Spiritual resources offer a unique dimension of healing and empowerment that addresses not just the immediate symptoms of crisis, but the underlying human need for purpose, connection, and transcendence. These resources have sustained countless generations through their darkest hours and continue to serve as beacons of light for those seeking restoration and renewal. Understanding and accessing these spiritual tools can make the difference between merely surviving a crisis and finding profound transformation through it.

The Foundation of Prayer and Meditation

Prayer and meditation stand as perhaps the most fundamental spiritual resources available to humanity during times of crisis. These practices create a sacred space where individuals can step away from the chaos of external circumstances and connect with a deeper source of peace and wisdom. Prayer, whether offered individually or in community, provides a direct channel for expressing fears, gratitude, hopes, and requests for guidance to a higher power.

The act of prayer transforms our relationship with crisis by shifting our perspective from one of helplessness to one of active spiritual engagement. When we pray, we acknowledge that there are forces greater than ourselves at work in the world, and we open ourselves to receiving divine guidance and comfort. This practice has been documented across cultures and religions as a powerful tool for reducing anxiety, increasing resilience, and fostering a sense of purpose even in the most challenging circumstances.

Meditation complements prayer by teaching us to quiet the mind and find stillness amidst the storm. Through regular meditation practice, individuals develop the ability to observe their thoughts and emotions without being overwhelmed by them. This skill becomes invaluable during times of crisis when fear and uncertainty can easily dominate our mental landscape. Meditation helps us access our inner wisdom, maintain emotional equilibrium, and respond to challenges from a place of centered awareness rather than reactive panic.

Sacred Texts and Ancient Wisdom

Sacred texts from various spiritual traditions offer timeless wisdom that speaks directly to the human experience of suffering and redemption. The Bible, Quran, Torah, Bhagavad Gita, and countless other spiritual writings contain stories, teachings, and principles that have guided humanity through millennia of challenges. These texts serve as repositories of collective wisdom, offering perspectives on pain, loss, hope, and transformation that transcend cultural and temporal boundaries.

Reading and studying sacred texts during times of crisis provides multiple layers of spiritual nourishment. First, these writings remind us that we are not alone in our struggles; countless others have faced similar challenges and found ways to overcome them. Second, they offer practical guidance for navigating difficult circumstances with integrity, compassion, and faith. Third, they connect us to a larger narrative of human experience that gives meaning to our individual suffering.

The stories of biblical figures like Job, who maintained his faith despite tremendous loss, or the teachings of Jesus about finding strength in weakness, provide powerful examples of how to approach crisis with spiritual maturity. Similarly, the Psalms offer a raw and honest expression of human emotion that validates our deepest fears while pointing toward hope and divine intervention. These texts become companions in our journey, offering comfort, challenge, and clarity when we need them most.

The Power of Community and Fellowship

Spiritual community represents one of the most powerful resources available during times of crisis. When individuals come together in faith, worship, and mutual support, they create a network of care that extends far beyond what any single person could provide alone. Churches, synagogues, mosques, temples, and other spiritual communities serve as sanctuaries where people can find both practical assistance and emotional support.

The importance of fellowship during crisis cannot be overstated. Being surrounded by others who share similar values and beliefs creates a sense of belonging and purpose that helps individuals maintain hope even when circumstances seem overwhelming. Spiritual communities offer opportunities for collective prayer, shared meals, financial assistance, and emotional support that address both the material and spiritual needs of those in crisis.

Moreover, serving others within a spiritual community provides a pathway out of self-focused anxiety and into purposeful action. When we shift our attention from our own problems to the needs of others, we often discover that our own burdens become more manageable. This principle of service as a spiritual practice has been recognized across religious traditions as a powerful tool for healing and transformation.

Nature as a Source of Spiritual Renewal

The natural world offers profound spiritual resources that are freely available to all humanity. Throughout history, people have found solace, inspiration, and divine connection through their relationship with nature. Mountains, oceans, forests, and even simple gardens provide spaces where individuals can experience the presence of the sacred and gain perspective on their troubles.

Nature teaches us about cycles of death and rebirth, the power of patience and endurance, and the interconnectedness of all life. These lessons become particularly relevant during times of crisis when we may feel disconnected from our purpose or overwhelmed by circumstances beyond our control. Spending time in natural settings can reduce stress, improve mental clarity, and restore our sense of wonder and gratitude.

The practice of nature-based spirituality can be as simple as taking walks in local parks, tending to plants, or sitting quietly outdoors while observing the sky. These activities help us remember that we are part of something larger than ourselves and that the same creative force that sustains the natural world is also at work in our own lives, even during the most difficult seasons.

Acts of Service and Compassion

Finally, engaging in acts of service and compassion serves as both a spiritual practice and a powerful resource for healing during times of crisis. When we reach out to help others who are suffering, we tap into the fundamental spiritual principle that giving and receiving are interconnected. Service transforms our relationship with our own pain by providing channels for expressing love and care that transcend our personal circumstances.

Compassionate action takes many forms, from volunteering at local charities and visiting the sick to simply offering a listening ear to someone in need. These acts of kindness create ripple effects that extend far beyond their immediate impact, contributing to a web of care and support that strengthens entire communities. Through service, we discover that our own struggles can become sources of empathy and wisdom that enable us to help others navigate similar challenges.

The spiritual dimension of service lies in its capacity to connect us with our highest values and deepest sense of purpose. When we act from a place of compassion, we align ourselves with the divine qualities of love, mercy, and justice. This alignment provides a sense of meaning and direction that helps us transcend the limitations of our circumstances and find hope even in the darkest times.

These five spiritual resources work together to create a comprehensive framework for navigating crisis with faith, resilience, and purpose. By cultivating these practices and drawing upon these sources of strength, individuals and communities can not only survive difficult times but emerge from them with deeper wisdom, stronger relationships, and a more profound sense of their connection to the sacred dimensions of existence.

