The Life and Times of an Atheist

Being an atheist is definitely not a barrel of laughs. It can be distressing sometimes, and highly frustrating. I’m going to engage in a little bit of therapy, and try to deal with my “atheist issues” by writing about them. Bearing in mind that there are probably others in the world who might feel the same way I do, I’m going to publish my thoughts. Hopefully, they will prove helpful to a few people. If not, I’ll settle for entertaining! Please come along with me on this journey. I have no idea where it will go. I may be ranting about bigotry one day, moaning about politicians or celebrities the next. It won’t all be negative. I would like to dispel the notion, often spread by the religious, that we atheists are a miserable lot. It’s simply not true. I’m as cheery as you can get (well, usually!)

I hope I won’t offend anyone. That is most definitely not the intention. If you are offended, then before you have a go at me please take a deep breath and make sure you’re not just being a snowflake. (Is that offensive? It’s a tricky thing to avoid sometimes!)

As a starter, I’d like to talk about one of the most disconcerting things I have to face being an atheist, which is the fact that one day I will no longer exist. Not in body, not in mind, and certainly not in “spirit”. Scientists might correct me on that, pointing out that my atoms will continue to exist and will go on to form part of countless other items, some living, some not. Perhaps some will even find themselves deep within the bodies of stars, which, I am told, is probably where they came from in the first place. That’s an awe-inspiring thought, but I’m not talking here about my individual atoms. I’m talking about my atoms all bundled up together in the (hopefully reasonable looking) package I call ME.

As a middle-aged man, thankfully still in good health at the time of writing but aware that this could change at any time, I am becoming more and more conscious of my own mortality. One day I will be dead. Nothing I can do about it. And the bit that bugs me the most? I won’t be around to see how the human story pans out. Will we ever meet lifeforms from other planets? Will they come to us, or will we develop the science of interstellar travel to the point that we are able to seek them out? Will we settle on other planets, in time for us (or some of us) to escape the inevitable fate of the Earth to one day be destroyed by its own, expanding sun? Will we even get close to this outcome, or will we destroy ourselves first through the wars that we continue to wage against each other? Perhaps the Earth itself will get rid of us one day. A natural disaster may be the cause of the end. In whichever way it all eventually concludes, I can’t help but feel it’s a shame that I won’t be around to see it. It feels like when I’ve watched a few seasons of a particularly good TV show, which is then canceled having left a cliff-hanger of an ending in the last episode. That really annoys me! There should be a law against it. Sadly, I have to accept and learn to live in peace with the fact that I won’t get to see the conclusion of the greatest show of all.

Any religious folk reading this would wonder what on earth I’m going on about. To them, death is only the end of the earthly existence, and I will continue to exist as a thinking, rational being that will be able to continue watching the human story unfold. Perhaps not in my current form, as I may have been reincarnated millions of times by then. Or maybe I’ll have spent my afterlife in a peaceful and stress-free paradise, from where I can sit and watch as the great soap opera develops. From my personal perspective, these alternatives are all just wishful thinking. This puts a bit of pressure on me (or perhaps it’s more accurate to say I put pressure on myself) because I’m aware that there is a limited amount of time available to achieve all the things I would like to achieve. Plus, it means that I can’t take risks as far as my relationships with loved ones are concerned. I don’t believe that I will spend eternity with my family in heaven (or hell, for that matter!). This means that I have to constantly ensure that my family knows how important they are to me because I won’t get a chance to say it after one of us is dead. When I hear bereaved family members utter sentences such as “we’ll meet again in heaven” and “he’s in a better place” at funerals, I can’t help but feel that it’s a great shame, because I don’t believe it’s going to happen. There’s no reliable evidence to suggest that an afterlife exists, so it’s not a risk I’m willing to take. What we DO know is that we are here right now and so we have to make the most of this opportunity while it lasts.

I think that will do for my first therapy session. I hope this resonated with some of you because I would love to know that I’m not alone!

Till next time!