| Cardinal Cormac Murphy-O’Connor called for a better dialogue between atheists and Christians last week, holding out a tentative hand of friendship. It might sound like an odd gesture because it is natural to think of atheism as the opposite of theism: atheists do not believe in God; theists do. Atheists might even be thought of as the enemies of believers. After all, if believers seek to put God centre stage, then it is clear today that there are some atheists who do not just passively ignore belief, but actively seek to force it out of public life.
Below the headline conflict, however, there is a great deal more atheism in theism — and theism in atheism — than first meets the eye. Moreover, both sides might learn much from each other. Atheists and theists are both in the business of exposing false gods and denying them. The difference is that, whereas atheists think all gods are idols, theists believe there is one God who is not.
Jean-Paul Sartre was one atheistic philosopher who was very conscious of this connection. He was an existentialist, believing that the fundamental issue with which human beings must get to grips is the brute fact of their existence.
That might be thought straightforward enough. But, far from being a great joy, existentialists believe existence leads to a kind of terror, since there is no obvious reason for it. It is thrown at us: we just have it. Existing is like being a terrified child waking up in the middle of a night, crying out into the darkness.
Hence words such as “abandonment”, “despair”, and “condemnation” litter Sartre’s writings. Little wonder, he mused, that people prefer to believe in gods that bring them comfort, like soft toys in the cot. To be an adult, though, is to make what you can of your existence. That means ditching comforting gods, those soft-toy idols that tell you all is well. Instead, take responsibility for life yourself.
What is striking is that Sartre takes his lead in this from the Christian philosopher Søren Kierkegaard. Kierkegaard thought that it was well-nigh impossible to make the leap of faith that being a Christian requires. What he was highlighting is the fact that faith does not depend primarily on giving your intellectual assent to rational beliefs. Rather, it is the difference that faith makes to your way of life that counts. So it is relatively easy to make, and then worship, golden calves — to create idols out of the Bible, the Church, the sacraments, the miraculous.
Real faith, though, requires radical personal change — like Sartre, taking responsibility for life yourself. That is profoundly challenging — quite as challenging as a father being prepared to kill his son, as Kierkegaard famously interpreted the story of Abraham and Isaac, the quintessential demonstration of faith for him. He joked that real faith can turn water into wine, whereas the “faith-lite” of so many Christians turns wine into water.
Yet Kierkegaard did not just pitch his complaint against his fellows. He turned it on himself, too. He declared he was not a Christian, but was becoming a Christian. Sartre, too, suggested that becoming an atheist was all that he might hope for — in his case, its being so difficult to make the leap that would embrace the brute fact of existence.
Other great atheists have realised that there are profound similarities between belief and non-belief. The philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche thought that atheism is desirable, but that did not fool him into thinking it was easy to accept. Taking his lead from the shocking idea of Jesus’s crucifixion, which represents nothing less than the death of God, he chastised his fellow atheists for being so trite about their non-belief. “We have killed him — you and I,” he cried.
In killing God, great problems have been thrown up for humankind — problems of how to ground morality, how to locate a sense of meaning, how to find the right path through life. With a sense of awesome poetry, Nietzsche continues: “What were we doing when we unchained this earth from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving? Away from all suns? Are we not plunging continually?”
Nietzsche could be damning about belief. But he could be equally damning about non-belief. I suspect he would have criticised much of what passes for atheism these days. He would have thought it so glib — as if all that is required is to breathe deeply of Enlightenment air, and watch as the sun of science dispels the clouds of superstition. The atheistic calling is far more tremendous, demanding that the individual must create morality, meaning, and so on. In terms of this demand, true atheism, like Kierkegaard’s true faith, requires a lifetime of effort.
Both atheists and believers are seeking to smash idols, struggling with the deep implications of their convictions. But what, ultimately, is the difference: if both reject delusions, what marks out belief in the one true God? The philosopher of religion, Denys Turner, has pondered this question. He argues that both inevitably fall into error as they peer through the shadows and seek to see their light.
There is a distinction that can be made, though. Atheists presume that their existence, and the existence of the universe, is pure luck. It is “just there”, as the atheistically-inclined Bertrand Russell put it. Theists, though, believe that the world is created. They say it is created out of nothing, ex nihilo, because just how it is created is a mystery. But it is created none the less, by God. This thought carries a striking difference. The universe is not “just there”. It is a gift.
So theists and atheists alike will fail to live up to their calling, and will be tempted by their idols. The difference, though, is that theists can none the less be thankful. They can be grateful for their existence because they believe in the existence of God.
Mark Vernon is the author of 42: Deep thought on life, the universe and everything (Oneworld; www.markvernon.com).
|
back to Comment
previous story
|
next story 
%231%23.jpg)
