Vincent Van Gogh - On the Threshold of Eternity

I remember nothing of the beginning. I only have hearsay accounts that I was naught but a passive observer of my world. I relied solely on my genetic predisposition from countless generations of human evolution in order to make assessments of my immediate surroundings. After a bit of time had gone by, and I had gleaned as much information as I could without the benefit of asking questions, I began to open my mouth and start talking. I analyzed the data from years of observation and hands-on research and asked myself, “How did we get here?

I was seven years old when I started asking myself this question. Note that the emphasis is on the word ‘here’ and not on the word ‘get’. Out of the infinite possibilities that could have happened during the development of human civilization, we somehow wound up with this one. A significant part of me felt cheated, as though I had been forced into a world whose rules I did not and could not consent to in advance. I was just a child, and yet I had already succumbed to the depression brought on by contemplating myself and my place in this world.

Our world is such an absurd place with arbitrary rules which were enacted and enforced by individuals and institutions long before even my greatest of great-grandparents were just a statistical probability in the reproductive organs of their ancestors. I grew angry with the power structures set in place by my culture, and I grew despondent at how unwilling and incapable I seemed to be at fitting in to these existing structures. Shape up. Sit still. Pay attention. Stop it. Behave. Don’t touch that. Follow the rules. Gradually, through trial and error, I began to figure out these rules, though I still don’t like them. Following the rules always brings me back to the question of “How did we get here?”, and another question, “Why these rules?”. Though I was still only in elementary school, I was asking myself if there was some purpose to life, and I also began contemplating suicide. I hadn’t even reached double-digit age yet and I was contemplating suicide. Depression indeed. I was vulnerable and longing for answers, and potentially susceptible to the allure of easy answers from religion.

For someone like me who strives to understand the world in a lofty philosophical kind of way, it might make sense that religion would be alluring to some degree, particularly if there is a solid existential philosophy behind it. Life would be so much more bearable if I simply believed in a god or in an afterlife, and relied on that faith to keep my mind from falling down the hole of existential psychosis. It would be so simple to dupe myself into a false sense of security that there is some objective meaning to life, and that there will be a release from suffering accompanied by everlasting bliss. I could be angry at a god for making me the way I am, suffering from crippling depression, or made queer in a world that hates queer folk, then forgive that same god for cursing me with such afflictions because the long-term benefits of eternal tranquility would outweigh the short-term tribulations of a mere human lifetime.

Albrecht Durer - Melancholia

I live inside my thoughts most of the time. I’m slow to process information because I ruminate over things for a great deal of time before I come to a decision. I have always been this way. Consequently, I simply could not trick myself into believing such an easy answer even if it might lead to alleviating my depression concerning my place in the cosmos. It would be like putting a band-aid on a severed limb, or sticking my head in the sand to hide from the world. It is not a viable philosophy because it does not address how I can deal with my problems in the here and now. So I look for solutions elsewhere by turning to science.

Through science I have learned that depression is a chemical imbalance in the brain that can be treated via a number of different methods ranging from dietary to nutritional to pharmaceutical. And knowing that my depression is a result of biology, and not some vengeful deity that enjoys watching me suffer, gives me a greater sense of autonomy and command over my situation. I am not a puppet put on Earth for the personal amusement of some petulant god. I am the result of thousands of years of human civilization, millions of years of evolution, and billions of years of cosmic evolution. There is beauty and splendor in the cosmos that I likely would have ignored or dismissed had I followed a religious path. The atoms that make up my body come from the universe itself, the debris of long-dead stars. These same atoms will still be present long after my body has died and rotted away. For me, knowing the past and future of the constituent material making up my body is far superior to any speculation of reincarnation or an afterlife.

I still experience depression, but I use the one tool I have at my disposal to combat it: a rational mind. Proper nutrition and exercise certainly help though. I choose to not take anti-depressants because I’m not convinced of their efficacy, but regardless of how I treat it, it’s important to articulate that depression is not a pathology of atheism. Being an atheist does not lead to a life of depression and hopelessness. While there is likely no objective meaning to life, the universe, and everything (aside from perhaps an arbitrary number), I have created meaning for myself through my love of history and of science, by my knowledge and understanding of the workings of our universe, and also because of my own big question nagging at the nape of my neck since my childhood, “How did we get here?”. That question forced me to learn about my world, to look past snake oil salesmen with their easy solutions, and to decide for myself what would see me through.