They realized that belief of whatever sort-whether it was the faith in History and the State, as in the shattered halls of communism, or faith in a particular theology-at least made it possible to get through the day. And if one felt better in the belief that one's life made sense in these terms, then what was wrong with that? Was it weakness to allow oneself the pleasure of thinking that one in some way? And did this engagement not result, on balance, in greater human happiness? No, said the atheists, it did not. And yet where, William wondered, were the great works of those who believed in nothing at all? We to believe, he thought, whether it was in some power beyond us, or in love, or art, or beauty. The need to believe was always there, and it would find expression, even if it attached itself to something paltry and shallow such as celebrity culture. And for many millions that was where their spiritual energy went-into a fascination with fashion and the lives of narcissistic entertainers. Viewed in this light, he considered magazine was a religious tract, a work of theology.