Day 4: In the Valley is where you will find the Poet

"Because I have been accustomed with every other object to distinguish between existence and essence, it is natural for me to believe that the existence of God can be separated from the essence of God, and that thus God may be conceived as not actually existing." Decartes

I got excited when I read that part... that sounded like something I discovered in AFL last year... that "God" doesn't exist, but like Love... "God" is that which brings everything into existence.  That was one of my favourite takeaways from last year's AFL.  And then I read on...

"But, nevertheless, when I think of it more attentively, it appears that the existence of God can no more be separated from the essence of God than the idea of a mountain can be separated from the idea of a valley, or the equality of its three angles to two right angles, can be separated from the essence of a [rectilineal] triangle. It is as impossible to conceive of God, that is, a supremely perfect being, as lacking a certain perfection, as it is to conceive a mountain without a valley." Decartes

Decartes lost me during his math lecture.  I'm a poet, not a mathematician.  I can't look at the idea of "the Absolute" through the lens of a triangle.  So that part didn't impress me at all.  

But the mountain and valley analogy... that one will stay with me for more than just the argument of the existence or non-existence of what most call "God".  (That's right, Tom... most, not all.)

I posed the following inquiry on the AFL group chat:

When one has to decide or argue ... Does God exist or does God not exist. Does that not already come with presupposed baggage? What kind of God are they talking about. The answer to that question can go in any direction depending on their conclusions about the God that exists or doesn’t exist.  And does not that baggage change with every one that’s arguing? 

I already put forward in Day 2 why "God" doesn't work for me as a descriptor.  And arguing isn't why I'm taking Atheism for Lent.  It is about discovery for me.  I'm a poet.  I'm not a theologian, I'm not a scientist, I'm not a mathematician, I'm not a lot of things.  But the artistic, poetic part of me wants to delve in to the dark with the all of them, but maybe bringing to the table a different perspective.  I value those voices... the ones that come with their own unique voice and offer something profound at a table filled with theologians, scientists and mathematicians.  

I don't get that tired from the material of AFL, but I get tired and overwhelmed at some of the banter on the social media platforms.  I realize that when sitting at this table, I am with heads more intensely invested in this than I am.  When I started dabbling in philosophy, I wasn't really prepared for what looked more like my high school biology lab.  I wanted to be in for the discovery of thought, not the dissecting of the frogs.  I understand there is a place for all that... I just feel overwhelmed listening to it.  I find myself wanting to go back to my poetry and find something in my own language I can understand.  

Decartes mentioned that without valleys, you have no mountains.  I imagine that the mountains are the theologians and scientists... up in the heights trying to outdo each other.  But the Poet is the valley.  The one trying to find meaning, but choosing to look in the dark places, the low places, and content when not seen or heard.  Where Decartes says... What are mountains without valleys? ... I say... what are theologians and scientists without poets?  

Richard Rohr has been an amazing voice in the last years for me.  I did a google search for Richard Rohr and Poetry and found the following on a blog post from 2015 entitled "Richard Rohr on Religion and Poetry".  I found a nugget in one of the paragraphs, but read the article and figured I needed to share the whole thing.  I bolded the paragraph that stuck out for me.  

The Apostle Paul stood on Mars Hill in Greece and rebuked his listeners for what they called “the unknown God.” He could explain God to them, as I feel like I could do myself as well, and of course we assume we are correct based on dramatic demonstrations of divine law. So in that spirit I take issue here with the semantics of the word “Mystery”, but I share this quote anyway because I wholeheartedly agree that we need to do much more with metaphor:

“Robert Frost wrote that great poetry ‘begins as a lump in the throat . . . a homesickness, a lovesickness.’ Poetry stirs something you can’t explain. When it comes, you just know that it is given out of nowhere. That’s when you experience radical grace. Poets try to find the perfect word to name the inner experience. The goal of great poetry is to get right to the heart of the experience so that it resonates with your own inner knowing and you can say, ‘Yes! That is true!’

Before 500 BCE, religion and poetry were largely the same thing. People did not presume to be able to define the Mystery. They looked for words that could describe the mystery. Poetry doesn’t claim to be a perfect description as dogma foolishly does. It’s a ‘hint half guessed,’ to use T. S. Eliot’s phrase. That’s why poetry seduces you and entices you into being a searcher for the Mystery yourself. It creates the heart leap, the gasp of breath, inspiring you to go further and deeper; you want to fill in the blanks for yourself.