Photo Credit

Image by vined mind from Pixabay

Guest Author Bio
Dilawaiz Yousafi

Dilawaiz is a skilled digital marketer specializing in SEO, social media, and content strategies. Passionate about helping businesses grow online, Dilawaiz shares actionable tips to empower entrepreneurs and boost digital success.

Mount Mazama (Crater Lake)

My sleep patterns are generally pretty normal, but every so often I have a night when I absolutely can’t get to sleep. I lie awake ruminating over all manner of seemingly unconnected things, and if I do finally get to sleep, I have vivid, unsettling dreams. There is no obvious connection to a lunar cycle. An occasional sleepless night has never been enough of a problem for me to seek medical attention. Actually, these sleepless episodes are spurs to genuine creativity which counterbalances the physiological downside. Oddly enough, at these times coffee is helpful in calming down and getting to sleep, although usually it has the opposite and expected effect.

I normally get together with a group of recovering substance abusers at 7am, and there are other people in the group who have a similar pattern which seems to be synchronized – that is, if one of us mentions he or she couldn’t sleep a wink, several other people will report a similar experience. This is a group of people who generally avoid psychoactive drugs and use behavioral methods to deal with uncomfortable feelings, or have learned to live with them, as I have learned to live with lying awake at 2am obsessing over the War of 1812 and its possible relevance to the cryptogamic flora of the Galapagos Islands.

In May of 1980 I had a period of weeks of disturbed sleep and increasingly surrealistic thought processes which culminated in a total breakdown that coincided with the eruption of Mt. St. Helens. Since the surrealistic thought processes featured the correlation between catastrophic volcanic eruptions and religious prophecy, the two have remained indelibly correlated in my mind, so that when I am having an episode of sleeplessness and heightened creativity, I will say jokingly, “Mount St. Helens is about to erupt again,” or, since the Cascade volcanoes are quiet at the moment, “It must be the Cascadia subduction fault.”

Both volcanic eruptions and earthquakes give off sound waves, inaudible to the human ear but detectable to many animals somewhat in advance of the catastrophe. It’s one source of the changes in animal behavior that indigenous people in seismically active regions use as advance warning. Geologists using sensitive electronic equipment can pick up ultrasound signals that give enough advance warning of earthquakes to shut down electrical systems and get people into the safest part of buildings, and infrasound that gives hours or even days warning of an explosive volcanic eruption.

There is plenty of anecdotal and some better-documented information that people are also sensitive to sound waves generated by plate tectonic events, experiencing a feeling of restlessness or creepiness. Children are reputed to be more sensitive than adults. Some people seem to be innately more sensitive than others, and psychoactive drugs blunt the effect.

I live in a part of the world that is subject both to frequent low-level plate tectonic events and occasional catastrophic events. I seem to be able to hear earthquakes coming. Being near a volcano like South Sister, where the USGS is showing magma intrusion, gives me the creeps. When a sensitive friend can’t sleep, I suggest that Axial Seamount may be the cause. I think our disquiet is not insanity, but a detector we can’t block signaling an environmental hazard that is no longer the threat it once was.

Or is it? We are reasonably well prepared in the Pacific Northwest for magnitude 6 earthquakes and eruptions on the scale of Mt. St. Helens. The Tohoku earthquake in Japan showed how devastating a major subduction earthquake can be in the most seismically prepared industrialized nation on earth. The Indian Ocean tsunami of 2004 exposed vulnerabilities in technological early warning systems while revealing that a traditional culture in the Andaman Islands had some way of anticipating a grave peril which had not occurred for several generations and taking appropriate action.

There are at least two cataclysmic plate tectonic events threatening major population centers to which scientists assign a high probability in the next fifty years: failure of the Cascadia subduction fault along its entire length and a massive undersea eruption like Krakatoa only much larger on Ioto (Iwo Jima). It is doubtful whether Western Civilization presently has the memes and institutions in place to survive either.

What if a prophet is, in essence, a person who is able to hear and interpret the complex signals generated by massive geologic events years in advance of the actual event, and is seized with the overwhelming urge to warn people to take appropriate action – to stockpile food in advance of a volcanic winter or to move the infrastructure and key buildings of cities away from low lying coastal areas vulnerable to tsunamis, for example?

The adaptive advantage to having such a trait in a population subject to infrequent natural catastrophes is obvious. It is also evident that the message of the prophet is likely to suggest behavior contrary to what is working best in the immediate environment, particularly for the dominant social class, and that there will consequently be great resistance to change more or less proportional to wealth and social standing. This makes prophecy a dangerous occupation, maladaptive for individuals though necessary in the long run for the persistence of civilization.

The above analysis works whether one envisions the driving force as the laws of nature or some supernatural entity, but I fear, as a person who has seen purely scientific prophecy co-opted and bowdlerized beyond recognition, that belief in a God of some sort is necessary for the process to be effective in human cultural evolution, even in (or especially in) the perilous 21st century.

Image Credit

No title. National Park Service, Crater Lake National Park Museum and Archive Collection.

Peter’s Dispute with Simon Magus

Many years ago I rashly volunteered to teach a 7th-8th grade Sunday school class at a rural and somewhat fundamentalist church, and, on my first Sunday on the job, was tasked with teaching the first three chapters of Second Samuel, which includes one of three accounts of the future King David presenting 200 Philistine foreskins as the bride price for Saul’s daughter Michal. Fortunately none of the kids had read their Bibles beforehand, so I did not feel compelled to explain the passage. I have since used it in arguments with Christian fundamentalists as an example of a Biblical passage whose relevance to spirituality and salvation is tenuous at best, one that no modern preacher would touch with a ten foot pole.

