You may find this entry uninteresting. You will definitely find it long.
This week in this neck of the blogosphere, everybody's talking about their gods.
Anyone who knows me at all will already know that I do not believe in good or evil spirits, karma, divine intervention, or other comforting ideas. Some people (though nobody I know personally) would form judgments about my moral integrity based purely on the facts in the previous sentence. But in reality, these statements imply precisely nothing about my personal ethics. For the record, I believe in absolute personal responsibility, in upholding a high standard of behaviour towards others, and in the potential for every human being to be an instrument of change for the better; and although I may sometimes act in contrast to them (I'm broken, after all), these beliefs are held no less deeply than those of a person of faith (sometimes perhaps even more deeply, since I've never heard of anyone suffering a 'crisis of ethics').
But I didn't start writing this response to argue about religion, because aside from being a futile act, it would mean ignoring the interesting part of the conversation. Both x3ja and MaW talked about experiencing intense, deeply emotional events that they attribute to their respective gods. MaW even implied that atheists might not be biologically susceptible to this kind of experience.
So, in an attempt to find some common ground, here's my contribution to the discussion.
The Lake District, sometime in/around 2000. A coachload of rowdy Rambling Society students has made the journey from Nottingham to a youth hostel in Borrowdale. Running late, we arrive in the car park around midnight, and for reasons best known to the committee we're kept on the bus while someone wanders a quarter mile down the lane, in the dark, to meet the warden.
It's been a long journey, but our exhaustion is cancelled out by the excitement of reaching our destination, the expectation of seeing what the youth hostel is like, and our impatience at being made to wait, so the bus is a scene of lively activity and animated conversation. Finally, after the best part of a half hour, we're told we can grab our rucksacks from the luggage rack and make our way up to the hostel. Laughing and joking, people file out of the door of the bus one at a time... and look up, and fall silent.
The night sky, invisible from within the well-lit coach, is a dense, uninterrupted canvas of stars.
Later, when the rucksacks are in the dormitories and people are getting ready to sleep, I go out alone into the garden of the hostel -- one or two people are already out there doing the same thing -- and try to take it all in.
Never before or since have I seen anything like it. No matter what part of the sky I look to, it is filled with stars that nobody would ever hope to see in a city. No trace of cloud obstructs the tapestry of light. The Milky Way is clearly, unmistakably visible. I think about the distances and sizes of these objects, but the universe exists at such a scale that a human mind can only perceive the merest hint of a clue of a trace of its formidable immensity.
Right then, as I looked up at infinity, I realised that all of my problems -- past, present, and future -- were utterly, painfully insignificant next to the staggering awe and vastness and beauty of the universe. I was overwhelmed by indescribable sensations. After it was over, a feeling of good fortune stayed with me for days. I felt very lucky that I was in the right place at the right time to see what I saw, and that millions of years of evolution had provided me with the faculty to appreciate it at many simultaneous levels.
So I think I understand what x3ja and MaW mean when they talk about spiritual experiences, because the words they use match my memories somewhat. Yes, I'd call mine spiritual ("concerned with or affecting the spirit or soul"), because I have no better word for it at present. I have no gods to ascribe the event to, and although I see great value in trying to make personal connections to nature or the universe, I can't go as far as to anthropomorphise them. For me, my experience originated wholly from within, but it was catalysed by the contemplation of the cosmos.
Well, that was long and rambly, not to mention that it's taken me the best part of three hours to write, so I definitely ought to stop. I wrote this to try to provide a different viewpoint. I'm not entirely sure how successful I'll be or how much value it'll add to the debate.
But if you have never been moved by the contemplation of a starscape on a clear night, then you really are missing out on a profound experience.
"The cosmos is all that is, or ever was, or ever will be. Our contemplations of the cosmos stir us. There is a tingling in the spine, a catch in the voice, a faint sensation, as if a distant memory, of falling from a great height. We know we are approaching the grandest of mysteries." -- Carl Sagan
Didn't get chance to work that quote into the piece. Maybe that's a good thing, because it would expose me as a worthless hack, Sagan having said in 55 words something that took me hundreds (no, I'm not counting them).
What an interesting topic. One that hits fairly close to home, because I grew up beneath the stars.
While the village I come from was not out in the country anywhere, it was small by many standards, and it was on the coast, with not so much beyond the horizon except perhaps Antarctica, if you went far enough.
One could see a fair number of stars and of particular note were two constellations, one to the north, above the mountain whos base we lived at, and the other to the south, above the bay and ocean beyond.
The light from the northern constellation, Orion, one I am sure most everyone is familiar with, often silhouetted the dark mountain peak. The constellation above the ocean was the Southern Cross, something near impossible to see if you live north of the equator.
After I had finished high school, every day I would take the train up to College and then later University. I would often leave before sunup, and return after dark. That 1/2 mile walk to and from the station was always very pleasant for me, as I felt the stars were my companion on that journey, that they were keeping me safe.
Further, my bedroom for much of my life was at the back of the house, and my bed was situated beneath a windowsill. As I lay in bed each night I could look up and there right above me would be the southern cross. I literally slept beneath it every night. That may explain to some who know me why that particular symbol means so much to me.
Sometime in my early to mid teen years on earth was a period of about 9 months when both Venus and Mars were visible to the naked eye. Along with the moon they formed a triumvirate that I could see every night. It was not unusual for me to lie back on the front or back lawn just looking up at the sky.
But even so, it was nothing like being out in the country. Some 9 years and a bit ago I had the occasion to spend three months living in Tulsa, Oklahoma. We would visit the parents of my housemate fairly often and they lived a small way out in the country.
The view of the night sky was much as that seen at the hostel described above. There were millions upon millions of stars. It was overwhelming. I could see the milky way quite clearly, but making out individual constellations was impossible. It was awestriking.
We each see what we want to in nature and the universe around ourselves. I see God in the stars. I feel comforted and safe when I focus my mind on just 'looking' at them. As has been said, this is not about relgion, but I do want to say that I totally get it. I know what you mean.