Poetry does this by speaking in metaphors. All religious language is metaphor by necessity. It’s always pointing toward this Mystery that you don’t know until you have experienced it. Without the experience, the metaphors largely remain empty. I think this has led to the ineffectiveness of much organized religion. The metaphors religions use are usually true, but we too often defend the words instead of seeking the experience itself. Merton once said that when you hear Jesus say that you must ‘eat my flesh and drink my blood’ you are supposed to stop breathing for a few minutes. Instead we just argue about it.

The word metaphor comes from the Greek and means ‘to carry across’–to carry a meaning across, to carry you across. If you’re still living mostly out of the left brain, you think that the word has to perfectly define. But the right brain realizes that the better way to describe the moment is through a metaphor, indirectly. Probably the most quoted lines from Emily Dickinson are, ‘Tell all the truth but tell it slant — / . . . / The Truth must dazzle gradually / Or every man be blind –.’

I’m convinced this is the present impasse with so much of institutional religion: that we have for centuries “perfectly” defined, delineated, and described the Mystery. And all you have to do is believe your denomination’s dogmatic definitions and you are a member in good standing. This is not working. It is not transforming people.

C. G. Jung did not consider himself an opponent of Christianity, but wanted to be its “pastor” to re-enliven its life changing myths and metaphors. He looked at his father and his six uncles, who were all Swiss Reformed pastors, and he knew they were not happy, generative, or in love. For them it was all just ‘a human commandment, a lesson memorized’ (Isaiah 29:13). Jung believed that the course of Jesus’ life was the perfect map for the transformative journey–if only people would go inside their own souls.

I think poetry gives you resonance more than logical proof, and resonance is much more healing and integrating. It resounds inside of you. It evokes and calls forth a deeper self. That is the power of good poetry and why poetry can work so deeply. When religion becomes mere philosophy, accurate definitions, moralisms about others, rituals and dogmas in the head–that is the beginning of the end of religion as actual transformation. Now no one knows what to do with their pain except project it onto other people.

Mary Oliver, one of my favorite poets, says, ‘Poetry is a life-cherishing force, for poems are not words, after all, but fires for the coal, ropes let down to the lost, something as necessary as bread for the hungry.'”

Richard Rohr

Day 3: The Honoured Rocks

 

The rocks in my garden,  with more passion to hide their age than a middle age woman, looked at me and taunted me;  "You will never know how old I am."  

I look back at the rocks and say; "Keep your secrets, your beauty doesn't change.  In fact, your unknown age adds to the treasure of who you are."

And the rocks look back at me with a quizzical grin, "If only you really knew how old we were.  We would have a higher place of honour in your home. But you don't know, so here we lay, surrounded by the dirt and wild pansies." 

I look back at the rocks with tears in my eyes.  "You don't understand... You rest in the most treasured place in my home.  You rest in my garden, where the evidence lies that life is eternal.  For every year those pansies die, and every following year they grow again.  You, my friends, have a front row seat to the resurrection."

Ruby Neumann:  February 24, 2023

Today's reflection is not a strange reflection to me.  If I were to go into a field and see a rock and see a watch... Would I deduce that both needed a maker?  Maybe all I would do is take them both home because I could find a better place for them both to dwell than in a field.  The watch has no use in a field, and the rock may damage the equipment that comes later to tend to that field.  I don't even think that I would spend much time wondering.  That is the beauty of living more in the moment.  

I understand the value of tracing my steps into the past to get the stories that are longing to be told.  But what of those stories that will forever be hidden from me.  Like the stories of the rocks in my garden.  I guess that is why I collect rocks and give them that honoured place that surrounds my home.  I almost feel protected knowing they are out there. 

To make those rocks the reason I go to war over their story, seems ludicrous to me.  Maybe to know everything about their story would remove their magnificence.  Maybe it's the unknowingness of their story that makes them so special and draws me to them.  I'm not a geologist.  I don't know their names or their labels.  I only admire their beauty and bring them home to adorn my garden and share holy space with the wild pansies.  

Day 2: Not everyone calls THIS "God"

"...and this everyone understands to be God." TA

"...to which everyone gives the name of God." TA

"This all men speak of as God." TA

I was with Tom all the away... right up to the end of each paragraph.  It was a beautiful painting, an amazing portrait, not a visible flaw at all... and then he signs it and for me all beauty was lost in the three letters he penned at the bottom of his painting... 

GOD

It felt like he took all the baggage that three letter word brought and dumped it right on the canvas.  How can I see the portrait anymore when I have to look at millenniums of meanings of "God". 