Perhaps I spoke to soon. Recently, reading a letter of Peter Damian (1007-1072), Benedictine monk, church reformer, and canonized saint, I encountered a commentary on the episode of the Philistine foreskins as an illustration of simony, and it seemed relevant not only to ecclesiastical appointments in the 11th century, but to the process of appointment and advancement in the sciences in American universities. If that seems like to wild a leap of speculation, consider at least that for many people in the West science has become the new religion, and that there are distinct parallels between a medieval bishop, supposed advocate for the spiritual well-being of the masses and defender of ecclesiastical purity, and a modern tenured professor or department head, who becomes the gatekeeper determining who is allowed to pursue a scientific career, what are legitimate objects of scientific inquiry, and what results are disseminated under the imprime of a prestigious peer-reviewed journal.

Simony is defined as the sale of ecclesiastical offices. The term refers to Simon Magus, a first -century figure who fell afoul of Saints Peter and Paul when he attempted to purchase the gift of the Holy Spirit. His downfall is frequently depicted in medieval art. In Damian’s day, the task of appointing bishops fell to secular noblemen, some of whom were quite corrupt and lacked any motivation to further the physical or spiritual well-being of the people they governed. Paying large sums of money and/or serving the lord’s corrupt ends became the only avenue for entry into the higher echelons of the church hierarchy.
Damian used the example of the Philistine foreskins to illustrate the principle by which continued service to a corrupt lord is actually worse, spiritually, than a straight cash payment. In the case of the cash payment, the aspirant could have gotten the wealth by honest means, and once he had bought the office, he was a relatively independent man. The man who had obtained his position by enabling the interests of a corrupt Lord, on the other hand, earned the office through malfeasance and was expected to continue toeing the line. David’s motives for marrying Michal (influence, inclusion in the royal succession) were not inherently bad, but he used his military prowess in the service of a king who had, in the words of scripture, “abandoned God.”

Until well into the nineteenth century, becoming a scientist was pretty much a career objective limited to men of independent means. Academic positions did not pay very well. The purer the science, the less likely it was to produce a saleable product in a reasonable time frame. Although the cost of tuition was not necessarily high, the cost of withdrawing from the labor force for the time required to get an advanced degree discouraged people of modest means. On the plus side, many scientific disciplines did not require a huge amount of capital on an ongoing basis, so independent researchers had a better chance of succeeding.

At present, in the United States at least, entry into a scientific career is in theory open to anyone with the ability and the drive to invest a huge amount of labor into a path that offers no guarantee of success for the laborer. The work that graduate teaching and research fellows, postdoctoral fellows, and people on the lowest rungs of the faculty ladder expend goes disproportionately towards enhancing the power, prestige and wealth of a small number of people at the top. The person on the bottom labors to increase knowledge and to make discoveries that benefit humanity, and hopes someday to gain enough autonomy to realize that vision. That’s how science is supposed to work. That’s how most people seem to assume science works.

Both academic science departments and government laboratories have become heavily dependent upon government grants for their continued existence. The ability to bring in money has become the main criterion for hiring into tenure-track positions and promotion in academic ranks. The granting agencies are under strong pressure from corporate interests to favor lines of inquiry that strengthen the corporate bottom line, and, conversely, to suppress anything that calls into question a lucrative paradigm. The dependence upon grant funding also favors costly, technology-intensive branches of science over more traditional method of observation.

A result of the very long unpaid or inadequately paid period of apprenticeship, during which survival is dependent on adhering closely to programs established at the higher levels of the hierarchy, is training in avoiding independent thought, especially avoiding noticing when the results of research are not serving the general public. It would be remarkable indeed if any great proportion of people who succeeded in such a system, upon finally achieving a position of relative security, miraculously recovered the idealism they were forced to shelve two decades previously.

I was three years into a PhD program in ecology at Cornell University when I dodged the request to teach seventh graders about Philistine foreskins, and I was still excited about the prospect of finding solutions to pressing dilemmas through observation of the natural world. More than forty years later, I can still get excited, at least momentarily, by a fleeting glimpse of synergy between that experience and the writings of an eleventh-century theologian who is currently under an even deeper shadow in academia than his contemporaries, because of his attacks on sodomy. I have given up all hope that it is anything but an armchair exercise.

Image Credit

“Peter’s conflict with Simon Magus,” by Avanzino Nucci, 1620. Public domain.

When I first saw the news on the morning of June 12, 2016, it registered first as yet another sad example of gun violence in our society.  The tragic events at Virginia Tech where 32 were killed, Sandy Hook Elementary where 27 were killed, shootings in Fort Hood, Texas and Binghamton, New York that each claimed 13 lives are examples from the last decade that illustrate the swift and permanent impact of gun violence in our modern world. People did these things.  Individuals whose motives are as shrouded in mystery as they are diverse.  We are left to speculate from the wreckage they leave behind.

Oh my god…

As the morning of June 12th went on, I felt unsettled but also unable to focus on what had happened in the Pulse nightclub in Orlando.  I knew the basics as reported by the news media.  Nearly 100 people had been killed or injured at a popular gathering spot for the gay community by a man who had taken the time to phone the media and declare his allegiance to Islamic extremists before opening fire on unsuspecting and defenseless people.  The initial reports suggested that it was perhaps the shooter’s religious faith that motivated his actions.

Although I have abandoned any belief in a god at this point in my life, I was raised as a Christian and I must admit to being largely ignorant of the beliefs and religious tenets of the Islamic faith. In the days following the shooting, I tried to better understand what would motivate a young Muslim man to do something like this.  I listened to Muslims and Muslim clerics on YouTube, I read more about the Islamic beliefs regarding homosexuality, and I tried to understand how those beliefs could translate into violence.  With more than 1.5 billion Muslims in the world, I would expect far more acts like these if these beliefs were central to the Islamic faith.  Apparently, much like my experience with Christianity, much is open to interpretation.  The acts of one individual do not necessarily represent the beliefs of other Muslims.

I said in the beginning this piece that I am not just a “straight, white man” and I think it is unfair to stop any description of the Orlando shooter at “a young, Muslim man.”  His religious beliefs may have played a significant role in this tragedy.  But devout Muslims and Muslim leaders around the world were swift and emphatic in their condemnation of the shooting.  While this young man may be associated with Islam, Islam did not in any institutional sense publicly praise or endorse his acts.  In fact, I read with astonishment reports of Christian leaders praising the shooting. To me it seems that this was one man acting on his personal beliefs, not on behalf of any ideology.

