Atheism for Artists: Practical Gains

            Thoughts after reading Chapter 3 of The Artist's Way.  Part three of twelve on creativity.



            Perhaps I should preface what I am about to say with the following:  I am weird about "belief."  I seem to have no difficulty "believing" in a god, and the next moment happily conceding that the universe is entirely physical.  I've been studying a lot of philosophical literature lately, and was stunned to discover that, while I identify strongly as a Christian, I don't really consider myself a theist.
            I'm not sure why.  It could be argued my mind is good at "holding opposites in tension with one another," or something equally grandiose.  Also, I love all things French.  Or I might just be indecisive.  But so as to avoid leaving the impression that I am arguing for a denial of the existence of a god, let me be clear:  I choose my beliefs, in the sense that I choose the best metaphors.  In other words, I don't buy that we all look at all the evidence, weigh it up even-handedly, and experience what we call "being convinced."  I clearly remember the moment I became convinced of evolution (as opposed to the seven-day creationism I was raised with).  I chose to switch allegiances because I liked the consequences of evolution.  The consequences I saw at the time were that it meant humans were part of the system.  Not something special that could step outside of the system and manipulate it.  Since then I have also become aware of some of the more chilling consequences of the theory of evolution — Richard Dawkins describes them with cozy brutality in the first few minutes of a Radiolab podcast.  But my point is, I like to toy with beliefs in my head and see what they do for me in certain circumstances.
            In Chapter 3 of the Artist's Way, Cameron asserts that we are more frightened that god exists than that he or she or it does not exist.  According to her, the majority of humans still "believe in God," (factually true, based on polls), or believe in a god, or however you want to put it.  I don't know why we continue as we do, and I don't argue that we should change or continue or whatever.  But what I remember of being an atheist was primarily this:  a profound sense of responsibility.  If there is no god, then I can't pray for something and wait for it to happen.  If there is no god, and my life sucks, I have to take ownership of that.  I may not be responsible for all the sucking — certainly a child is not responsible for being born into an abusive or dysfunctional home — but there's no one to turn to to fix it or blame it on.
            I get that Cameron is trying to encourage nascent artists.  I get that she's trying to give us all reason to hope.  And I want to encourage nascent artists, and to have reason to hope, too.  But my vision of being an artist is quite different from what she says in this chapter in particular, and I actually like experimenting with the idea of no god in heaven in order to get me to stop asking for things and start doing things.
            I want to be clear on this point, because I know some people who are artists still fighting their way out of the shell, and make no mistake:  fighting their way out of the shell kills a good number of animals before they even get into the world.  It's difficult and nasty and sticky.  But that's the good news!  It's hard.  It's not just hard for you because you're not talented or lazy or don't have a supportive enough partner.  It's hard work, for a million reasons.  You'll make ugly art.  You'll write meaningless stories (though they sounded meaningful in your head).  You'll embarrass yourself over and over again.  You'll spend money you can't afford to spend on classes that lead to dead ends and materials you'll feel are wasted.  And yes, there will be critics.  Some of them will say helpful things.  Some will attack you personally.  But while you might find it helpful to comfort yourself with God or gods or a Universal Spirit after the initial agony, my suggestion is this:  now take God out of the picture.  Pretend there is no one to help you.  Now what do you do?
            Seriously, what do you do?  Allow me to make a suggestion, taking the negative critic as an example.  If you're dealing with a critic that you think can handle him- or herself in a fight, you knock them down.  Then they'll knock you down.  Hit them again.  Proceed thusly.  After awhile the fight will end.  After several months of physical therapy and suicidal despair, you will make the best thing you have ever made in your life (unless you have kids, in which case, sorry; they're the best thing you'll ever make).  Congratulations.  Now you're an artist.
            To repeat:  this is good news.  The good news is that Cameron is totally and completely wrong when she says "Art requires a safe hatchery."  You may need to fortify the hatchery.  You may very well need to kick some people out of the hatchery.  But whatever hatchery you're in, you can be a creative person because you are a creative person because human beings are fucking creative.  It's what we do.  Those of us without kids might have more energy to pour pour into sculpture or food or poetry or even a job that might appear humdrum on the surface.  But we've all got it.  If God working through you is a concept that gets the work done for you, then go for it.  But please, for somebody's sake, don't wait for a safe hatchery; it will never, ever come.