Labels have been a sore point for me.  More often than not, I feel like labels have hidden the artwork of life.  It seems like  people spend more time trying to figure out what to call a tree and less time enjoying the beauty and artistry before them.  Instead of admiring how the wind dances with the leaves and boughs, they are trying to figure out... "Is it Oak or Maple?"  At this juncture of my life's journey... I want to spend more time admiring the dance than cataloguing the identity of the dancers.  

Last summer I found myself frustrated at how to communicate how I saw the source of life.  I came up with a phrase borrowed from a language I've never spoken, from a country I've never seen, in a continent I've never been to.  "IKIMPA UMWUKA" are the two words I found when I ran "It gives me breath" through Google Translate.  The language is Kinyarwanda which is the official language of a country in Central Africa called Rwanda.  I shared the story and a poem in my poetry blog.  

In my world, I feel if I use the word "God", I have to add a two thousand year old, virgin born, resurrected Jesus to that identity.  I have to add church as a necessary place to find that "God".  I have to perform rituals proving that I believe and follow and worship.  None of those things connect me anymore with the source of who I am and where I am.  I understand I am connected to something, and my agnostic brain says that I have no clue what that is, how big it is, how old it is or how involved it is.  All I have in my arsenal is admiration for an artist that made something incredible.  Who or what that artist is... no clue. 

I also don't have to explain or prove anything.  I can stand before the tree and watch how the wind dances with the leaves and boughs, and just forget for the moment that the rest of the world needs to know if it an Oak or a Maple.   I can breathe and experience a cosmic presence in my very breath.  I can imagine more than I know.  I can learn new things and I can be fascinated instead of being stressed. 

So... NO... Thomas Aquinas... not everyone calls THIS "God".    

Day 1: Exist or Dwell?

"Existence isn't a part of a definition of anything, except for God" Pete Rollins

It's Ash Wednesday today... the beginning of Lent and the beginning of Atheism for Lent.

Pete's introduction to AFL left me with a special quote that needs my further thoughts. I have been thinking of the whole idea of existing for this past year. Primarily, I've been thinking about my existence and striving to find ways to remind myself that existing is a good thing. It has been easy in the past three years to doubt the blessing of existence, but I have to narrow my focus and then I find existing something I value. The big picture gets strangely depressing for me. But when I think of my husband and my mother... I am glad I exist, if now, especially for them. It's a journey.

But enough about that challenge. What about existence in relation to the other?

Pete made a good point. Things exist and we don't have to question their existence. Things exist in my world. I don't need to ask myself if they do or not. I don't think about the things that don't exist in my world. When I was a child, I didn't think about iPhones. They didn't exist for me. Now they do. But even if I didn't know about them, no one would find it incomprehensible . Most would just show me an iPhone and introduce me to it. They wouldn't question my character or judgement or wonder about my eternal future.

And then there is "God". Defined by existence or non-existence. And don't forget what is at stake if you don't get it right. Mmmm... Please tell me there has to be more to "The Ground of Being" than mere existence.

Is this the point of Atheism for Lent? To take us beyond the simple matter of existence? Maybe existence isn't the point. Maybe there is something that can allow us to dwell with "God" like I dwell with my iPhone. At one point in my life, the iPhone didn't exist, now it does, but it was never a question I needed to ponder. I just lived without it when I didn't have it, and now that I do, I live with it and it helps me navigate my world better than when I didn't have it.

SELLING CHRISTIANITY

 Tomorrow is the beginning of Atheism for Lent 2023.  I woke up this morning with a little passionate rant on my heart that I wanted to release.  It reminds me of one of last year's AFL inspirations:  Jean Meslier.  I downloaded his book, and he could rant.  I don't know if I can rant like Jean Meslier, or another one of my Canadian rant heroes, Rick Mercer, but I'll give it a shot.  Here goes. 

* * * 

Christian Evangelism is like… selling garage heaters to people who don't own a house.   

Let me explain… My husband has a company that started the year we got married.  We had met at Calcana, a factory that manufactures infrared heaters.  These tube-like heaters have many purposes, but our biggest market is selling garage heaters.  They are great units and use less gas then the forced air units and have better recovery.  After thirty years of selling the product and thirteen years doing it through his own company, my husband is the best at what he does.  He owns a garage heater, he believes that his line of garage heaters is the best, and his knowledge about the product outshines everyone else.    I used to work in the factory and it was my job to build the units.  I also believe they are the best infrared heater.  They outperform the competition.  They are the "Mercedes" of the Infrared Heater world.  