Carefully chosen targets

The fact that this tragedy occurred in a nightclub popular with the gay community hit me particularly hard.  I have been fortunate to call many gay and lesbian people “friend” over the years. Many of the people I dearly love have a same-sex orientation and it is through those relationships that I have come to understand the many challenges that gay and lesbian people face on a day to day basis in our society.  I have watched for the last 40 years, sometimes in anger and sometimes in joy, as our society has adapted and become more accepting of those with same-sex orientation. And so the fact that such violence was done to individuals who have more than their share of adversity was particularly upsetting for me.

I am grateful that we live in a culture that allows people of similar interests to gather freely.  Whether it is a gay nightclub or retail store for those who enjoy hunting and fishing, our society is supposed to provide for peaceful and safe places for people to gather.  The fact that this one gunman could enter that nightclub armed as he was is deeply troubling.  Not only could one of my gay or lesbian loved ones have been in that club, I could have been in there with them.  I have been invited to go out with gay friends before and they have always been accepting of me as a “straight.” This was not just an assault on the gay community, it was an assault on gathering places of all kinds.  In a very real sense, it made me feel that none of us are as safe as we might think.

The Orlando shooter may have targeted a gay nightclub for his own reasons but this is not just a “gay issue” for me.  I don’t feel separate from the gay people in my life.  My life is intertwined with theirs.  Where they go, I go.  Their interests are my interests on many levels.  How can I not feel a sense of being targeted when those I love are targeted by hate?  I think we have come too far as a society to try to separate ourselves now.  This was not just an attack on the gay community; it was an attack on us all.

Gunpoint

Guns make me profoundly uncomfortable.  I have never owned one and on the very few occasions where I have had the opportunity to fire one recreationally, the immense power of these weapons terrified me.  Once the trigger is pulled, there is no taking it back.  We are at a point in our culture where the availability of guns is just a reality.  They are simply there.  Whenever I am out in public, I have to be aware that there may be one or more guns being carried by any of the people around me and that, at any time for their own reasons, one of those people could choose to use that gun.  But would more strict gun control laws have prevented the Orlando shooting?  I don’t think so.  It’s more complicated than that.

Technology moves forward with our human evolution.  Guns are just another technology.  In my view, it is not the technology that is the problem so much as it is the application of that technology that we should be concerning ourselves with.  Gun rights activists often make the argument that “guns don’t kill people, people kill people” and I agree with that sentiment.  Unfortunately, guns do make it remarkably easy and efficient to kill people.  Much like other technologies, guns seem to get better at their job as time goes on.  But I don’t see the value in blaming the tool instead of how it it used.  Why are people shooting people?  It’s a big question but it is much closer to the center of the problem, I think, than just taking the guns away.

I wish it were simple

Over the past couple of weeks, I have seen a lot of discussion about the Orlando shooting.  There has been endless finger-pointing – “It is the Muslims.”  “It is the Gays.”  “It is the Gun advocates.”  “The FBI messed up.”  “The police should have done something.”  “Where were his parents.” and more.  It isn’t just one of those things and yet it is all of those things.  It’s hard to process for me.

I am an atheist.  As such, I don’t believe in a life for me beyond this one.  This life is what I have and I have to make the best of it that I can.  I treasure the people that share this life with me; the black, brown, gay, straight, nerds, rednecks – all of them.  It terrifies me that any one of them could be taken from me in an instant because someone chooses to treat them as a label instead of a human being with a life and loved ones.

Perhaps most terrifying of all is that it could be me.  After all, I am among the “godless ones” that some find abhorrent.  Omar Mateen, the Orlando shooter, had his reasons for killing and maiming the people he did.  Who is to say that someone else might not find a reason to do the same to me.  Or you.  It is just so mind-bogglingly big and complicated that it’s hard to come to terms with.  But I don’t think that excuses any of us from making the effort.  If we don’t think about these things and try to find solutions, it never gets better.  And I think it has to get better.  For all of our sakes.  I don’t think we can afford to let it be “someone else’s problem” any longer.

I suppose it could come from the fact that the term “Atheism” is often used in conversations.  The addition of that “-ism” to the end of a word tends to identify something as an ideology – Catholicism, Fundamentalism, Islamism, Buddhism, etc.  So it is possible that it is through this unfortunate terminology that people have come to misunderstand what identifying as an “atheist” means, at least at it’s most basic definition.  

Sans Deities  

The word “atheist” comes from the Ancient Greek word atheos which means without gods or godless.  It is a simple statement of disbelief in a god or gods.  Unlike many other “-isms”, it does not bring with it any other doctrinal requirements. There is no creed.  There is no standard set of beliefs that all atheists accept.  That makes being an atheist in today’s society all that much more complicated.  

But it should be simple.  My understanding of atheism, being an atheist, is a simple thing – I am not convinced, as of right now, of the existence of any supernatural being I would acknowledge as a “god.”  Interestingly, many people prefer to use the term “agnostic.”  Agnostic derives from the Greek agnostos meaning “that which is unknown or unknowable.”  Which raises a subtle and interesting question.    

If an atheist is not yet convinced of the existence of a god and an agnostic believes that the existence of a god is unknown or unknowable with any certainty at this point in time, are they not the same thing?  Well, to my way of thinking, yes.  They are the same thing.  The atheist who remains open to possible new evidence in the future is indistinguishable from the agnostic who openly admits that they do not know whether or not a god exists.  It is the difference between answering the question “Do you believe in god?” with a “not yet” versus a “maybe.”  It is a subtle difference that may mean something to others, but doesn’t seem all that different to me.  

