Hope in the Void

I have been asked, on occasion, whether atheism leads one to despair. Normally, I shuffle off the question without much grace, loathe to insult someone's religion unprovoked--I say things like, "Oh, I just don't think about it much," or "It can be a downer, but you know," or even "I'd really like to believe in a religion, but I can't."

All of those are evasive half-truths. My worldview is essentially a positive one, despite of course being open to healthy doubt and questioning. I am not an atheist because it makes me happy. But I am one, and it does make me happy. I shall endeavor to explain myself a little.

The fundamental thing which is cited as a cause of the atheist's despair is mortality. Yes, death is very sad. It is quite tragic that every person throughout history, and with all likelihood every person ever to come, will eventually die--geniuses and tyrants and children and family. There is no softening of this blow to the atheist worldview. Death is not Donne's poetic comma : "One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally, / And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die." Death is not a pit stop on the way to something more, for the atheist. It is the final termination of a regrettably short and finite time that my consciousness spends on this earth. When my brain flatlines, I shall be no more. And that is that.

How horrible! you exclaim. What a horrid thing to imagine. Never being able to reunite with your family? Never knowing anything better than the short dismal blink of life on earth? Nothingness...nonexistence. It is unfathomable. Should not you recoil from such a belief, just from the sheer horror of such conclusions?

I say nay. In fact, I say that the atheist's finite life is a more happy prospect than the cheeriest eternal bliss. How could that be? Like so:

Imagine, for a second, the prospect of eternity. You can't, of course. It is as incomprehensible as nothingness. One cannot conceive of infinity. An eternity is a period of time so long that the most fascinating and wonderful heaven should become the darkest hell.

I shan't even touch on the subject of eternal torment. Obviously, it is more appalling than any earthly torment could possibly be, many times more appalling, an infinity times. Such is the nature of eternity.

Heaven, though. Surely heaven could not get boring! One can speak to all the (good) human beings who have ever lived. Twice. Ten times. An infinity of times, even. One has so much time, that one can exhaust every possible combination of words (grammatical or not!) in any chosen language(s) with every sentient person in heaven. And still, not one blink of eternity has passed.

But surely, one can do whatever one wants in heaven, so that would never be boring, would it? But wait...can one do whatever one wants in heaven? It stands to reason that one cannot sin. After all, that's what heaven is for--to be perfect and eternal, devoid of all sin. So then, one cannot do what one wants. Indeed, if modern-day apologists are to be believed when they say that God created evil and sin in order to give us free will, then it stands to reason that where there is no sin, there is no free will. Oh my.

Now heaven seems like a dismal proposition. It will be boring. One can exhaust the enormous (but definitely finite) list of things to do a million times over, have every conversation there is to have, enjoy every amusement possible...and still there is an eternity of time. And now, we have discovered that the people who inhabit heaven are necessarily automatons, devoid of free will and the ability to choose for themselves. Heaven becomes static, timeless, unchanging--happy, we are reminded again. We will be happy with this. We will have no choice.

Is not this vision of heaven more terrifying by far then the unfortunate but commonsensical belief that life just...ends? I know which fate I would choose. I know which would lead me to despair.

But eternity, besides being horrific to contemplate, further causes grief. If heavenly "bliss" is eternal, stretching on to infinity, than our lives here on earth are of less importances than a single grain of sand on the beach. They do, apparently, gain us entrance into the heavenly or the hellish realm. But besides that, they are absolutely insignificant. Everything pales before eternity. All earthly suffering is for naught. All striving and success. Why feed the hungry? Why aid the suffering? Why cure sickness? This life is but the title page and dedication of a much grander book, a book which goes on forever.

Again, such a conclusion is horrible. I feel my own suffering and joy. I see it in others. I feel its importance, its significance, in the world I live in. And although I may make little difference in my short lifetime, I do make a difference in others' lives. The alternative is meaninglessness. I cannot accept that.

People have asked me what, as an atheist, I see as the meaning of life. Usually, I shrug off this question as well. Now, I turn it back--what do the believers see as the meaning of life? When faced with the unfathomable certainty of eternal reward and punishment, what meaning can our paltry lives (confessed unworthy) possibly have? Before an all-powerful, all-seeing, all-knowing God, what meaning can my life have?

As an atheist, I believe that my life is finite, like all lives, and I will die. I believe that there is no world after this one, that we each have a precious amount of time to be conscious and sentient, to experience joy and love, to be alive. And because of this belief, I accept the responsibility of making this world the best damn place I can. Because I only get so long, and you only get so long, and ditto for everyone else. I want my life to be as happy as I can possibly make it, and I want yours to be too--because this is all there is, and I have human empathy for all my brethren on this tiny blue planet. I will do unto my neighbor as I would have him do unto me; because I am instilled with the human value of compassion, because my neighbor is like me, and his life is precious and finite just like mine. I will live--not recklessly, or selfishly--but joyfully, and recognize every second of every lifetime of every person on this earth should be made as good as it can be, because this is all there is.

I woke up this morning and lay in bed for a moment, listening to my heart beat, its patient lub-dub the work of millions of years of natural selection guided by nothing. I meditated on the life, the universe, and everything, and was struck with a sudden sense of awe and wonder, an appreciation, a great sense of belonging and joy. It was not a religious experience, but there are few words of a secular nature that describe such feelings. The beauty and complexity of the world is inspiring--without invocations of a Supreme Being and a godly plan. And without such beliefs, I am free to treasure every moment of this existence in its entirety. It is a good world. I do not need anything more.