On a sunny morning in June, 2003, two days after my 37th birthday, I had an unsolicited, unexpected and unbelievable encounter with God. Put more simply, without asking, praying or seeking, I woke up one morning a churchgoing agnostic (following years of rabid atheism) and put my head to the pillow that night a newly minted, highly unlikely Christian. I wish I could say my radical conversion happened gently…all harps and angels and light…but that was not my experience. On the contrary, I was nauseous, had trouble catching my breath and felt like there was a 500 lb weight on my chest. I thought I was having a heart attack. But here’s the kicker. A lifelong skeptic who was, at times, militantly anti-Christian, I suddenly believed without hesitation that the Christian story that I had frequently railed against was true. I couldn’t have told you what that story was, but I knew without the luxury of details that it was all true. Now this might make some sense if I needed a spiritual experience. Say if I was fighting a serious illness or was down on my luck financially-or maybe if I were struggling with a painful loss or trying to navigate a tough personal challenge. But I didn’t need a spiritual experience. As far as I was concerned, my life was perfect. I was a successful PR executive making a healthy six-figure salary, married to my best friend who also made a six-figure salary. We had three healthy, happy kids and lived in our dream home about an hour northwest of New York City. I was seven years sober and had faced down most of my major issues/resentments in a program of recovery. Life was pretty good. Yet, there I was-sick, crying and convinced that something beyond my comprehension had happened to me. No one was more surprised than my husband Martin, who was there with me when it happened. He had been a Christian since he was a kid and knew the extent to which I thought the whole Christian thing was a contrivance. I had fought vigorously over coffee and cigarettes to convince him that religion had been created by leaders to control the masses or by weak individuals to soften the blow of their incapacity to deal with their day to day lives. He never did come around to my way of thinking, but I figured if he could overlook the fact that I was an alcoholic single mother with two kids and marry me, I could overlook the fact that he was a Christian and marry him. So here I was, convinced that this Christian thing was true, with no idea what that really meant. What followed was years of learning that is discussed in much greater detail in a book that I am writing. Suffice it to say that I learned that following Christ and living by the dictates of the Holy Spirit does not always add up to the overly simplified “join the team and your life will be wonderful” message that I have heard so frequently. As a matter of fact, the years since that day in 2003 have been some of the most difficult I have ever encountered. We have lost more than you can imagine-money, possessions, prestige and people. And yet, I would not turn back for the world. So, now I’m trying to make sense of this new life. Attempting to go beyond predictable platitudes in order to allow this change of heart to lead to a genuine change of life. This blog will chronicle the day to day joys and trials of my journey and raise some key questions and challenges I face as I find my place in a faith that still confounds me.
A frequent visitor on the blog - a vocal skeptic who has made clear a rather biting disdain for religion and the faithful - left the following comment on a post a few days ago. These thoughts on excess, standards for skepticism and the nature of belief are provocative. Would love to hear your thoughts…
we can’t talk about religion without talking about excess. this doesn’t mean that everyone who is religious is a fantatic. but it does mean that religious beliefs are very important to those who hold them, even if they do not make sense. indeed, people will sometimes sacrifice their lives and the lives of other people for them; their relationship to their gods can be the most important thing in their lives. by definition these supernatural forces must be more powerful than the people who believe in them. they are often perceived as both ominiscient and omnipotent.
those who do not believe in supernatural beings are struck by two things; first, that these deities seem to be, by definition, excessive – excessively punitive, excessively loving, excessively demanding, and excessively in need of people’s devotion. and second, that religious believers, even moderate ones, seem to have excessive confidence in their gods, and are excessively eager to please them.
the more extreme skeptics of religion, often in rather patronizing ways, find the whole thing rather irrational. but where do the skeptics get their knowledge of what is irrational from? how does anyone know what too much belief is? it is the hope of modern liberals that we can all talk about the things that matter most to us without losing our tempers or killing people. do we believe this too much?
what mattered most to most people, until very recently, was their relationship with their gods, and gods, traditionally, have been to die for; one of the things people have been able to do, in the name of religion, is sacrifice their lives and the lives of others.
