on the meaning of it all

Years ago, it became clear to me that almost everything I'd ever been told, or thought, about God was untrue (the two straws that broke the camel's back were the re-election of George Bush, and the behavior of people who say they believe in God; the link goes to only one of the most egregious of the religious evil, but any reader knows that there are many others in every denomination). Life just became easier to explain and understand when I became an atheist. I'm not a Dawkins-Hitchens-Myers militant atheist; if you believe in God, OK, but

1. you can keep your beliefs to yourself; I've tried them and found them wanting, and
   
2. if you're going to talk to me about your beliefs (and I'd rather you wouldn't), you're going to have to defend them with more than the usual philosophical arguments.

As a result of that, I gave up on praying, opting instead to do specific, tangible good where I could for people, and for causes in which I believe. I also gave up on meditating, gave up hope of spiritual experiences, and gave up attending Quaker meeting (at the time I became a Quaker, I started saying that I had given up on organized religion, and had attached myself to a disorganized one. Nobody ever laughs at this except me). For years, I said that, on reflection, I'd never had a spiritual experience; all of my experiences seemed to be physical, mental, emotional, or some combination of these.

On reflection, though, twice since embracing atheism, I've had experiences I can't explain. The first was an experience I had a few years ago of gratitude for my life. In view of the fact that I did not believe there was anyone to be grateful to, this experience seemed incongruous, but it was also not deniable. The second was an experience that I can't adequately describe, of things being "right-size"; that there were proper places for things, that at least some of the right things were in those places, and it was part of the responsibility of people individually, and of humanity generally, to maintain these places and to put things right that were not. This experience was also neither deniable nor easily explained away.

So, after some struggle and reflection, I went back to Quaker meeting today (with some trepidation; some of the messages we get in meeting are just too "twee" not to raise one's sugar to near-diabetic levels). First, the Quakes were hugely welcoming (not a surprise; it's one of the things of which they are proud, and justly so). And second, the messages today, while biblical, did not contradict my experience enough to make me feel like I'd made a mistake by going. (And the careful and knowledgeable reader will spot several biblical references in my own writing already in this post!)

I expect I'll go back. I don't expect I'll be as regular as I was, nor as active in the meeting; nonetheless, I don't have another place to go to bring these occasional, but apparently real, experiences.

A couple of other things: while it's true that there is a huge amount of evil in religion, it's also undeniable that there's a huge amount of good: hospitals, homeless outreach, and services to the world's poor are only three of the actions that come to mind that people perform in the name of their religions. I remember hearing an article on the radio having to do with the shorter average lifespan of men in this country than women, and the thought was that men inhabit more of the extremes - more men do life-threatening things than women, more men go to war, more men become homeless, and so on. I think religion inhabits the extremes of society, capable both of great good and great evil. We need to decide, as a society, whether the good religion does is worth the evil it costs.

Second, I'm reading Al Gini's On the Importance of Being Lazy, and in it he writes about the Sabbath:

Sabbath is not about the rules, per se. It is about wonder, joy, and delight. It is about the "sanctity of time," the "architecture of time..." It is about marveling at the complexity and mystery of reality. It is an interlude from the tyranny of the commonplace.

It seems to me that those qualities are a beginning of a description of what might be spiritual. Even as an atheist, these qualities speak to me.