Apologetics in the Lion City

“Imagine there’s no heaven,
It’s easy if you try,
No hell below us,
Above us, only sky…”

John Lennon’s Imagine has become the anthem of a secular dream: a world without religion, without heaven or hell, without transcendence. It paints a picture of peace and unity, where humanity builds meaning and morality from its own consensus. For many, this dream feels liberating.

But beneath its beauty lies a harder question: can such a vision truly sustain us? Can a world without transcendence provide the intellectual grounding, social stability, and existential hope that people need to flourish—not just today, but for generations to come?

Knowledge Without Foundations

Atheism often presents itself as the champion of reason. It leans on science and logic, rejecting anything that cannot be tested or observed. Yet this raises a deeper issue: what holds knowledge itself together?

We rely on different kinds of knowledge. Science gives us empirical knowledge—what we can see, measure, and repeat. Logic and mathematics give us rational knowledge—truths that hold regardless of experience. And then there is metaphysical knowledge—questions about meaning, morality, and ultimate reality.

Atheism tends to dismiss metaphysics as meaningless. But saying “only what can be observed or reasoned is valid” is itself a philosophical claim. It cannot be proven by science; it is an assumption. In denying metaphysics, atheism quietly relies on it.

Even science itself rests on unprovable assumptions:

• That nature is consistent, so tomorrow will resemble today.
• That reason is trustworthy, so logic can be relied upon.
• That the universe follows laws, so science can uncover them.

None of these can be proven by experiment—they are taken on faith. Atheism borrows them but offers no deeper grounding. Theism, by contrast, roots them in a transcendent order, making them coherent rather than accidental.

Think of it this way: atheism can describe the library of knowledge, but it cannot explain why the library exists or why its books are intelligible. Without transcendence, knowledge floats without anchor. It is like a skyscraper without bedrock—impressive, but always at risk of collapse.

Society Without Absolutes

Beyond knowledge, atheism must also prove itself socially viable. Can societies flourish without transcendence?

Atheism often grounds morality in empathy, social contracts, or evolutionary instincts. These are valuable, but fragile. Empathy can fade when self-interest dominates. Contracts can be broken when power shifts. Evolutionary instincts can be overridden by greed or violence. Without absolutes, morality risks becoming relative—shifting with consensus or circumstance.

History shows how quickly institutions can collapse when consensus changes or power is abused. Without a higher authority, law becomes whatever the majority decides—or whatever the strongest impose. Theism, by contrast, grounds law in something beyond human whim, giving it durability across time and culture.

Human communities thrive on shared stories and rituals. These narratives give cohesion, identity, and purpose. Atheism can create provisional narratives—humanism, progress, solidarity—but these lack permanence. When crises come, they often fracture. Without transcendence, social cohesion is fragile.

Consider justice. In a purely atheistic framework, justice is whatever society agrees it to be. But what happens when society agrees on injustice? History is full of examples—slavery, oppression, genocide—where consensus supported evil. Without absolutes, there is no higher court of appeal. Theism insists that justice is rooted in something beyond human opinion, giving oppressed people a transcendent ground to resist.

Without absolutes, society is like a ship without a compass. It may sail smoothly for a while, but when storms arrive, it drifts aimlessly.

Existence Without Assurance

The deepest test of atheism is existential. Can it sustain human flourishing in the face of death, suffering, and the hunger for meaning?

Without transcendence, death is the end. Meaning must be constructed, but constructed meaning is fragile—it dissolves when life itself dissolves. If meaning is only pragmatic, it collapses into utility, and the very idea of “meaning” loses its force.

Suffering is universal. Atheism can ease suffering through medicine, therapy, and solidarity, but it cannot redeem it. Without transcendence, suffering remains brute fact. Hope becomes optimism, not assurance—fragile in the face of mortality.

Identity, too, becomes fragile. If consciousness is only brain signals, then identity is accidental, not intentional. Without transcendence, dignity risks collapsing into illusion. Theism, by contrast, grounds identity in something enduring, giving it weight beyond mechanics.

Without transcendence, existential questions are confined to the present. When the present ends, everything ends with it. Meaning, morality, suffering, and hope dissolve into temporality. Atheism becomes writing on water—beautiful in the moment, but vanishing as soon as it is inscribed.

Think of the human longing for permanence. We build monuments, write books, raise children, and plant trees—all gestures toward continuity. But if death is the end, these gestures collapse into futility. Theism answers this longing with assurance: life has meaning beyond the grave, suffering can be redeemed, and hope can endure.

Existentially, atheism is almost untenable. It sustains provisional narratives, but it cannot secure ultimate assurance. Without God, existential positions are arches without keystones—structures that may stand for a time, but collapse under mortality and irrelevance.

The Larger Picture

Intellectually, atheism explains reality, but it cannot secure the foundations of knowledge or meaning. Socially, it sustains societies provisionally, but lacks durability. Existentially, it sustains daily life, but collapses into irrelevance when faced with death and suffering.

Thus, atheism is almost untenable when measured against the standard of long-term human flourishing with hope for the future. It can function provisionally, but it cannot provide durability. Without God, existence is accidental, meaning is fragile, morality is contingent, and hope is provisional. Theism, by contrast, offers a single transcendent ground that secures knowledge, morality, meaning, and hope.

A Final Image

Atheism is like writing poetry in the sand. The words are real, beautiful, and moving. But the tide will come, and the poetry will vanish. Without transcendence, all intellectual, social, and existential positions dissolve into irrelevance. With transcendence, the poetry is carved in stone—durable, meaningful, and enduring beyond the here and now.

Closing Reflection

The question of atheism’s tenability is not abstract—it touches the very core of human life. We all seek meaning, hope, and assurance that our lives matter beyond the moment. Atheism can provide provisional answers, but they are fragile, inward-looking, and temporary. Theism, by contrast, offers a horizon beyond mortality, a grounding for morality, and a hope that endures.

Perhaps the real challenge is not whether atheism can sustain us today, but whether it can sustain us tomorrow. If all meaning dissolves when the tide comes in, then human flourishing itself is at risk. To flourish in the long run, humanity needs more than provisional constructs—it needs transcendence.

And so Lennon’s dream, though beautiful, remains fragile. Imagine invites us to picture a world without heaven, but when tested against the demands of knowledge, society, and existence, such a world proves almost untenable. The dream dissolves like poetry in the sand, unless it is carved into stone by transcendence.