Thoughts on the Spirituality of Atheism

by nvrgnbk 38 Replies latest jw friends

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  flipper

  Great thread NVR ! I've been locked away in my soul walnut for years, even when I was a witness I truly believe. I always analyzed things to death, drove people nuts ! But, it made me happy! I agree with much of what is written here. I'm pretty hedonistic in a conservatively liberal kinda way myself ! Peace out, Mr. Flipper
• 

  nvrgnbk

  Life Is Fleeting An atheist parable

  (Note: This essay was originally posted November 15, 2003.)

  When I awoke this morning, there was an elm tree growing outside my window. It wasn't much, not old growth or a giant, but I liked it there. It provided a much-needed buffer from my neighbors, and it was a welcome place to rest my eyes when they became tired of asphalt black and cement grey. When the sun blazed brightly, its leafy branches would break up the light into a green and gold dapple, and when it rained, its leaves would drip with rainwater. In this urban place, I appreciated having its living green outside my window. I would look out at it often as I sat at my computer to write.

  Now it's gone. In a single afternoon, in a roar of dust and heat and chainsaw smoke, my tree was reduced to a stack of cut logs and a scattering of fallen leaves. Outside my window now, there is nothing but the rundown black-shingled roof of the house next door. When I came home and discovered the devastation, there was a lone squirrel scampering in confusion across the ground, among the remains of the tree.

  What is done cannot be undone. In a few hours, the patient growth of decades was destroyed. Life that survived the changing of the seasons, the drought of summers, the frost of winters and the storm winds of autumn did not survive the bite of oiled metal teeth. My tree cannot be restored, and if another were planted, it would be many years before it grew tall enough that it could be seen from my window.

  As the night comes and the sky fades to blue and black, are the stacked branches of my tree making a last effort to photosynthesize? Are the leaves on the cut logs still drinking the fading light, still interweaving the sugar chains they manufacture with their last reserves of minerals drawn up hours ago from the now-disembodied roots? Is my tree even aware of its death, in some dim vegetable way, or will its individual parts continue to patiently perform the tasks they were grown for until decay claims them at last?

  To living beings as short-lived and fragile as humans, a full-grown tree seems to be the epitome of strength and stability: its roots delving deep into the earth, its massive trunk towering high overhead, rising to a spreading green canopy of leaves or needles that endure sun, rain and wind. They hardly seem alive, so different is their kind of life from ours: slow, weathered, endlessly patient, watching the years pass around them like falling snow settling, more akin to the earth and the mountains than to flesh and blood creatures like ourselves.

  But they are alive, and like all living things, they must inevitably die. It is one of science's most profound insights that all life on Earth is related by deep and fundamental bonds of kinship at the molecular level - from the humble blue-green cyanobacteria to the whales whose songs echo in the ocean deeps; from the smallest flower to the mightiest redwood; from the tiniest free-floating plankton to the human beings whose six-billion-strong civilization makes the planet glow at nighttime. We are all members of the same family, and we share a common bond: we are all mortal, and we must all, eventually, face death.

  Life is fragile. All life is a struggle for existence, besieged by predators above and parasites below, and all living things are at the mercy of vast and uncaring natural forces that could wipe them out at any time. Entire forests burn in enormous wildfires; toxic algae blooms suffocate thousands of fish; drought, war and plague sweep human civilizations; and the introduction of a drop of chlorine or hydrogen peroxide is a holocaust on the microscopic level.

  Life is fleeting. Insects such as mayflies are born, live out their lives and die in hours. We humans, who are long-lived for mammals, can expect, at best, a few decades of existence. Even the most ancient and wizened bristlecone pine tree is at most a few millennia old. Compared to the age of our planet - a tiny bit of rock and metal ash whirling around its home sun - the lifespan of the longest-lived creature dwindles into nothingness. Like dew that burns off in the morning, like bubbles in the foam on the surface of a river, we arise, die, and fade away.

  Life is limited. Compared to the range of environments and temperatures that exist in the universe, from the near absolute zero cold of the interstellar void to the multimillion-degree nuclear furnaces at the hearts of stars, living things can exist only in an extremely rare and narrow set of conditions. Even our own planet, the most hospitable place in the universe we know of, allows us to survive only on its surface: we are a thin skim of life on the cool, blue-green-white exterior of our Earth, while its interior rages with tectonic fires, inaccessible. Even the extremophile archaebacteria that thrive in the crushing pressure, boiling hot temperatures and lightless environment of the "dark biosphere" of the ocean bottom can barely penetrate any distance at all into our planet's crust.

  Life ends. We are all like travelers passing through a dark and unfamiliar wood at twilight, each of us carrying a lone torch to hold back the gathering night. Looking ahead, one can see - but only for a little way - the lights of those who have gone before us, like a river of distant twinkling stars, before those far-away lights fade and ultimately disappear into a veil of shadows that no eye can see through. What lies ahead, beyond that mysterious dusk? Might there be a welcoming village, where the golden lights of inn windows gleam through the dark, where a warm dinner, a blazing hearth and a soft bed await weary travelers? We cannot say. Though whispered rumors course through the ranks of we who walk toward the veil, no one has ever come back from beyond it to tell the story. Though many travelers announce their certainty of something they cannot possibly know, the shadow ahead remains vast and mysterious, and we must all inevitably proceed toward it.

