No Atheists in Foxholes”: Faith, Fear, and the Front Lines

The phrase “There are no atheists in foxholes” has echoed through generations of warriors, chaplains, and philosophers alike. Attributed to various sources, including military chaplain William T. Cummings during the harrowing days of Bataan in World War II, this saying has become a powerful expression of the spiritual awakening that often accompanies the chaos and terror of combat.

But it’s more than just a phrase—it’s a window into the profound emotional and existential experience of soldiers at war.

In the quiet before battle and in the deafening roar of gunfire, many service members have found themselves reaching for something beyond the physical. Whether praying silently in their helmets, clinging to scripture in their rucksack, or simply whispering a desperate plea into the night, faith becomes a lifeline—not just for survival, but for meaning.

Foxholes, the shallow pits dug for protection against enemy fire, became unintended sanctuaries of the soul. For those huddled inside, the proximity to death often stripped away pretense and pride, leaving only raw humanity and a yearning for hope. Soldiers who may have never stepped foot in a church found themselves asking questions that centuries of theologians have struggled to answer: Why am I here? Will I make it out? What comes after?

To be clear, not every soldier finds God in the trenches, and not every foxhole converts a soul. But the phrase captures a universal truth: in the darkest, most dangerous corners of human existence, people often search for something greater than themselves—be it God, fate, brotherhood, or purpose.

Across generations and across wars—from the trenches of France to the jungles of Vietnam, from the deserts of Iraq to the mountains of Afghanistan—this sentiment endures. Chaplains still walk among the ranks, offering prayers and comfort. Dog tags still sometimes include a religious preference. And field services—whether held in bombed-out churches, mess tents, or simply around a makeshift altar of ammo crates—continue to offer a moment of peace amid chaos.

“No atheists in foxholes” isn’t a theological argument—it’s a human one. It speaks to our vulnerability, our need for connection, and our yearning to believe that when the bullets fly and the earth shakes, we are not entirely alone.

In the end, the phrase doesn’t diminish the courage of the unbeliever. Rather, it honors the emotional reality that in war, every soldier—believer or not—must grapple with fear, mortality, and the weight of what it means to survive. 

And sometimes, in a muddy hole under fire, a soldier’s whispered prayer becomes louder than the war itself.