Epiphany

I created my god, who made yours?

A child was born,
A bunch of nerves
And wet sinews
Thrust into the world,
Alone
To search and seek,
And find which way was truth.
I was not helped -
No charity
To guide my feet
And hold my hand
And lead me on
To clarity -
In fact, on lies
And false hopes,
I was fed
To cloud and confuse
My aching head...

So I turned to the Spirit of the T,
The old, that is,
Before JC
And the thought occurred
As I suppose it must
To such minds as those of us,
Who are predisposed
To dwell upon such thoughts as those:
What kind of being
What god is he
That bridles with
Such human jealousy?
In the new is not more pleasant
For he sent himself,
His son, you say,
But himself, the same,
And though steeped in blind paradox,
Meaningless in its circularity,
Offered himself, his son, himself
As sacrificial present.
And even if my mind refused to reel
I would still be obliged to feel
A little miffed, annoyed too
That he fooled me, he fooled you.
A glorious mystery you'd believe,
That one is the other,
But not the same.
Can you be so daft?
Can I be so lame?
How could be, this miracle
That he be both, water and an icicle?
Oh the confused men
And self-righteous fools
Who gather 'round in awe
At these farcical jewels!

So I fashioned anew
A god of air,
A god with a small g
To show his humanity,
A god of hope
And not despair.
I gave him no name,
For names exist in reality
And he was but escape
For isn't that
What, deep down, we
Really, really crave?

I still don't know what I believe
Just it cannot be
In some silly fairy tale -
A god who one moment grants reprieve
And withholds it the next
To gauge our lowly hearts
When put, so 'justly', to the test.
I try to be straight and rational
But cannot help but feel
That there is still meaning,
Tho' it may illusion be
And if that's so,
That would fit,
If meaning is an illusion,
That's my god,
That's it.

This Beautiful World of Mine, of Ours

I don't know why people automatically assume that without a belief in god, you can't appreciate the beauty of the world around you. It's like everyone assumes an atheist is actually a Hollywood Atheist. Or maybe it's because of the incorporation of Platonic ideals into (mostly Western) religion during the Renaissance. Or maybe it's just part of what Daniel Dennett calls 'belief in belief' - as if we (human beings in general) assume that belief in an irrational proposition somehow helps. Or maybe we're biased to assume that a rational person has no feelings, even though that's rather stupid - my limbic system doesn't shut down when I use my frontal lobes. Feelings are just that - feelings. It's only rational admit they exist it's evident that they do. A rationalist is not an automaton.
And yet, we still assume that an atheist or anyone who focuses on rationality is some strange version of Spock.

Well, I'm sorry if it shakes your worldview to hear it, but that's not true at all. You don't have to believe the world was created by some imaginaryandanthropomorphicskyfairy to appreciate the beauty of a soft wind blowing through the trees sounding like the oceans have crossed mountains to blow past you, or the night sky and its infinitearrayofstars (how can looking out at that not inspire awe in you??), or a meandering blue river rounding a curve in the Himalayas...

I've seen so many non-believers, like myself, who can't help but look at the beauty of existence and feel this huge ocean of wonder breaking upon the shores of their conscious minds.

Are you telling me that atheists like Carl Sagan and Douglas Adams didn't feel overwhelming awe at the sheer magnificence of existence as it is? You have to read but one line of anything either of them wrote, and you'll see what can best be described as religious awe without the religion.

Another idea that's similar to the youdon'tbelieveinskyfairies therefore youmusthatetheuniverse one is mostly commonly expressed somewhat like this: "You shouldn't try to study the world with so much rigour, you end up destroying the beauty of it by studying it too hard." Or "stop using your brain so much, you overthink things and that ruins your ability to enjoy the world."

That's just a cop out.

I've never ever found anything in the world that became less amazing in my mind because I studied it. It's always been the reverse - contemplation increases the exquisiteness of any experience (good experiences get magnified by the increased complexity they acquire with more thoughts and experiences getting connected and bad ones get spread out/deconstructed and easier to deal with).

To quote a previous post:
"Knowing that lightning is actually a cascade of electrons takes nothing away from the almost mystical feeling that a good lightning show generates in you. In fact, the knowledge, of what exactly each of those lightning bolts is, adds nuances to any awe I feel. Hell, even the phrase a cascade of electrons is beautiful - makes me think of waterfalls in electric blue."

Imagine how much more involved in the beauty of the world you are, when your neurons are not only firing in response to the sensory information about the majesty of it all but also appreciating how simple rules and processes are continuosly interacting to create the complexity of the universe.

But it feels so Magical

We look upon the world as if it's a strange and bizarre place. In fact, my favourite quote from my favourite author says much the same:

"There is a theory which states that if ever anybody discovers exactly what the Universe is for and why it is here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable...

There is another theory which states that this has already happened."

