The worst moment for the atheist is when he is really thankful

Hear now the solemn words of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, painter and poet of the nineteenth century, who uttered: “The worst moment for the atheist is when he is really thankful and has nobody to thank.” In this statement lies not a mere jest, but a cry from the human spirit, which yearns always for connection beyond itself. For gratitude, that sweetest of virtues, demands an object. To be thankful without a recipient is like lifting a cup to drink and finding it empty; the thirst remains though the motion is performed. Rossetti points to the ache of the soul that senses blessing, yet cannot name the giver.

From the dawn of ages, mankind has sought the source of its thanksgiving. When the harvest was plentiful, the ancients lifted their hands to gods of rain and sun. When war was survived, they offered sacrifices to the spirits who shielded them. Even in times of silence, the human heart has needed someone to whisper to: “Thank you.” Rossetti’s words remind us that this impulse is eternal. To feel deep gratitude without a higher object is to dwell in a loneliness of the soul, to sense light yet find no sun from which it shines.

Think of the voyage of the Mayflower. After months of torment at sea, its passengers at last touched solid ground. Weakened, half-starved, they fell upon the earth in tears of thankfulness. To whom did they cry? Not merely to one another, for none among them could claim credit for the calm of the seas or the endurance of their bodies. Instead, they lifted their hearts upward, finding solace in prayer, for gratitude sought an ear greater than man’s. Here is Rossetti’s teaching made flesh: when life grants us undeserved mercy, the soul longs to thank not itself, but something beyond.

Yet Rossetti speaks also with a blade of irony. He names the plight of the atheist, not to condemn, but to reveal the inner tension of the human condition. Even the one who denies divinity may one day behold the sunrise after a storm, the hand of a friend in an hour of despair, or the birth of a child, and feel a swelling in the chest so great it demands expression. In that hour, the denial of the divine may taste bitter, for the heart feels a gift but sees no giver. This is not proof against atheism—it is the echo of the eternal question: whence comes our gratitude?

The wisdom here is that gratitude itself is a compass of the soul. It points us outward, away from the prison of self. When we are thankful, we admit that life is more than our own making. The athlete who survives an accident, the soldier who returns alive, the mother whose child recovers from sickness—all know that their triumph is not theirs alone. They may thank fate, fortune, the universe, or God, but always the heart demands a recipient. The greatest tragedy is not in suffering, but in receiving joy and having nowhere to place the overflow of thanks.

Consider Cicero, who declared gratitude to be not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others. For without it, courage becomes pride, generosity becomes vanity, wisdom becomes arrogance. Rossetti’s words align with this truth: gratitude untethered is agony, but gratitude rightly placed becomes the soil of humility and love. The one who gives thanks walks lighter, for he knows he does not walk alone.

The lesson is thus: when you feel thankful, direct it outward. If you are of faith, lift it to God. If you are not, still give thanks to the hands, the earth, the winds, the unseen forces that bore you through. Speak your gratitude aloud, for in voicing it you give life to connection. Do not let thankfulness wither in silence, for it is meant to be shared. To live without thanks is to close the door on joy, but to live in gratitude is to dwell always in abundance.

Therefore, remember Rossetti’s teaching: the true poverty of the soul is not lack of wealth, nor lack of fame, but to be thankful and find no one to thank. Guard yourself from this emptiness by cultivating the habit of giving thanks daily—to people, to life, to the divine if you believe. For in doing so, you will never know the loneliness Rossetti described, but instead will walk with a heart that overflows, a vessel never empty, always pouring, always blessed.