Three years ago, Anna Whiston-Donaldson, a mother and writer in Virginia, experienced the almost unimaginable pain of losing a child. Her son Jack drowned in a creek just up the street from the family’s home. He was only 12. Donaldson just published a memoir of her grief.

Here’s one quote:

“I play with the idea that our son’s death is not a random accident, not just the result of free will and bad judgment and freak weather, but somehow part of a larger plan. And a loving God, who holds all the pieces in his hands, can see the plan that we cannot.”

I can’t follow her there. A deity who sweeps away an innocent child, pushes him under the surface, fills his lungs with water to the point of bursting, all the while sending the worst possible searing panic through his mind and body until both expire — that‘s a “loving God”? Not to mention the possibly life-long guilt and mental torture heaped upon the parents, and the sorrow inflicted on all who knew and adored Jack… Loving?

Donaldson “plays with the idea” that Jack’s death is part of a cosmic plan, a phrase that doesn’t exactly convey certainty.

In coming to terms with the death of a child, would certainty of the divine, however false, be a good thing? Or would doubt, perhaps of the growing kind, ultimately help bereaved parents in a more meaningful, the-truth-shall-set-you-free sort of way?

I don’t have the answer.

To many, faith is a lifeline; and while God is surely imaginary, the solace that God-belief provides to billions is anything but. If it gets people through their day, their lives — and it does — do we still try to make them see that it’s based on nothing but wishful thinking?

And if (hypothetically) faith did nothing worse than provide peace to people whose hearts hurt beyond measure, would you still fight it?

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P.S. I see from the comments that I flubbed the question.

Yes, religion will always have a large share of believers who, far from quietly practicing their faith, seek to discriminate against non-believers, do violence to them, push faith-privileged laws, proselytize to them like madmen, and so on.

But what about the many who don’t? Who derive comfort from their faith while doing none of the above? They keep to themselves and believe as they believe. I have more than a few Christian friends who fall in this category. Also, I’m married to one.

So let me amend what I asked. Do we still tell those people, whose beliefs get them through their day and their life, that they’re only imagining things? Why, or why not?

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P.P.S. I thought I’d highlight this beautiful comment from MargueriteF here, lest it gets buried and overlooked in the readers’ discussion below.