On Spirituality

A friend from NPR writes:

"What do we, as human beings, generally mean by spirituality?

"I'm interested in it because it can have importance and significance to the deeply religious and the distinctly secular. I tried to construct a religion continuum and had come to the conclusion there was an inversely proportional element to it; so that the more "intellectual" an individual, the less "spiritual" and vice-versa. Taking it to a logical extension - An atheist might be considered highly intellectual and lacking in spirituality while an occultist might be highly spiritual and lacking in intellectuality. But I don't doubt you could have reverse exceptions to this idea.

"I placed the monotheisms (Judaism, Christianity and Islam) in the middle of the spectrum. The implication being there is a balance between intellectual and spiritual.

"But I ask again: What are we talking about when we refer to the spiritual?"

Sir A.N. attempts to take on this thorny, age-old question.

Let's start with a deliberately intellectual approach to the question. If we analyze (could any process be more brain-based?) the word, we find the that at its root, spirituality is related to the Latin spirare, "to breathe." The word "inspire" means, then, literally "to breathe in." Returning to the question of my friend, how does breathing in relate to the literal meaning of religion: "to bind together again"? I will set this aside for now to turn to my own narrative.

Part I

I was raised in a non- but not anti-religious house. We weren't against church; it just never came up. In the Washington of the 70s, the only overtly religious people I knew were Jews and Catholics. Legend has it that I announced to my mother at the age of five that "there is no God," but I don't remember this. I do remember as a teenager that as I gained a radical political consciousness, so did I acquire a disdain, even a hatred of organized religion. This was the Reagan era, and backlash was everywhere. The religious right had been born in the TV studios, and Jerry Falwell was in the news regularly.

Yes, the above equation did hold true for me: I considered all religion to be occultist, and educated, rational people had no use for it. I cobbled together a set of beliefs that was part 60s radical, humanist activism; part carefree Bohemian; and part DIY 80s punk. Certain truisms held sway with me as strongly as the Ten Commandments rule the religious: corporations are bad, the government lies, the rich and powerful control the world for their profit, Art is good, commerce is bad.

Where did spirituality fit into the mix? Living in San Francisco, I couldn't help but be exposed to certain counter-cultural elements that borrowed from various religious traditions: Hare Krishna temples that offered sacred vegetarian feasts, yoga studios, Tai Chi practitioners, meditation, prayer circles. Of course, the exotic and especially Eastern were favored over the prosaic and domestic. I didn't know too many Baptists or see their rituals practiced. Other aspects of the belief system I came to internalize harbored spiritual elements, especially environmentalism. Here, the Earth itself was worshipped, evidenced by the referrals to "Mother Earth" or "Gaia," often as a conspicuous antidote to what was seen as the male dominance of conventional religion.

Similarly, certain activities in which I partook with others were often shrouded in mystical, spiritual-like reverence. Epic bike rides up Mt. Tamalpais. Midnight bonfires at Ocean Beach. Days spent in Golden Gate Park. Above all, for me, creating, rehearsing, and performing live music was the closest thing in my life that combined the breathing in implied by "inspiration" and the binding together with others of a similar faith suggested by the word "religion." Indeed, the word "music" itself comes directly from the word "muse."

All through this period of my life I unhesitatingly called myself an atheist. Anything less would have seemed absurd. I could make no sense of God in my life, and in my youthful bravura, I did not entertain doubt easily. I was proud, certain, even arrogant that I was right and that all those church-going sheep were deluded, brainwashed, unimaginative fools.

Upon moving to North Carolina, I was stunned to find that many people's first question upon meeting me would be "where do you go to church?" Not do you go, but where... What was going on? I would meet someone whom I would read as non-religious: an alternative, slacker-looking type with tattoos, piercings, weird hair. Soon into a conversation, the inevitable "at my church" comment would come up, leaving me baffled. I thought churchies were buttoned-up squares, lily-white Bible-thumping racists or (perversely more acceptable) gospel-singing black people. Hmm, I wondered, who has the stereotypes now? And, simultaneously, where on Earth have I landed? Where are the sane secularists? Since then I have come to see that there are plenty of agnostics, atheists, and alternative religious types in the South, but also how important church is to most folks' sense of family, stability, and community. I wasn't sure about the inspiration part, but the binding together of a community was evident in ways that could certainly make an outsider jealous. Except for the little problem of belief. Of course, one of the first people I met in Winston-Salem was a Wake Forest professor, a regal sounding gentleman with a refined local accent, who calmly told an assembled group of graduate students that he was an atheist, but he faithfully attended church because he "enjoyed the ritual."

As I have grown, the less certain I am of anything I believed as a younger man. Is there a God? I have no idea. Does it matter? Possibly. I feel too personally insignificant in the scope of the universe to think that it--or I--matters much. The pull of the continuum described by my friend's question repels me from hard-line atheism as much from organized religion. I feel the hush of something greater than me when I hike, cook, look at my wife and children, see the "a-ha!" face of one of my students.

Part II later: but in the meantime, it would be interesting to hear from others on this topic, either here or via email.