I adore my husband's passion.  He is not only good at what he does, he gets joy from seeing satisfied customers.  He believes he has helped them and that means the world to him.  I wish everyone could find something to be passionate about something and promote it the way Manfred promotes infrared heaters. 

Manfred doesn't sell heaters to everyone, because everyone doesn't need heaters. He sells heaters to people who have garages, sheds, barns, patios that need heating.  It wouldn't make much sense for him to sell a heater to an apartment dweller.  This fact doesn't bother Manfred.  He has a lot of customers, he doesn't need to promote his product to the whole world, he only needs to provide it to the people who need it.  

Christian Evangelism exists because of a belief system that everyone needs the Christian product.  EVERYONE!   But the sad part is that the message doesn't sell because of how great the product is for the application, the message sells because people have been CONVINCED they need it.   

To convince people that they need a "Saviour", a Christian evangelist get to tell them that they are sinners.  Most of the time, it works.  Add a little shame into anyone's life and they will look for a better way out.  It's like telling someone they need a heater in their garage, but first one has to convince them they have a garage, even if they don't have one.  

If the message of Christianity was "the best", would it really need shame to sell it's message?  Is there nothing "redeeming" about who Jesus was that can inspire a person to be a better human being? Why must we throw the shit of shame on a person first?

What if a Jesus follower really believed that Jesus was good for someone based on who they believed Jesus was, not on what they thought the person wasn't.  And even understanding the benefits of Jesus, wouldn't it make sense to find out if the person could benefit from such a connection?  Maybe it's time that we go the person's house and see if they actually have a garage, before we try selling them a heater. 

"The Death of Socrates" and Atheism for Lent

 

(The Death of Socrates : Jacques Louis David: 1787) 

"In this landmark of Neoclassical painting from the years immediately preceding the French Revolution, David took up a classical story of resisting unjust authority in a sparse, frieze-like composition. The Greek philosopher Socrates (469–399 B.C.) was convicted of impiety by the Athenian courts; rather than renounce his beliefs, he died willingly, discoursing on the immortality of the soul before drinking poisonous hemlock. Through a network of carefully articulated gestures and expressions, David’s figures act out the last moments of Socrates’s life. He is about to grasp the cup of hemlock, offered by a disciple who cannot bear to witness the act. David consulted antiquarian scholars in his pursuit of an archeologically exacting image, including details of furniture and clothing; his inclusion of Plato at the foot of the bed, however, deliberately references not someone present at Socrates’s death but, rather, the author whose text, had preserved this ancient story into modern times."

(Taken from metmuseum.org)

There must be something poetic about "The Death of Socrates" opening up the season of "Atheism for Lent".  It is a week before Ash Wednesday and I am excited about Atheism for Lent.  This will be the second year and will most likely be a very different experience for me. Last year was transitional for me and the season ended in a Good Friday where I laid to rest a long time friend. That's right... I buried Jesus.   Good Friday didn't meet Easter last year for me, for the first time in 53 years.  

This year... I am walking into Lent with not many expectations.  It will be a new journey for me and one I am willing to see unfold with all it's surprises.  I decided to prepare myself with an introductory course on "The Philosophy of Religion" from the online education platform called "Wondrium".   The goal of the instructor was that I would come away with "not being told what to think, but encouraged to think."  I wish I had more of those experiences when my time was freed up to do nothing but learn.  Oh how I might have enjoyed education more if it was about the freedom to explore and think and question and process.  Now in my mid fifties, I have the opportunity and I feel like a sponge.  I want to soak it all in.  

I think the last year has given me more of a sense of peace with my place and space in life.  I am less anxious about what others feel, but still grieving a loss.  Last year was about letting go.  Maybe this year is about learning contentment with open and empty.  Maybe I don't have to find a replacement for the loss.  Maybe I just get to find a friend of the space left behind.  

It seems that Socrates didn't go out fighting... the story seems rather peaceful, a surrender of sorts.  Not surrendering his convictions, for they were still precious to him, but surrendering his need to exist because the cost to exist was too high.  His convictions would live on long after he died.  Maybe to him, that mattered more than his earthly existence.  

I think the poetic part is his exit.  He was able to lay down his life, instead of having it violently ripped from him.  Not many had that freedom.  