Different ways to be godless   

People come to their lack of belief in a god in different ways.  The path that any of us take to reach our beliefs and conclusions in this life is always informed by many experiences and ideas that we encounter along the way.  So it can be tricky to simply state that I am someone who does not believe in gods.  It seems that there are always assumptions from other encounters with those who do not believe in gods.  There are many reasons people do not believe in gods.  

Just as there are those who are fervent in their belief in a god, there are those who are similarly committed to their unbelief.  It seems no amount of evidence will ever convince them of the existence of a god.  I would call them “anti-theist”; convinced that a god could not possibly exist.  Others have come out of a religious past and may have anger or animosity toward their former faith.  They are “anti-religion” for personal reasons.  Still others view the role that religions have played in societies as overwhelmingly harmful and hold “anti-religious” beliefs for philosophical reasons.  There are many reasons that people decide not to believe in gods.  

The bottom line is that identifying as an “atheist” does not tell you a lot about me or what I believe.  It does tell you one thing that I do not believe.  Perhaps this is why many atheists bristle when they are treated as if they have a “faith” or a religion.  When someone identifies as a Christian, you can make a fair number of assumptions about how they approach life and relating to others.  The same is not true of atheists.  They can be as different from one another as they are from a Buddhist or Muslim.  Sharing a disbelief in gods is the same as sharing a love of banana bread.  It’s just one facet of who I am.  

It’s not like a club  

I have heard it said that thinking of “atheism” as a religion or ideology is like thinking of “abstinence” as a sexual position.  That someone does NOT do a thing isn’t the same as describing how they would do it!  There is tremendous diversity among atheists.  There are liberals and conservatives, rich and poor, people from all walks of life.  

No, I don’t believe in The Devil.  But not because I am an atheist.  I don’t believe in Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy either.  There are a lot of things I believe in and many that I do not believe in.  The fact that I don’t believe in a god makes me an atheist.  And that is all that being an atheist should tell you about me.  I don’t think people who believe in a god are wrong.  I don’t believe that religion is necessarily bad for society or that people shouldn’t attend the church, temple, or mosque of their choice.  

I have heard a lot of things said about atheists.  That we are not moral.  That we do not respect the beliefs of others.  That we seek to bring down the religions of the world.  And many more outrageous claims.  I live a life without gods but I am none of those things.  There is no set of beliefs that comes along with my atheism.  If you wish to know what I do or do not believe in, we can have a conversation and you can ask me.  But unlike a Christian or Hindu, the simple label of “atheist” cannot tell you anything about me.  It only tells you that I do not believe in a god.  

If you talk with an atheist, you might be surprised what you might learn.  You will almost surely learn that many of us have different views on a diverse set of subjects.  More importantly, you might learn that many of the things you have heard about atheists are just not true.  We are people first; human beings just like you.  

Photo credits
 Magenta Dusk- Francis Vallance 2015 from Flickr

Such was my salvation. In the weeks that followed, members of the group would quietly talk with me. I was told that questions were perilous. They were concerned that a lack of “faith” would endanger my relationship with “God” and that my immortal soul would be in jeopardy. I learned that it was a part of Christian teachings to try to “save” those who could be saved. Just as I had been saved. To try to bring all people “into the fold” in order to spare their souls from torment in the afterlife. It was a Christian’s duty to “spread the good news” and salvation to any and all who would hear.

In the end, it may have been that aggressive approach to selling the Christian idea of salvation and rewards in an afterlife with their “God” that put me off religion for good. I had been raised by parents and an educational system that encouraged me to understand things, to ask questions if need be to understand clearly. But I was being told that if I wanted to continue to enjoy the benefits of that Christian community, I had to set my questions aside and accept what they told me without questions. That just didn’t sit well with me.

I moved on from Christianity. But I found that this marketing of ideas was not unique to that faith. The 1970s were a time for many nontraditional beliefs to find a place in Western Culture. From various Eastern religions and philosophies like Taoism and Buddhism to more radical and obscure ideas like Spiritualism or belief in various meditation methods or other fringe philosophies, it seemed like there were many groups trying to attract followers to their particular path to “enlightenment.” They all claimed to have the answer. It seemed to me that many different groups were concerned with my salvation.

What’s good for the goose…

Fast forward many years and here I am, a non-believer. An important part of my life is a reasoned search for truth and meaning. So far, I have found nothing that has convinced me of the existence of any supernatural force I would call “god.” I’m still open to new evidence so that may change tomorrow but that’s where I am today. Remarkably, having arrived at this view of life and living, I feel no desire or need to convince others of what I believe. It just isn’t a priority for me. I don’t need to “save” others from thinking differently than I do.

But apparently that isn’t true of everyone who has abandoned a belief in “gods.” There are those among the unbelievers who feel the need to market their beliefs to others. The Internet provides a forum for quite a number of very vocal and eloquent atheists and nonbelievers who seem intent on “saving” the religious from what they see as the error of their ways. To spread their non-belief. Whether it be blogs, videos, or discussions on social media, there are plenty of places online trying to convince people who believe in gods that they are wrong. I suppose you could call it salvation of a different sort.

As an atheist myself, I understand the desire to help others come to a rational and well reasoned view of life and the world. I think the difficulty for me is that conversations about such things are very personal. Because these beliefs are so personal, any attempts to challenge these fundamental beliefs would be something of an intrusion. I have always been taught that it is rude to talk about very personal things without being invited first. But for some reason, religious or philosophical questions do not seem to have the same social restrictions as, say, discussions about money or sex. People seem just as comfortable telling you how your god is the wrong one as they are to try to convert you to their particular faith. And I don’t know if that is a good thing.

Dangerous thoughts

There are atheists who feel that it is dangerous to allow the religious to believe in the gods. They fear that their use of faith to accept the teachings of their religion will compromise their ability to think and reason in our everyday world. While there may be something to that, I’m not sure I’m comfortable restricting how and what people should be allowed to think and believe. Religion and gods have been a part of human society since our very beginnings. They have played a role in our development just as science and reason have. To deny the benefits humanity has enjoyed from religion seems as myopic as focusing only on the tragedies religion has caused in human history. Babies and bathwater.

