The Solace of Atheism

By Crispin Sartwell

I was on Dennis Prager's talk show (on a Christian radio network) yesterday and he pressed me in a direction I didn't expect. He asked me how I could live in a meaningless universe, without the solace of God. How could I find peace?

That, I think, is the question. I am actually not that interested in the arguments for or against God's existence, though I've been studying them for a quarter century. The question is not abstract, or it's not only abstract. The question is: what are you going to believe today? How are you going to live?

Wouldn't I like to see my dead brothers on the other side? Well of course I would, though I don't really know what "seeing" might mean in that context, nor even what, without bodies, my brothers might be.

So you could say: I just don't believe it. Fair enough (I hope). But now how to live with death? Or, for that matter, with life?

One strategy for solace is to say: this world of suffering and death and chaos is not the real world. It is a preparation, a test, for entrance into the really real: eternity, where "we" persist. God has purposes for us: those purposes give us meaning: purpose is what's meant by "meaning." We're headed somewhere. "When I die, hallelujah by and by, I'll fly away."

I'm not denying that that could be a real solace, though I'm also not quitre sure how you get to believe such a thing while you live wholly within this physical, fucked-up, mixed-up situation. But what I insist on is that there are other kinds of solace.

There could be solace found right here, in this world. There could be peace in thinking that this is actually all there is. You could learn acceptance in a Platonic way: this world is nothing. Or you could find peace in a discipline of imminence: I live here in the only reality I know.

I live in and with the chaos: I am myself chaotic. I perhaps could learn to love this world rather than negating it or preparing for the next, if any. If I could love this world, even with its hatred and pain, but also with its own loves and pleasures, then I could find peace right where I am. I could lapse into presence instead of driving toward some transcendent goal. I could commit myself wholly to this world and myself within it.

I could learn to live in meaninglessness, glory in it, perhaps, flow with it: I could let go of the obsessive drive for meaning just try to live the best way I can.

I really believe that that is a genuine form of solace, and it is the only one I've really ever found. But I say: take what you need, and find solace where you can.