[atlaw]

One consoles as one can; with love and steadfastness. The purpose of consolation is not to proclaim judgment; that’s someone else’s job. In times of grief, one gives one’s heart to another, in ways that will provide solace rather than pain — to embrace, them, help them and support them. . . . [I]in times of grief, one must be a selfless friend.

Precisely. And in what way is the atheist an exception to the rather patently secular view of friendship and consolation that you offer here?

The implication in this thread has been that the religious person (specifically the Christian) is uniquely positioned to offer solace because of a knowledge that life is not over after death -- that there exists an after life. As was said in the post immediately preceding mine --

They KNOW they will see their child again. That’s the difference.

Amen.

And the equally "know" that the atheist, apostate, heretic, and infidel will also see their child again, just not in heaven.

You yourself stated the proposition as follows --

But when it comes to having something substantive to say, something that would provide consolation — that life has meaning; that one doesn’t simply occupy space for a time and then decompose; that there are great overarching principles that give life its depth, joy, texture and purpose; and that those principles arise not from artifice or practice, but from a Creator whose central principle is love — when it comes to making these arguments and more, the atheist must remain mute. They still can and do hug and cry. But they cannot argue that life is anything other than an accident and death, the end of everything...

But your supposed, unique ability to offer solace as a function of knowing that the Creator's central principal is love and that life is not over at death carries a rather enormous caveat, doesn't it? After all, the Creator's ancillary principal is judgment, and life after death for the atheist, apostate, heretic, or infidel is not exactly something to take solace in.

Hence, I'm not surprised that you now offer as an alternative to religious consolation an entirely secular form of consolation. Best for the religious person, with his certainties about life after death, to simply keep those certainties to himself and offer consolation like -- well -- an atheist.

[Tony Snow]

We’re talking past each other, which often happens in such matters. You have personalized a simple argument, and larded it up with expressions of hurt and outrage that reflect your personal feelings — not the arguments I have advanced.

The argument in the original piece was pretty simple: If one claims that life has no meaning, one lacks the tools to console — or even to justify such things as moral rules. If you can provide the syllogism by which meaningless translates into meaning, I want to see it.

You imply that I am acting as the vengeful judge here. Wrong: The piece deals merely with the contradictory nature of atheism — its implicit acceptance of moral truths (as opposed to ethical conventions, which shift with the tastes and times), and thus its tacit embrace of the fundamental principles of natural law. There’s no attempt to berate, belittle or condemn.

Nor do I claim “unique” powers to provide solace. I merely point out that the atheist view — life is arbitrary, without inherent meaning, and ends with one’s expiry — leads one toward moral anarchy on one hand, and personal despair on the other.

To repeat: The purpose of the piece was to review a good book — I commend it to you — and outline some of the major arguments in the debates raging about whether God exists. The basic thesis was that atheism is mired in contradictions that it cannot reconcile. That’s it. No kids crackling in hell; no vengeance or judgment. You have supplied those touches.

I’m sorry religion enrages you. But it does so because you have adopted a caricature of faith — a grisly one at that — and made it into a pinata. If I thought of religion as you do, I would share your anger and disgust.

Final point: My “secular” description of consolation was less secular than you might imagine. The simple impulses to practice compassion make absolutely no sense in a world shorn of meaning, guided by mere caprice, and eventuating in a dusty casket. There would be no reason to feel empathy, sympathy or love. But we do, whether we consider ourselves believers or not. And the pertinent question to ask once we grant to one another our shared humanity is: Why do all generations of mankind share the same basic precepts, same feelings of compassion, the same altruism — especially toward the young — despite wild changes in the natures of societies themselves. Governments have evolved radically over the last two milennia. Basic moral precepts have not. And the overwhelming question — the one that led me, at least, back to faith is: Why?