what people use their religious beliefs to do – what they do in the name of their religions – might make us wonder not simply what should we believe, but what kind of thing is a belief? clearly a belief can be something that permits you to kill people. our religious beliefs may be the tools we use to manage – to legitimate and contain – the excesses of our nature. so from a psychoanalytic point of view we don’t only have to say, as freud said, that religion is for people who are frightened of growing up. we can say, though, that we have delegated to a figure called god all the excesses, including addictions and nasty habits, we find most troubling in ourselves, which broadly speaking are our excessive love for ourselves.
god in this view carries the part of ourselves that asks too much of us, that is endlessly demanding, that wants us to be better than we are.
being excessive in words or actions, in inflammatory rhetoric or violent actions, is a form of communication. what the religious fanatic knows is just how contagious excess can be. excessive words and actions are haunting, they make one’s presence felt; they make people excessive in their responses. priests, nietzsche wrote, have shown almost inexhaustible ingenuity in exploring the implications of this one question: how is an excess of emotion to be attained? if you can make people excessively emotional you can manipulate them, and one of the best ways of making them excessively emotional is to do something excessive to them. suicide bombers don’t convert people, but they make the existence of their religion unforgettable, undismissible.
there is another possibility, the one that i want to end on because it seems to me potentially the most interesting, though perhaps the most daunting. this is that the religious fanatic is someone for whom something about themselves and their lives is too much; and because not knowing what that is is so disturbing they need to locate it as soon as possible. because the state of frustration cannot be borne – because it is literally unbearable, as long-term personal and political injustice always is – it requires an extreme solution.
in this account irrational behavior shows us how obscure we are to ourselves or how we obscure ourselves; how our frustrations, odd as this may seem, are excessively difficult to locate, to formulate. wherever and whenever we are excessive in our lives it is the sign of an as yet unknown deprivation. our excesses are the best clue we have to our own poverty, and our best way of concealing it from ourselves.
posted October 28, 2009 at 3:45 pm
Thank you Joan and Credis, this is a thought provoking idea! Perceiving or understand God as an extension of ourselves, magnifying the good, evil, weaknesses and strengths within our limited natures may reflect the first steps towards comprehending the “bigness” of a God concept. It seems natural for us as humans to find where we are similar and then to expand on that concept – for example, look at the rampant anthropomorphism (giving animals human characteristics) that exists across all cultures. Imbuing a God concept with excessive human characteristics — or anthropotheism — seems to be a natural starting point for many in imagining, creating or defining a concept that is “almighty” but not manifest. While I agree with the author that some understandings of a God-concept stop at this point, I also believe that, like a zoologist who knows chimps are not mini hairy humans, many spiritual seekers are compelled to move past the limitations of the anthropotheistic God described by Credis.
posted October 28, 2009 at 4:39 pm
Credis does not offer any breakthrough observations.
Within all faith traditions there has been an awareness of the problems associated with iconic or idolatrous beliefs.
The solution is spiritual formation. The pinnacle of such formation can be found in the teachings of the mystics.
Thus, it is not new news that some may apply their religious beliefs awkwardly or even in contradiction to the faith itself.
That, however, is not a good reason to condemn the faith. In fact, if one only looks at those who are at the early stages of learning, one gets a false picture that leads to incorrect assumptions.
One might watch a little league game and assume the World Series will be a matter of awkward errors and general incompetence. But that would be comparing apples and oranges even though they both appear on a ball diamond.
posted October 29, 2009 at 3:11 am
judy, i enjoyed your comment!
as I wrote joan, I would have preferred to introduce what she cut and pasted to avoid any misunderstanding. joan declined, but it’s her journal so who am i to argue.
consider this story about a sixteen-year-old, a self-described “loner,” who eventually learned to swim at the age of ten after having been terrified of water.
“i knew i was safer out of my depth,” the boy said, recounting the ordeal. “because even though i couldn’t stand, there was more water to hold me up.’”
one of the central paradoxes for the adolescent is his discovery that only the object beyond his control can be found to be reliable.
for the boy the risk of learning to swim was the risk of discovering that he, or rather his body, would float.
the heart of swimming is that you can float. standing within his depth, apparently in control, was the omnipotence born of anxiety; the opposite of omnipotence here was not impotence, as he had feared, but his being able to entrust himself to the water. the defense of vigilant self-holding precluded his being able to swim.
you can’t learn to swim, as this boy so remarkably determined, by standing up to your knees or even to your neck in water, by remaining safely within your depth omnipotently in control. you must instead risk giving yourself over to your terrors, risk surrendering yourself to the water, to find out whether it is reliable, trustworthy, something worth counting on.
