The gospel of the godless

In modern times, the argument from evil is the most popular argument against God’s existence. Yet there’s a paradoxical sense in which evil creates its own theodicy. Indeed, there’s a paradoxical sense in which atheism contains its own theodicy.

A fallen world forces us to treasure things which we’d take for granted in an unfallen world. And atheism forces us to question things we’d take for granted in an unfallen world.

Take a simple little thing like a mother who schedules her day so that she can drop the kids off at some event, then pick them up when the event is over.

Her kids expect mom to pick them up. They expect mom to be waiting for them when they’re through. That’s what mothers are for! That’s what mothers do! Right?

Yet, living in a fallen world, you begin to observe that this isn’t something we can safely presume. Some mother’s are temperamentally unsuited to motherhood. Some mothers are addicted to drugs or alcohol. Some mothers die of cancer at a young age. Some mothers walk out on their husband and kids. And, of course, sooner or later, everyone’s mother dies.

Learning in a fallen world, you learn not to take a mother’s love for granted. For you see many instances in which that is not a given.

And from a secular standpoint, what does a mother’s love amount to? Human mothers generally care their offspring, but mother crocodiles are also excellent caregivers. Yet we don’t get that sentimental about mother crocodiles. So is there really any difference?

Behind both of them is a mindless process. From a secular standpoint, maternal devotion is the by-product of a mindless process. In Christianity, by contrast, it’s an exemplification of God’s goodness.

Human beings naturally feel at home in this world. After all, we were made for this world. And this world was made for us.

But, from a secular standpoint, that’s just a projection. From that perspective, the world is like a desolate village after a civil war. You’re the lone survivor. You return home. But no one is home. No one is left.

There is nobody behind the windows and doors. No one looking out at you. No one is waiting.

It’s quiet inside. Empty inside. Lifeless. Just a façade. A handsome façade. But hollow. Deserted.

The atheist forces us to ask ourselves what the world would be like without God. Forces us to ask if there would even be a world without God.

Of course, in an unfallen world, we’d have no occasion to ask such questions. And these are good questions to ask.

Not because we should question God’s existence. Indeed, there’s a sense in which it’s good to take his existence for granted. But not in the sense of failing to appreciate all that his existence entails. Contemplating the absence of God is a good way of learning to appreciate the presence of God.

It’s easy to become oblivious to something you always had–however good. Easy to undervalue something which you’ve never been without. You don’t know how much you miss it unless you lose it. Finding something you misplaced can be more rewarding than if you never lost it. Coming back to something after a long separation can be more fulfilling than if you never went away.

Losing and leaving sweeten the reunion. It fills you with gratitude. Makes you more thankful for what you’ve got.

The atheist urges us–indeed, admonishes us–to consider life without God. Ironically, I think that’s good advice. A fine spiritual exercise.

We ought to take him up on the offer. Think long and hard about the deprivations of atheism. About the empty house behind window of atheism.