Personally, I’m a great believer in the principle of Occam’s Razor – that given that all things are equal, the simplest explanation of something tends to be the correct one. Occam’s Razor requires me to continually question and get new information. I cannot just sit back on my existing stockpile of information and make my decisions from there. I have to continue to question whether there might be a different answer, a simpler answer out there. Sometimes that means talking through what I think I know and sometimes that means listening to what others have to say. Even if I don’t agree or understand it.

In the end, I don’t think salvation will come from thoughts or beliefs but from actions. Our human history is stained with the blood of countless conflicts over nothing more than ideas. The only life of which I am certain is this one. For me, salvation begins and ends here. My opportunity is to save others from pain or suffering. To lend a hand where I can and show compassion knowing that each day is a new turn of the card. The small act of kindness I show today may be the thing I need tomorrow for my own life.

Whether or not there are divine forces and gods, it is within my power to improve the lives around me. If someone is hungry, I can give them food. If they are hurting, I can try to ease their pain. It doesn’t matter to me which god they pray to or what they may believe. They are fellow travelers on this world. If we do not have each other, does the epistemology matter? Knowing is important. Believing is important. But the doing is what I think will save us.

Photo credits
Starry Horizon – Karl Lindsay 2013 from Flickr

When Dorothy peered behind the curtain in The Wizard of Oz her world fell apart. All that she hoped for, all her dreams, all her plans dissolved in the sudden awareness that no great and powerful being could save her, could rescue her from the suffering of loss or satisfy the cravings that beset her, and her companions.

I know just how she must have felt. More and more I’ve sensed the smoke and mirrors of this illusory life as they shift and shatter all around me. Possessions I once thought I couldn’t live without have lost their pulse of beguile. The dull ache of lust for all the pretty things and beings of the world has faded. Ambition has leaked away through the cracks in the veneer of my livelihood. I’ve come to question my countless views, each insipid thought as it arises, seeing more and more how dukkha, dissatisfaction, permeates every corner of our human existence. I’ve also seen how much peace can enfold me through my practice and how I long for that peace to be my way of life.

At times it seems as if I am watching an absurd Felliniesque world in which we all are playing our prescribed parts with addictive accuracy. Addiction to anger, hatred, fear and greed. Tantalized by the temporary, crossing a desert of quicksand on our relentless quest for an imaginary mirage and never considering the possibility of another way. Yet it is in the seeing of the absurd, of questioning the assembly line of the mundane that another way can be found, can be awakened. Disenchantment with the worldly is the potion for our ailings. The spell can be broken.

Last week disenchantment asked a kind and rather pointed question of me: what are you waiting for? The answer was as clear as a summer sky.

Poet David Whyte in his book Consolations: The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words writes that “Longing is divine discontent, the unendurable present finding a physical doorway to awe and discovery…making us willing to give up our perfect house, our paid for home and our accumulated belongings.” The answer inside of me was that divine discontent opening the doorway to my heart.

At the end of August I will retire from the working world, give up my perfect apartment, nearly all my belongings, and will go to live among the trees at Birken Forest Monastery to be of service in the role of steward.

This time, this place, this practice is where my longing lies now. And Dorothy, there’s no need to look any further. You are always home.

Photo Credit

Forest of Light by Petri Damsten via Flickr Creative Commons. Some rights reserved.

Opening quote excerpt from Sweet Darkness by David Whyte from The House of Belonging © 1996 Many Rivers Press

I was raised by grandparents. They were people who were born and raised in the early 20th century. They had lived through the hardships of the Great Depression and World War II. They raised me during the tumultuous 1960’s with all of the hope and despair and promise that the decade brought with it. And even though they were both “Christian” in the sense that Jesus Christ was at the core of their respective faiths, they differed in how devoutly they followed those beliefs. In spite of their different views and adherence to their church doctrines, they taught me what they believed was the best way to conduct myself in society.

Their advice was remarkably simple: don’t lie, don’t steal, don’t be unkind or mean to people, be wary of strangers but help them if they truly need help, and other common sense suggestions. Work hard, be loyal, be fair, and be appreciative. Occasionally there would be some words about “God” being happier if I did these things or that there would be some price to pay in the “next life” if I didn’t try to stick to their suggestions But by and large, the advice was always practical and ignoring it would likely mean I would come to regret it in THIS life.

Objective Morality

I recently read a blog post by Matt Slick on the Christian Apologetics & Research Ministry website entitled “The Failure of Atheism to Account for Morality.” In it, the author suggests that because the atheist does not appeal to some divine, supernatural authority (in this case the Christian “God”), they cannot have “true” morals. Slick’s main point seems to be that, while atheists may be morally “good” people, it is only a coincidence that their behaviour happens to be consistent with what “God” wants. This, according to the author, is insufficient. Atheists, he claims, are free to assign whatever moral judgement they choose to things like lying, cheating, and causing others harm. By contrast, he suggests that “believers” have the benefit of “God’s” unchanging and objective morality set down in a holy book as a guide.

Remarkably, this same article allows that “atheism offers a subjective moral system that is based on human experience, human conditions, and human reason.” The sentence struck me because it sounded remarkably like my upbringing. It’s how my grandparents frequently talked to me. They told me of their experiences, their lives, and how the morality they were suggesting helped them along in this world. It shouldn’t surprise anyone that I was shocked that the next sentence suggested that such a way of approaching morality is “dangerous” and “can lead to anarchy.”

Dog is god spelled backwards

This article is not the only example I’ve run into where people have suggested that without the authority of “god”, there can be no valid sense of morality. It has been suggested to me more than once that “right” and “wrong” cannot be determined without the guidance of a deity. I guess it was just luck that people who raised me had advice that seems to coincide with a lot of what most people think is “right” and “wrong.” Or was it? Secular philosophy and religion have grappled with the questions of morality for centuries. And it was always done in the context of our human experience and it may be that experience that provides the common thread when it comes to morality.

