I was eating at a diner with my college roommate and several of our friends when the conversation turned to the things of religion. With opinions ringing out on all sides of the subject, the unfortunate, cliché argument for atheism soon arose: “My mom died when I was little. My dad is an alcoholic. I’m failing out of college. I just lost my job. I don’t believe in God. If he really exists, why does he let all this bad stuff happen to me?” This argument, although it is one we have all heard, says absolutely nothing. It is the quintessential cry of the malcontent, but it is not an argument of genuine atheism. My roommate summed it up with his quick response: “You’re not an atheist! You’re a pissed-off altar boy!”

One of the charges most frequently—and admittedly, as seen above, sometimes appropriately—leveled against atheism is that atheists probably really do believe in God; they are just so angry with their own lives that they feel they must reject their very creator in much the same manner that an angst-ridden teenager will seek to rebel against his father, screaming “I hate you!” as he storms out of the room and slams the door behind him. This hatred of God represents a primal scream of oedipal rage. This is not an atheist; this is a Christian who is severely troubled by, and cannot accept, his lot in life. This is the equivalent of snatching up your toys and storming home when you don’t like the way the game is being played.

Now, this is not to say that there is no rational basis in questioning the motives of a creator that is supposedly omniscient, omnipotent, and compassionate. I remember seeing a sign in a skate shop that indicated the available service qualities: good, fast, and cheap. The catch was that only two of the three could be chosen—if it was good and fast, it wouldn’t be cheap. If it was cheap and fast, it wouldn’t be good, et cetera. Likewise, the Epicurean concept of God says that he cannot possibly be omniscient, omnipotent, and compassionate. If he is omniscient and omnipotent, he sees the tragedy in the world and has the power to change it if he so desired; thus, he would have to lack compassion. If he is omniscient and compassionate, he sees the tragedy in the world and would love to alleviate it; thus, he would have to lack the ability. If he is omnipotent and compassionate, he possesses the power to alleviate suffering and would love to do so if he were aware of it; thus, he would have to be blind to its existence.[1]

If someone creates a super-intelligent robot that greatly benefits mankind, he is lauded for his wonderful contribution to society. If, however, the robot malfunctions and ends up killing or even maiming numerous people in the process, the creator is held fully accountable in the ensuing legal maelstrom. Logically, it would seem that if there were a creator for the universe, then he should, likewise, be held accountable for his creation. Just as God is often praised for a beautiful day or a gentle rain, should God not also be credited with the tragedies that befall the world?[2]

Whether you believe in God, karma, or simply a random and meaningless universe, there seems to be no rhyme or reason to when our fortune seeks us out. Good fortune befalls people as they commit malevolent acts and vice versa. The Christian takes solace in the belief that due compensation will arrive in the hereafter. The Buddhist believes that karma is collecting debts acquired from past misdeeds, whether in this life or a previous one; accordingly, the actions of this life will determine the remainder of this life as well as those yet to come. The atheist, on the other hand, believes that life simply happens—sometimes for better and sometimes for worse. There is no sense in lamenting over our circumstances—life will be what it will be. This is not pessimism, though, since essentially life is what you make of it. Each person has the right to be as miserable as he so chooses, but likewise, contentment it is also a choice.

Faux Atheism and the Fear of Lightning

Oddly, it seems to be a common theme in Christian communities that there is a certain sense of pride in the ability to say, “I used to be an atheist.”[3] I suppose this emanates from the delight someone receives in concept of “I once was blind but now I see.” Often these are actually people who were raised in Christianity and at some point, usually in the angst of the teenage years, began to question the religious beliefs that had been imposed upon them since birth. This can be a result of the analytical nature that comes with the development of the teenage mind or simply as an act of rebellion against parents, authority, and society. As time passes and hormones balance, they may return to their religion, but in the meantime they are not so much atheists as they are wayward Christians.

The comment I’ve always loved came from a friend who said, “I’m an atheist.” and then looking up with nervousness that seemed to be in anticipation of a lightning strike, added, “Wait, I probably shouldn’t say that just in case there is a God.” This was someone who, although he fully exemplified the prodigal son, still held his belief in God in the back of his mind. (Sure enough, he went back to Christianity about a year later.)

The problem lies in the mindset behind this questioning. Why does God stay hidden? Why doesn’t he reveal himself and clear up all the disputes regarding him, all the bloodshed in his name, and all the perversions of his message? Why does he allow evil? Why does he let bad things happen to good people? These are valid questions in the understanding of theology, but many people, in asking them, are not seeking actual answers so much as imagined comfort. Indeed, even Christians have acknowledged this issue:

[W]e have selective listening and learning when it comes to God’s Word. We memorize Psalm 23 because of its promise that we “shall not want,” while we ignore Psalm 22 and its fist-against-the-ground-you-never-hear-me-when-I-pray complaints. Both are written by David, and, for crying out loud, they’re side by side. We want to believe in the God who always leads us to still waters and never in the God who seems to have forsaken us… We have only been following a genie, a doting godfather in the sky who whimsically dispenses goodies to some of His kids while ignoring others for no rhyme or reason.[4]

The question of why God would allow suffering can only be sufficiently answered through atheism. The most honest answer a Christian can give is simply to shrug his shoulders and say he doesn’t know, that God has His reasoning which is beyond the understanding of mere man. Yet, this is really only a non-answer—a cop-out.

Instead, these questions should provide an opportunity to reassess what your god means to you. I had a friend who was raised Christian and later converted to Odinism after his wife and children died in a car accident. This tragic event caused him to reevaluate his entire belief system, and he found that it was no longer compatible with the teachings of the Bible. He didn’t altogether reject and deny any god in a fit of anger and blame, but instead, he accepted that there was another belief system that he felt better applied to him and his life. He is still devout in his worship; he just has a different understanding of what his god is.

For the sake of argument, however, let’s look at some of the answers Christians give to these questions:

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