorance expands, until we’re panicked by perplexity. Why are we here on earth, we ask. If there’s no good reason to exist, why bother? This uncongenial conclusion spooks us, so bingo, we conceive God or His equivalent. We do not know why we’re here, but God knows, so sleep sound. Henry assures me he never worries why he’s here. He exists to eat, sleep, frolic, lick, please, protect and pester his parents – what more needs to be known? Why make trouble sniffing where you oughtn’t?

I am an idealist. I exist to serve ideas I know are nonsense. Grace, beauty, kindness, goodness, God are fantasies, I know that, but that doesn’t make them less persuasive. I believe because belief feels good and helps me sleep. My beliefs improve my results by improving my conduct. I behave as if God were watching (though sometimes I try to evade His fearsome scrutiny).

Henry is happier than I because he asks fewer questions. He does not need belief to allay his dread, he’s OK as is. He has no ambition beyond his bodily desires, so he does not envy or brood. I’d like to be like him, I sometimes think, but then I wouldn’t be me, which I’d miss.

Belief is our human genius – and fatal flaw. It will finish us in the end. Belief justifies the annihilation our enemies, which, to Henry, makes no sense.

In today’s America two belief systems are grappling in a war to the death. Common sense commends accommodation, but common sense has nothing to do with belief. You and I belong to the same party – your eyes on these words indicate our affiliation. I’m certain I can prove the preferability of our belief system, but there is no discussion. Our adversaries believe you and I are evil, case closed. Our choice is kill or be killed, do or die.

It’s a shame how stupid humans are, for all our smarts. Henry shakes his head, yawns, and returns to his rest.