I’m a dog lover and I have spent the last dozen or so years studying modern training techniques based on psychology and behavioural science. It’s remarkable to me that the notion of an externally imposed morality such as that suggested by Matt Slick’s article looks very much like the “because I said so” approach to dog training that was so prevalent in the 1960’s and 70’s. Much of what I’ve learned to do in training my dogs is to show them how cooperation and certain behaviours will benefit them in both the short and long run. It’s a comfortable format for me because, after all, it is how my grandparents taught me about “right” and “wrong”!

For me, it is compassion and a desire for community that informs my moral choices rather than a desire to adhere to the rules passed on to me by some authority.  I am a human in a society of humans.  My first responsibility may be to myself but my very survival depends on the others around me.  I have a responsibility for them as well.  It is easier for me to understand that I can do kindness or harm to the people around me than to an all powerful god.  My moral choices are for the humans I share my life with and not for some check list in a book.  I don’t think that life is a test to pass or fail but a journey to share with others like myself.  Moral choices make that journey more satisfying for me and those I meet along the way.

Relatively moral

Some might call this a relativistic approach to morality. That what is “right” or “wrong” is dependent on the society and culture I live in. And I think that is essentially correct. As I was taught, it is “wrong” to steal from others because I would not want others to steal from me. Similarly I shouldn’t cheat because I don’t want others to cheat on me or lie because I don’t want others to lie to me. And suddenly this all sounds very much like the “Golden Rule” as it appears in the Christian Bible in the gospel of Matthew 7:12 – “do unto others what you would have them do to you.” Interestingly, “God” is not mentioned in that verse. There is no “because God says so” clause in there.

I was taught that the most important thing in this life was to keep the machinery of society running smoothly. Nearly every moral lesson passed on to me in my childhood has helped me in my life to do just that. The moral choices I have made have provided me with good relationships, a way to interact with others on a daily basis, and a way to get along in the world. Somehow that upbringing also taught me how to make new moral judgements without the need to consult a rule book for each and every new situation. Apparently I was taught how to “do the right thing” even in situations I haven’t encountered before.

It troubles me that someone might feel that, as someone who doesn’t believe in gods, I would not have a sense of “right” and “wrong.” That all of the rules of civilized society would seem arbitrary or optional to me. That without the threat of some divine retribution or the promise of some divine favour I would immediately fall into criminal or anti-social behaviour. And then there would be question of WHICH god and WHICH set of rules are the most truly moral. Given the wars and conflicts throughout human history, it seems to be a question that doesn’t have a universally accepted answer yet.

Martin Luther King, himself a Christian minister, once said that he had a dream that his children would be “judged by the content of their character.” Like Dr. King, I prefer that all people be judged for who they are and not by the labels that society places on them. I live a life without gods but I do not often refer to myself as an atheist. Too often “atheist” and “amoral” are confused. Too often “godless” is taken to mean “dangerous” or “evil” and that is just wrong. The Golden Rule – “Do unto others…” provides us a good way to measure the content of someone’s character. How a person treats others in society means more to me than which god they may believe in or what church or mosque they may attend.

In my view, a life without gods is decidedly NOT a life without moral choices.

Photo credits
Moral choices – Clayton Parker 2006 from Flickr

So much of my childhood, being raised as a Catholic, was about learning and trying to obey God’s laws. There were commandments and parables and a lengthy list of “do’s” and “don’t’s” in order to live a good life. Ultimately it was about securing my place in “the next life.” The meaning of this life was to make my place in Heaven with God or in Hell with the others who had not heeded the recommended ways of living.

Humorist A. Whitney Brown once suggested that living for a reward in the afterlife was like going to the movies and keeping your eyes closed the entire time in the hopes of getting your money back at the end. An amusing analogy to be sure but remarkably descriptive of my Catholic upbringing. But what if existence has a firm “no refunds” policy?

Many people in a variety of religious traditions derive meaning by living according to some set of rules or prescribed behaviours. To be sure, civilized societies must have agreed upon codes of conduct; a set of laws to govern interaction. Historically, many of those laws have their roots in religious tradition. Breaking these divine laws could jeopardize one’s immortal soul; the ultimate punishment.

For the Hindu it is being reincarnated into a lower form. For the Muslim, it is being denied the reward of the soul being at peace until the Last Day when Allah will raise the dead to be sent to Paradise or Hell when the world is destroyed. There are many variations on this theme – live a good life according to the tenets of your faith in this life and you will be rewarded in the next life.

I don’t believe in a soul. I don’t think there is a “ghost in the machine” that animates and uses this body of mine. There is nothing of me to live on once the physical body I spend my life in ceases to function. Once I die, there is nothing. And so there is the question of what gives my life meaning if not to prepare for the next life.

For me, the answer is almost too big to put into words. As I sit here writing this, there is music playing. One of my favourite composers and some of my favourite works. I am inspired. I am moved. I am filled with a quiet joy at the sounds all around me. This evening my wife and best friend of more than 30 years will make an offhand remark that will make me laugh in the way she has done consistently for decades. And my dogs, each in their own way, will spend some time with me in play or even just resting together to give me a sense of belonging. There are a thousand other examples that I could give you.

Meaning in my life is not just about what I get out of the deal. I am lucky to play music with friends. It is good to give my time and energy to help them enjoy their time while we are together. I take great joy in making my wife laugh and in listening and comforting her when she is having a bad day. I have family and friends. There is so much to do in this life and so short a time to learn to live well.

So much to know

There are days that I am astonished at what I know. I know about the “event horizon” at the edge of a Black Hole. I know what “contrary motion” is in the harmonies of a song. I know that the part of the brain called the “Hippocampus” plays a critical role in depression. I know that my wife really likes certain mystery writers. And a million other things. Some of them I went out of my way to learn and others just kind of happened. But the fact that I can know them at all seems pretty amazing to me. It is a gift that gives my life some meaning.

