Pages

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Pouring salt in the wounds

Theism, Atheism, and Tragic Loss
Posted by Keith Parsons

Does atheism offer less to those who mourn than theism? Let’s start by asking what theism has to offer. Well, naturally, there is the hope of eternal life, right? Surely, mourners are deeply comforted by the promise that their bereavement is only temporary and that they will be reunited in heaven with those they have lost. This is a wonderful assurance, right? Bertrand Russell tells the story of a woman who had lost her only daughter and was, naturally, grief stricken. When a well-meaning friend reminded her that her daughter was now in heaven and enjoying eternal bliss, the bereaved parent glumly replied “Yes, of course, but I wish you would not talk about such unpleasant subjects.” The death of a loved one is a terrible thing, and abstract reassurances about eternal bliss or eventual reunion do not work.


Parsons makes this blanket claim based on what? Is this based on anecdotal evidence? Sociological surveys?

He cites one vignette by Bertrand Russell. For all we know, that’s an apocryphal story. Has anyone ever bothered to investigate the historicity of that vignette? What’s the source of the story? And even if it were true, why think that’s representative?


And this is a good thing. It is natural but exactly wrong to rush to console those in deep mourning.

Why? Because he says so?


Speaking personally, when I have deeply grieved the last thing I wanted was some “comforter” offering me glib reassurances.

If you assume the hope of eternal life is a “glib reassurance,” then by definition, that’s not very consoling. But that’s an atheistic presumption. That hardly means the hope of eternal life is glib in a Christian context.


Whatever one’s theological beliefs such words will inevitably sound cheap, facile, and superficial.

If your theological beliefs are true, why would that “inevitably sound cheap, facile, and superficial”? How does Parsons know that’s how it sounds to the average mourner? Does he have polling data? He has asked mourners? How many? What’s his sample group?


(Job’s “comforters” were his worst torment)

That’s a sloppy comparison. Job’s comforters didn’t offer him assurance of eternal bliss or eventual reunion. Rather, they blamed him for his sorry plight.


Mere words are pathetically inadequate for those who deeply grieve. Grief is real, raw, and deep. Visions of ethereal bliss are thin, insubstantial, and emotionally vacuous. No, grief must be given its day. It must be given its savage due. That is the only way to deal with it honestly and healthily. What do mourners want from others? Tears not words. They want others to grieve with them and share in their pain.

i) Notice how Parsons presumes to speak on behalf of every mourner, without offering a scintilla of evidence to justify his hasty generalizations. He’s simply projecting his atheistic viewpoint onto each and every mourner. But what if the mourner is a Christian. For a Christian standpoint, the hope of heaven, the hope of reunion and restoration, is by no means “emotionally vacuous.”

ii) We need to draw another distinction. Offering mourners the hope of heaven isn’t meant to erase their pain. They will still have to work through the grieving process. But it makes the pain more bearable. And having something solid to hope for is very important to emotional healing. Mourners can become lost in the depths of inconsolable grief without a light to brighten the darkness.

The hope or promise of eternal life doesn’t instantly dispel the darkness, but as the mourner passes through phases of grief, that’s a lifeline to cling to. Even if, in the searing pain of loss, the mourner is in no position to fully appreciate the value of the assurance, that’s something which can gradually take hold and ease the sense of bereavement and abandonment.


“Comforting” words tacitly rebuke grief; sharing the pain of loss affirms and validates those dreadful but necessary feelings.

This is Parsons’ utterly artificial spin. You have to wonder what kind of parent Parsons is.

To take a lesser example, if a teenage daughter comes home in tears because she her classmates taunted her about her appearances, and her mother consoles her, are her mother’s words of comfort a tacit rebuke?

Parsons is just making stuff up out of thin air. He’s not seriously attempting to put himself in the situation of a mourner. Rather, he’s beginning with his atheistic viewpoint, then fabricating a psychological profile of how the mourner ought to respond to Christian consolation, given that atheistic perspective. That has nothing to do with real mourners. Rather, this is how atheists respond when put on the defensive.


What can atheists really offer those who grieve? The same things that anyone else can—just to be there and to share the grief by letting the mourner know that his or her pain is yours as well.

But that’s impotent. Ineffectual. It doesn’t objectively help the situation. It does nothing to rectify the loss. Nothing to make the mourner whole. Atheism can’t reassemble the broken pieces. That’s a dead loss.


Atheists harbor no delusions about an all-powerful being that will someday, somehow, in some totally mysterious and incomprehensible way make everything right. Atheists therefore are required to face the absolute finality of death with the grim honesty that sees the senseless as truly senseless and eschews pious bromides.

i) That’s a backdoor admission that atheists have nothing to offer a mourner. To the contrary, what he just said rubs it in.

iii) BTW, there’s nothing “totally mysterious and incomprehensible” about how God may make things right.


Those who have suffered a tragic and pointless loss deserve such honesty, not a false comfort that candy coats and trivializes.

i) If you’re an atheist like Parsons, then, by definition, Christian comfort is false comfort. But, of course, that begs the question in favor of atheism.

ii) What does false comfort stand in contrast to? Parsons has no comforting alternative. He can’t offer true comfort.

iii) From an atheistic standpoint, what’s wrong with offering mourners false comfort? Suppose a critically injured teenager is wheeled into the ER. The nurses and doctors know he will die in about 24 hours. Suppose he comes to. He asks hopefully if he will recover.

From an atheistic perspective, is it their solemn duty to tell him his situation is futile? Would it be okay for them to tell him a comforting lie, so that he dies happy? Or is it morally imperative that he die in a state of abject terror and misery?

Does everyone “deserve” honesty? What makes that a moral imperative in atheism? Why aren’t there situations in which some things are more important than brutal honesty?

Why must we be “required” to face the absolute finality of death? What’s the overriding value of honesty absent a personal future? What difference does it make if you face oblivion honestly or dishonestly? Either way, death will obliterate you.

Parsons is trying to make something noble and heroic about facing death bravely, but that hortatory sentiment doesn’t make any sense if atheism is true. What if you’re a coward in the face of oblivion. At that point, who cares?

iv) From a Christian perspective, there is a temptation to offer false assurance if we make comforting promises about the fate of dying unbelievers. Everyone who dies isn’t bound for glory. So we do need to resist the temptation to make mourners feel good no matter what. God doesn’t make everything better for everyone in the world to come. Some lives end in pure, unmitigated tragedy for the decedent.

No comments:

Post a Comment