“i knew i was safer out of my depth because even though i couldn’t stand, there was more water to hold me up.”
only the object beyond our control can be found to be reliable. only the object beyond our control is an object worthy of our desire, love, and trust, if we are ever to swim, ever to get beyond mere safety on shore, beyond our depth, beyond anxious omnipotence. this is a painful paradox of life and love, a terrifying reality of coming of age.
the water that was once frightening must somehow become in adolescence a new, taken-for-granted environment in which to live and move.
“can i trust myself to deep waters as others seem to?” the adolescent must ask. “can i entrust myself to my new body, to feeling at home in my new skin as others seem to do?”
* * *
it is all true
(a couple of years ealier): once i’d applied my considerable intellect and more considerable arrogance to the question, god was nowhere. i stopped searching and i was alone.
(a couple of kids and a couple of drinks later): god became a “power greater than myself.” and, armed with a hint of humility, i began to change.
(a couple more years later): there i was, generally a model of rigid self-control and modern accomplishment, crying ugly and repeating over and over again, “it is all true, all of it.”
i was suddleny struck christian.
* * *
a self-induced depression followed by a self-induced miracle. i would get rid of the passive voice and say:
“i suddenly struck myself christian” or “i took the plunge.”
either variant would be more honest.
* * *
posted October 29, 2009 at 1:18 pm
The model of a quasi pathological psychological need (anxiety, fear) driving a conjured up faith fits closely with the views of those who have a need to explain away the supernatural.
This has been the chosen refrain of the atheist crowd that wishes to confront the believer with rationality based upon pop psychology.
The primary problem is that it does not fit the facts. While you may find some people who come out of anxiety to a search for blind faith, you will rarely find they have gone far in spiritual formation.
It may be easier to see a valid model if one first considers Buddhism as an example. In Buddhism one seeks enlightenment. One seeks to know transcendent states of being and faith, in Buddhism, is a journey to know one’s true nature.
These same dynamics are in play in those who approach spiritual formation in Christianity. (A wonderful book that chronicles the meeting of Buddhist and Christian monastics is The Gethsemane Encounter.)
In such spiritual formation, the Christian seeks to move past the limits of false self to recognize that within self and other that partakes of the Divine. It is a journey toward fuller and richer knowing — not a journey driven by anxiety. In fact, those who are beset by anxiety will rarely make this journey toward enlightenment.
Thus, I would advise caution when characterizing the faithful based on arms-length pseudo psychology. It doesn’t help you to get to understanding.
posted October 30, 2009 at 10:36 am
would it help if i said that we are all made of stardust?
posted October 30, 2009 at 12:31 pm
If you said we are all made of stardust, you would solidify your credentials as a materialist.
It would not, however, address issues related to the supernatural rather than the natural realm.
posted October 30, 2009 at 12:54 pm
there is an old romanian saying that goes like this: there is no way to reconstitute an egg unless you make an omlette, chop it up into fine pieces and feed it back it back to the chicken.
the next time you can provide an evidence of the supernatural, let me know telepathically.
posted October 30, 2009 at 2:31 pm
i’m waiting . . .
posted October 30, 2009 at 5:10 pm
Evidence of the supernatural is found through observation.
The intersection of the natural and supernatural can be found in consciousness.
When consciousness is fully understood the relationship between the supernatural and the natural will be understood.
This has been done in Buddhist circles and within the monastic and mystical traditions of Christianity.
The primary challenge that science faces at this time is a complete lack of understanding of its foundation.
All science is based on observation. All observation is a matter of conscious awareness. But consciousness itself is not understood. Thus, all science rests on an unknown.
Most who argue for naturalism or materialism do not realize they argue from a position of blind faith. Here is why:
They argue there are only natural causes. No supernatural.
They argue natural causes precede all else, including consciousness.
They posit natural causes exist in the absence of consciousness.
However, the only way we can know anything is through conscious observation.
Thus, the existence of anything prior to consciousness can not be observed and cannot be known.
The existence of natural causes prior to consciousness must be a matter of blind faith. Oh, oh.
Thus, naturalism defeats its own claim that it is based on observation. It is a self-contradicting philosophy.
posted October 31, 2009 at 1:41 am
still waiting . . .
can you hear me tapping my foot?
posted October 31, 2009 at 10:16 am
When I encounter someone who approaches with such disdain and ridicule toward others, it leaves me wondering what it was, exactly, that caused hatred to take up residence in their heart.
