An atheist’s case for optimism in the face of oblivion

There might have been a time when existence was so bleak and life so cheap, humanity had little choice except to hope for more, but that period has long passed and developed countries, at least, are world’s of plenty. 

As an atheist, I’ve been occasionally asked how one copes with the idea that this life is all we have, and nothing awaits us on the other side.  The question can be reduced to:  Don’t you find it depressing (or demoralizing or demotivating or some similar negative descriptor) that there is nothing after this?  How can you keep a positive attitude if you believe that one day you will cease to exist, as if atheism inexorably leads to nihilism?  To be clear, this question is distinct from the second most common line of inquiry, that is how one can explain the existence of the universe without a higher power, a subject far more fraught and trickier to answer when none of us can ever be sure what things in heaven and earth are undreamt of in our philosophy.  The question of optimism, however, is relatively straightforward.  It can in fact be responded to with a simple question of the atheist’s own:  How can you dare to dream there is anything more than this?  We have been given a span of years in a world of almost infinite pleasures, and yet you believe there must be something more after the end?  Even if religious or spiritual people do not directly say it, there is an implicit assumption in their reasoning that the world is not enough.  It’s too fallen or damaged, too short or unfair, too whatever, to constitute the totality of our existence.  Therefore, there simply has to be something more or their lives (souls?) would be unsatisfied somehow.

I would suggest that this is actually a far more pessimistic view.  Take a look at the world around you, the great expanse of the sky, whether in its unbelievable blue by day or pricked by stars at night, the vastness of the oceans, the sweep of the plains, the majesty of the mountains, the lush of the jungle, and tell me how there could possibly be anything more than this.  Feel the sun on your skin, the cool water of a clear lake on your body, the touch of a loved one, the taste of your favorite food, the sound of an amazing song, the rush of the wind through your hair, or any of the myriad, equally indescribable sensations one can experience in even an ordinary day, and explain to me what more you want other than a permanence which in my view doesn’t exist, and you wouldn’t even want if you had it, more on that in a moment.  There might have been a time when existence was so bleak and life so cheap, humanity had little choice except to hope for more, but that period has long passed and developed countries, at least, are world’s of plenty.  Even the ubiquitous supermarket present in almost every strip mall has been satirized as offering endless pleasures – and criticized for the same.  “There’s a wonderful world where all you desire, And everything you’ve longed for is at your fingertips, Where the bittersweet taste of life is at your lips, Where aisles and aisles of dreams await you, And the cool promise of ecstasy fills the air,” sung Bruce Springsteen on “Queen of the Supermarket.”  If entertainment is your desire, there are almost too many streaming services to count, offering almost every piece of recorded content in the history of the known universe on demand.  If travel is your thing, a plane can take you halfway around the world tomorrow, where you can surf the Gold Coast of Australia on a whim.

There is almost nothing you cannot see, taste, touch, or experience should you wish. I’m almost continually reminded of Hamlet’s infamous line in Act 3, Scene 1, albeit with a different interpretation than usual. “I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves all – believe none of us.”  Here, Hamlet refers to the torment plaguing his own mind, and how he seeks to torment others because of it, but in our own way, each of us has “more offences” at our beck – as in more things to do, places to go, desires to pursue – than we have “thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in.”  We’ve reached the point of such absurdity of abundance that supposedly intelligent people are arguing that so many choices aren’t a good thing and taking aim at the supermarket.  The Atlantic, for example, recently bemoaned “The Paradox at the Grocery Store,” claiming “What people really need is less choice, not more.”  The author, Adam Fleming Petty, describes the horrid scene in aisle number four.  “On a recent afternoon, while running errands before I had to pick up my kids from school, I froze in the orange-juice aisle of a big-box store. So many different brands lay before me: Minute Maid, Simply, Tropicana, Dole, Florida’s Natural, Sunny D—not to mention the niche organic labels. And each brand offered juices with various configurations of pulp, vitamins, and concentrate. The sheer plenitude induced a kind of paralysis: Overwhelmed by the choices on offer, I simply could not make one. I left the store without any orange juice.”

If there is any point to Mr. Petty’s lamentation, it’s counterintuitive.  There is more to do in this world than anyone can fit into a single lifetime, no matter how rich or free to travel.  One cannot take in the whole world and all its wonders, only enjoy small pieces of it and you must take care how to invest your time on pursuits that bring the most pleasure or personal satisfaction.  This, in my opinion, is undoubtedly a good thing, one which suggests any real need for an afterlife of even more pleasures and wonders is overrated.  What really drives this desire for something more is the need to believe permanence exists in a universe that is all too impermanent, where everything and everyone is here one moment but gone the next.  It’s an understandable impulse. All of us have wished for a moment that would last forever, a relationship with a loved one that never ends, or just that something would go on a little longer than it did for whatever reason.  Who among us has not wanted to stop time in its inexorable tracks to allow an experience to linger?  I would suggest, however, that this impulse is misguided, a part of human nature that represents the inherent conflict within human nature.  Generally speaking, experience is dulled by repetition. The first taste of something is unlike the second.  Even the things we savor the most change over the course of a lifetime, and almost everything in life can – through constant exposure – ultimately be taken for granted.  We marvel at the beautiful landscapes on vacation, but if we lived there, the mountains, lakes, valleys, or whatever strikes our fancy would simply become a part of the background of our everyday lives.  Call this the rock star phenomena:  Everyone wants to be one in principle, but most cannot imagine what it is like to perform a single song over and over again.  Bruce Springsteen is rapidly approaching 2,000 performances of “Born to Run.”

Humanity, in general, is a restless creature, unable to remain satisfied with anything for too long a period.  This restlessness both compels us to seek out new adventures and experiences, and simultaneously reduces most things to repetition after a while.  The human experience is at least partially defined by the tension between the two.  If we were not restless, we would not seek out pleasure.  Pleasure, at least in part, must come from satisfying that restlessness before we turn to something new.  Permanence might be tempting in principle, but in practice it is difficult to see how an eternity of anything can ever be truly fulfilling. Most of us would be bored out of our minds after a time, desperate to find something new even if we lived in eternal paradise.  There is the sense underlying all of these beliefs in an afterlife that it will be fundamentally different from this life, that this restlessness embedded deep in the human spirit is somehow removed and replaced with an inner peace of some kind.  This seems a necessary requirement to me at least, but if that is truly the case, we will no longer be human on the other side, and those things we call pleasures today, might not be so in the undiscovered country.  This doesn’t mean that undiscovered country doesn’t exist, but it does change the dynamic of the initial question.  Whether or not you believe in an afterlife, the pleasures in this life will be unique and distinct from anything which comes beyond.  Take advantage of them when you can, or as the great Ferris Bueller once said, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”