“If you don't get what you want, you suffer; if you get what you don't want, you suffer; even when you get exactly what you want, you still suffer because you can't hold on to it forever. Your mind is your predicament. It wants to be free of change. Free of pain, free of the obligations of life and death. But change is law and no amount of pretending will alter that reality.”

― Socrates

Is it right to punish someone for telling the truth?

A Letter to a Father by John W. James: co-author of "The Grief Recovery Handbook"

"Dad, I was just listening to my son, who I adore more than I can say. He is one of the grandchildren you never got to meet.

As he told me the truth about an event with a ball and a window, I stopped listening to him and started preparing his punishment. But that didn’t feel right to me. So I have been doing some soul searching. I have just had a revelation—that by the time I was his age, I had long since stopped telling you the truth. Every time I told you the truth, you punished me, and you punished me hard and hurtfully.

Dad, I do not want my son to associate truth with punishment. I have to break the cycle set up by what you did to me. I have to forgive you for hurting me every time I told you the truth. I forgive you so I can be free to do things differently with my son. I forgive you so I can be totally free to tell the truth and live the truth and encourage my son to do the same.

I have to go now. I love you. Good-bye Dad."

* * * 

Today is one month before the beginning of Lent.  I am planning to go through another season of Lent with Peter Rollins and Friends in the "Atheism for Lent" course.  Peter says he revamped the course, so I am looking forward to a new experience.  

This whole blog started with my desire for authenticity.  I wanted to be "real".  Another word that I struggle with may also fit.  I want to tell the "truth" about me.  This week, I've been reading a book called "The Grief Recovery Handbook".  One of the authors shared a story about his son and a baseball through a neighbour's window.  His son opted to tell his dad the truth of what happened, instead of covering it up and lying about it.  John admitted that part way through his son's confession, he stopped listening to his son and started planning a punishment for the broken window.  He later remembered that his dad would punish him when he told the truth.  The letter to his dad reveals a revelation to John that I am equally amazed at and doubt as a viable life lesson.  

When does telling the truth ever give us a free pass from the consequences of our actions?  

I have admired parents who in the moment of hearing their children's confessions, accept the truth as the end of the story.  No punishment or further consequences are required after an honest confession is given.  But is it at all preparing the child for the real world... where truth doesn't excuse the consequences?  

Let's take my whole deconversion experience.  There are moments that I feel punished for being honest.  Those moments lead me to wonder if lying about my spiritual status would have been better; less heart breaking for others.  For a social Enneagram 4, it is punishment when something I've done hurts someone else.  

I started this blog last year to honestly process my thoughts in conjunction with the reading material I was getting in the "Atheism for Lent" course.  But over the course of the year, I have shared my story and seen sadness in people's eyes, or imagined it, if I didn't see it.  I have doubted myself and my actions.  Maybe lying would have been more loving.  

I don't know if I'm convinced yet.  I have to say that for the most part, the people that are closest to me haven't abandoned me.  (a big Enneagram 4 fear).  I have been pretty blessed or lucky (however you want to describe it) to have amazing people in my life.  But there have been a few that I feel like lying, not being forthright and honest, is preferable.  Bursting their bubble seems cruel.  Especially when their bubble is what keeps them breathing.  

I've heard a lot of stories from people who have had it a lot worse than me.  People lose families and friends and marriages break up.  

This year, I want to see "Shame" take a back seat to "Integrity".  I want to feel good about myself, just the way I am.  I have shed some religious weight over the years and I am tired of feeling less about myself because of the fear of disappointing others.  

I don't want to be punished for telling the truth, or being honest, or telling my story.  I want to be valued for being me.  Maybe it's a long shot.  I live in a world filled with people who value certainty more than diversity.  I look at others and see their foundations and what keeps them functioning in a very broken world.  When I admit that I don't have the same foundations, what choices do they have? 

1. Fear for my life, because I am not following the "narrow way" they subscribe to.

2. Fear that their foundation might be faulty, if I can live without it.  

3. Abandon our relationship so they don't have to think of the first two options. 

4. Wonder if maybe there is room for more than one way to navigate life

5. Embrace me and find some common ground

I started this blog post off with a quote from Mahatma Ghandi.  He would be on my top ten list of inspirations of all time.  He was all about finding common ground with others that didn't subscribe to his belief system.  He was about finding the truth and being passionate about expressing his convictions. I admire people like that... but it cost him his life.  

Truth is still a troubling subject for me.  I don't like the word.  It gets confused with opinion and interpretation. I will end this post with a quote that intrigues me.  I don't know if it is "true"... but what if it was?  How would that change things for me?