There is so much that I don’t know. I discovered late in life that I am a half-brother to 5 women I am still getting to know. I don’t know how to be a brother because I was raised as an only child in a different family. I have spent much of my adult life playing music in my studio for my own enjoyment and now find myself playing in a band. I don’t know how to be part of this musical group but I’m learning. I guess that my biggest challenge is that I don’t know how to be comfortable with who and what I am. They tell me that it could be a life-long project.

For me, living is learning. It is a process of moving from “not knowing” to “knowing” a great many things. That process is a big part of what gives my life meaning. I have the chance to succeed or fail in this life. As long as I’m alive, I have a chance to recover from my failures and improve upon my successes. I can be a better husband. I can be a better friend. I can be a smarter person. I can be more helpful to my community and my world.

For me, living for this life is enough. I’ve talked to others who find that idea troubling. They wonder why I would follow the rules of civilized society if there were no consequences in the afterlife. And the answer to that is simple. I respect the lives of others as I hope they will respect mine.  There are consequences in THIS life.  I find myself here, in this life, and it is a privilege I choose not to take for granted. I have found that joy and meaning in this life come not just from what I get from life but what I give as well.

This life is what gives my life meaning. I don’t need the promise of rewards or threats of punishment for eternity to give me something to live for. There is so much to experience in this life that finding a way to live well, for myself and for those I love, is all the meaning I need.

Photo credit
Still, in a Crowd – Robert Swier 2009   from Google Images

It wasn’t always this way. I was raised in a Christian household by parents who were Catholic and Eastern Orthodox. So not only was I watched over by God but, according to the doctrines that my parents subscribed to, Jesus and the Holy Spirit were also active in the world and in my life. There were a host of other supernatural beings that concerned themselves with my life as well. Angels and saints, devils and demons, prophets and heretics were here to save me or tempt me. But as I got older, I found many more plausible explanations for the things that happened to me in my life. Explanations that did not involve a god or the supernatural trappings that my parents believed.

In 1990 my grandfather died. He was the man who had raised me as his son from the time I was an infant. He was, for all intents and purposes, my “father.” Sadly he died a very painful death from cancer and it was difficult to watch him wasting away in that last year of his life. My family decided to hold his memorial service in a Catholic church and I was horrified that of the roughly 70 minutes spent in that service, only a handful of minutes acknowledged who my grandfather was and even then only in the most cursory terms. Instead we heard about the “glory of God” and an afterlife where the “good” souls would spend an eternity in peace and joy while the “bad” souls would be tortured forever.

As I sat in that service, I could not keep from thinking “How do you know this?” Where was the evidence that after death a part of us lived on to be judged and sorted into our appointed place in some heaven or hell? All the while those around me sobbed quietly believing that some part of my grandfather would go on to that idyllic afterlife. Many of them took some great comfort in the idea that, after their own death, they would see him again and share in his eternal life with their God. But I didn’t find the thought comforting at all. I found it unsettling.

Imagine no forever

I wasn’t quite myself in the year following my grandfather’s death. There was nothing specific I could have expressed to explain my feelings. I was just vaguely unsettled all of the time. It wasn’t until I happened to be watching a television interview with the actor Sir Patrick Stewart as he talked about the death of his own parents that I was able to make sense of what I was feeling. He was commenting on the difference in the emotions he felt when his first parent died as compared to when the second parent died. Stewart described that first loss as causing him to confront what he called “the impermanence of life.” The cold reality that someone dear to him was irrevocably GONE from this world and his life. That is precisely what I was feeling. For the first time in my life, I had to face the permanent loss of someone I loved dearly.

In the gathering directly after my grandfather’s memorial service, there were tears and laughter as we all coped with our loss and tried to take some comfort in each other. But every so often I would catch a bit of conversation that “we will see him again” or that “we shouldn’t be sad, he is with God” and that worried me. It could be so easy for these people to forget. I was personally feeling a sense of urgency to remember every small detail I could about the man that was my grandfather. But many of my family seemed less concerned believing that they would see him again. It seemed as if they had no need to cling to those memories. They seemed to feel there would be ample time in the afterlife to be re-acquainted and re-united. I wondered how many of them would depend on that afterlife to renew those memories and how many would, like me, work to keep them alive.

I don’t have the luxury of believing I will see my grandfather again. I am not a believer in such things. People die and they are gone forever from my life. Impermanence. And I am left to depend on my own memories and feelings to keep my grandfather alive in some fashion. It is up to me to give him as much of an “afterlife” as I can. I think of him often. He appears in my writing. He was, and continues to be, a tremendous influence in my life and who I am in the world. I wonder if that would be true if I could have just told myself I would “see him again in heaven.”

No second chances

The impermanence of life doesn’t make me uneasy. It makes me vigilant. It makes me appreciative. It helps me focus. It helps me to know that the people and things I love will only be with me for a while and that I may have to let them go. All I can be certain of is what I have here and now in this life. Some family and friends left me with the impression that their belief in a god or an afterlife took away the urgency I felt to cling to those memories. They seemed comforted by believing that would get to see the deceased again “in the next life.” I wondered how that might affect how they appreciate each other while they are here.

Life is a complicated business. My journey has led me to try to simplify and avoid unnecessary conflicts and problems. Staying focused on this life is about all I can handle. Loving the best way I know how and appreciating what I have in this life is more than enough for me to manage. In the years since my grandfather’s passing, I’m sure his family and friends have all gone on in their own ways. And I wonder how many of them have lost some part of who he was by taking comfort in the belief that they will see him again. They didn’t seem to feel the sense of finality that I did.  They didn’t seem to feel the urgency that I did to keep his memory alive. For them there would be a second chance but not for me.

I don’t believe in second chances. Not when it comes to death. Living a life without gods means that I have to put my heart and mind into the here and now. I have to do the best I can with this life. I have to make this world a better place while I am here. And I have to cherish those I love, living and dead, the best way I can.

Photo credit
Sebadeval 2010 – from Pixbay.com