While there may be a surface level attempt to use “science” as rational justification for a position, it turns out science does not hold up and the disdainful have no background in science. So that topic is dropped quickly.
Then the philosophical issues are raised — and we discover the disdainful have no real background in philosophy and they soon drop that discussion.
Pop psychology usually rears its silly head with the disdainful being willing to provide a psycho analysis from their lofty perch on the couch. But that, too, quickly is seen to lack merit, so it is dropped.
And then we get to the pure response. The ridicule. The foot tapping. The disdainful sit there tapping their feet, eyes covered so as not to see, ears covered so as not to hear, and their mind blocked so as to not think. They proof they demand is our ability to overwhelm their tantrum and force them to understand.
But force is not a path to spiritual awareness. No one is going to force someone to open their eyes, open their ears, open their mind.
If the spiritual path is not for you, then it is not for you. It really is that simple.
If you have a wound, a hurt, you need treated, if you need something for the pain, then it makes sense to be upfront about the nature of that discomfort.
Otherwise the attempt to belittle others, to ridicule them, to dismiss them can only be seen as existential meanness. And I doubt you see yourself as simply being a mean being. Maybe…when you stop tapping your foot maybe you can explain.
posted November 4, 2009 at 12:58 pm
I did more than flirt with faith, but left the fold after too many questions arose.
I suggest that faith does not make a person immune to doubt, and may in fact inspire them to study what they believe far more deeply than ever before, until questions arise, and then one either sticks it out, or leaves a particular religious fold and becomes a deist, mystic, agnostic, or atheist.
Remaining in the fold with one’s questions, i.e., “sticking it out” can make a person either more liberal and loving, or turn them into people who reject even the slightest sound of doubts in others.
Lastly, I suspect that many believers in particular religious traditions are torn between being honest and open about their doubts and the wish to remain a part of a social group and not be rejected by them (friends/family, etc.).
There’s ministers and priests who have more doubts than they are able to let on to their own congregations.
There’s wives and husbands unable to speak about their questions openly with each other, or with their children for fear of all the falderol that may result.
There’s spouses who are matched belief-wise when they wed, yet one of whose beliefs may change over time, and the other not follow along, creating great tension in the family.
A lot of religions and even denominations assure people that they and their religion holds the golden ticket to eternal life and paradise. Thus simply questioning aspects of that particular religion or denomination many induce fear and raise falderol.
posted November 4, 2009 at 7:57 pm
Edward, good analysis.
Doubt certainly is part of the equation. And how one deals with doubt is no insignificant question.
There are those, myself among them, who come to the spiritual pursuit as a result of a positive existential doubt rather than as a search for a false certainty.
Using the language of Buddhism, we come seeking enlightenment.
On the journey of spiritual formation, doubt is a constant companion, but not the nagging nihilist companion one might imagine, but rather the friend that entices one to look further, to look deeper.
This approach rarely seeks or garners the type of social approval you mention. All too often the mystic is shunned or worse. You are correct in noting that when one raises questions that may touch the wound of uncertainty or doubt, a negative reaction may be in the offering.
You have identified a central challenge in the spiritual journey — a topic well worth exploring. Thanks.
posted November 9, 2009 at 5:41 am
Hello
This post is really well written with good words.I also believe that everyone who is religious is a fantastic.Thank you very much for sharing this with us.
posted November 9, 2009 at 3:42 pm
Hello vitamine h: Thank you for stopping by. Where are you located?
posted November 25, 2009 at 11:13 am
God said that the Romans made up the story about Jesus in the New Testament. God has a very different story to tell about the life of Christ.
God sent a message in the year of 2006. The message is about the meaning of ‘First is Last and Last is First’. The message is this:
In the morning I go to Heaven. In the afternoon I live my Life. In the evening I die, death.
What does this mean? It means that Birth is Last and Birth is First.
Gods Messanger, Melanie
posted November 25, 2009 at 11:20 am
God also gives an example so that you can understand his message. Example: Mike Douglas died on his Birthday. Mike was born on August 11 and died on August 11. Note that Mike Douglas and Michael Douglas are two different people.
In 2007 God sent another message. This is what God said word for word.
We each die in sucession, then we are born on the same day.
Note that in Gods 2006 message he is saying that your life is one day long. You are still in the day.