- Douglas Adams

But the truth is, if you think the way the world works is weird, it's not the world that's wrong, it's you. It's not the world's fault that your model of reality doesn't correspond to what reality actually is. You have a bunch of extremely limited senses, that give you access to some information about the world - about enough to keep your ancestors down the long line to homo erectus (and before) alive long enough to produce offspring (and eventually you) - but that is far from sufficient to really understand the world. Can you see x-rays? I can't. I sorely wish I could sometimes. I wish I could look at the sky at night and see all those parts of the spectrum that have to be "regularized" in the Hubble images for me to be able to see them. That's not to say the night sky isn't beautiful on it's own, but imagine having access to that kind of perception... Given how limited we are, isn't it weird of us to expect to understand it all directly through our senses? Or without definite effort?

But we don't like to be told we're weird. It's much easier to be indignant and blame the world for it's apparent weirdness.

Or maybe we just don't like not knowing. Maybe there's something within us that is inherently curious. Or maybe curiosity isn't enough, given our tendency to jump at the easy answers. Maybe we just don't like admitting we don't know (even to ourselves). Maybe that's why when we don't know an answer, we try to come up with the best to fit the information. Maybe it's not that at all, and I'm way off - that's why I'm saying maybe - I need to be conscious of the possibility of being wrong, because it's so easy to jump at one specific answer and build fences around it. The scary part is how easy it actually is to jump to the wrong conclusions, or make them up as you go along. Maybe that's why when people saw lightning in the sky and couldn't fathom where it came from, they decided there was a big hairy man in the sky throwing shiny spears around. Maybe that's why magic is one of the human universals, because saying it's magic is the same as saying God did it - it's the easy answer.

And at the same time, I have to acknowledge that there is something fundamentally magical about the feeling that wind and snow and rain and so many weather phenomena conjure inside you.

So I accept it feels magical, that my perception of the world appears beautiful (and so intricate you can get completely lost in it!). My natural tendency is to exult in the exquisite splendour of the universe. That doesn't make the magic real (in the traditional sense of magic, I mean). That doesn't make it more likely to get good weather and a good harvest if I killathousandbunnies to propitiate the residentweathergod. I'd be better off offering those bunnies to the local weatherman, though only marginally, and, maybe, only if it generated enough goodwill for a youscratchmybackandIpredictmoreaccurately sort of thing. Any magical feelings inside me are just that, inside me (except when expressed) - they are not a facet of the universe, they are my reaction to it.

Knowing that lightning is actually a cascade of electrons takes nothing away from the almost mystical feeling that a good lightning show generates in you. In fact, the knowledge, of what exactly each of those lightning bolts is, adds nuances to any awe I feel. Hell, even the phrase a cascade of electrons is beautiful - makes me think of waterfalls in electric blue.

Understanding the world, even when it goes against everything your sense data seems to be saying, takes nothing away. I find it adds layers and meaning and mental bridges to other thoughts and other ideas that can be so beautiful - taken separately or together.

Sudden Realizations Are Rarely As Sudden As They Seem

I've been working on a poem called 'Epiphany' for ages. It started with a single line years ago - "I created my god, who made yours?". And then it just sat there, in an unnamed text file on my computer, until a few months ago, when I suddenly got the inspiration to try and finish it. I haven't yet, or I'd be posting it here, but I did make progress...

Anyway, it struck me that I came up with that line at a time I was still struggling to hold on to the faith I was brought up in; and I started wondering just about when I started questioning religion, when I first departed from the dogmas that had been drilled into me... The funny thing is I can't really pinpoint any specific thing...

If forced to pick a moment, I'd say it was the time I realized the Catholic church isn't half as tolerant as I had idealized it to be - when I was told the official doctrine was that Jesus was the way, the truth and the life, not just a way, a truth or a life.

But that was just part of an awakening I'd been struggling to deny for the longest time... Even when I was a child, I don't recall ever believing in an interventionist god - my god of the time was more of an imaginary friend, to whom I'd retreat and talk about things, especially when I was down about something or the other. Had to deal with a spot of bullying during my first year in a new school, a period when I was my most 'religious' in any sense. But I wasn't at all ritualistic (at least not religiously).

A Truth-seeker's Creed

Though steeped in ignorance and imperfection, though possessing a flawed perception and understanding, I hope I might, I hope I may, see the world as it is today.

As I journey in my quest for answers, may I ever wary be of those that seek to give pause to curiosity.

May I revel in mystery, but not as an end in itself, rather as a challenge to be overcome or an opportunity to explore.

May I be brave enough to challenge my beliefs, no matter how resolutely I may hold on to them, for if something can be destroyed by the truth, it should. May I be steadfast in finding the truth rather than proving anything to be true.

May I not be fooled by what is merely elegant, but seek what controls my anticipation and predicts results, which may itself be elegant, though this is in no way a prerequisite.

And yet, may I appreciate the elegance of this universe and its ways. May I be and live in awe of the sheer grandeur and magnificence of existence, always.

May I seek perfection, so that every step forward encourages one more, so that I never pause and look at what is accomplished as enough, so that I journey on to a boundless future.

May I not limit my thirst for knowledge for any reason. May I seek and seek and seek, for this universe is so grand and there is so much more to see.