  There is not a human being alive who has not, in some way, been touched by the shadow of death. Some of us it touches only lightly, leaving wounds that heal and fade with time; some of us it cuts to the quick, a sharper blade than was ever forged of metal, leaving scars that last for a lifetime and the pain of a grief that never fully subsides. We know that it is not fair. Not fair that death does not respect power, wealth, or accomplishment; not fair that we cannot stay it through good works and compassion; not fair that it so often seems to take the best of us early, as if in mockery; not fair that it does not provide for those who survive us, not fair that it does not always come when we expect it, not fair that it does not wait to let us finish our life's work, and not fair that it does not take the evil and spare the good. Above all, it is not fair that anyone should have to bear such a burden as the burden of grief. When someone we love passes on, we mourn, and through our tears we cry for justice to a universe that seems vast and impersonal, deaf to our pleas. But still we wonder, and we hope. The human mind rebels at accepting the idea that tragedy can truly be senseless, that life can ever truly end. Could there not be something more? Could there not be another place, where all tears will be wiped away and everything set right at last?

  Sadly, the universe is not obliged to be as we wish, and even our fondest fantasies may, in the end, turn out to be nothing but that. We cannot assume something is true just because we want it to be, no matter how badly we want it to be. While there may be something more beyond death, we cannot count on it, and so we should not depend on it.

  So what is the solution? Can we trust in technology to save us, perhaps? Will science at last conquer death and free humankind from its fate - perhaps through cloning, or cryonic suspension?

  While in the remote future it is a very real possibility that we will unlock the key to personal immortality, for the time being such rosy scenarios are more science fiction than science fact. We have not yet begun to understand the functioning of the brain on a cellular level, and until we develop the ability to transfer memories from one brain to another - if we ever do - cloning of one's mere genes will remain nothing more than a very expensive and risky way to have a child. (Even if we could transfer memories, it would be an open question whether this process would preserve the continuity of selfhood needed for true immortality.) Likewise, the technology to put humans in suspended animation and later revive them simply does not exist. The most advanced freezing technology in existence today still causes massive cellular damage, irreversible in all except the most fantastic scenarios of what future technology will be capable of. In essence, this is little more than a materialist version of Pascal's Wager.

  But if science cannot deliver us from death, then what chance do we have? Is life nothing more than a countdown to nonexistence, with every precious second ticking away like sand falling inexorably through an hourglass, never to be regained? Is there nothing for us to do but sink into despair over the finitude of life, living out our days in fear and gloom as we wait for the end? Can there be hope in the face of our own mortality?

  No one human being can answer that question on another's behalf, but as far as this atheist is concerned - the answer is yes. Yes, there is hope, and no, we need not despair. Why? Because, come whatever may, here and now we are alive, with the potential to achieve amazing things and the chance to make a difference - and is that not enough? What more can we ask for? Yes, life ends; however, that is not a reason to despair, but a reason to celebrate life and all it has to offer. It is the implicit assumption of many theists that life must be endless to be worth anything at all, but there is no reason to believe this. Surely, what matters most is not whether your life will end at some point in the future - for an eternity of empty, pointless existence would be no better than a finite span of such existence - but whether you made the most of the time you did have, whether you lived with happiness and purpose. If that is the case, it does not matter what comes afterward.

  If we cannot slip the bonds of mortality, if we must live out our lives in the period of time allotted to each of us - then let us make it worthwhile. Let our lives have meant something: let us have done some good, have changed things for the better, have reached out and made contact with our fellow human beings. Let us have made this world a bit brighter by having passed through it. Let us not stake our lives on the hope that there is something more, but let us live them now, with purpose and meaning, full of happiness and appreciation for the mere chance to exist, so we may rest assured that even if there is no afterlife, this life at least will not have been wasted. Let us establish reason and treat others with humanity and fairness; for if there is no final justice in this world independent of us, if there is no reciprocity written into the laws of the cosmos, then it is up to us to do so.

  Granted, we should not be too hasty to dismiss all possibility of an afterlife. We should not be in a rush to tell the grieving that their hopes are without foundation, for the simple fact of the matter is that no one knows what happens after death. Regardless of the arguments for or against personal immortality, the truth is that many people in great pain derive comfort from this belief, and that is something even atheists should respect. As part of living a worthy life of the kind described above, we should always remain humble, bearing in mind that our knowledge will never be perfect, and we should respect the beliefs of those who respect ours, so long as those beliefs do not direct their holders to cause harm. Perhaps there is a blissful afterlife and perhaps there is not, but it does no harm merely to hope. The harm comes when simple, humble hope transforms into arrogant, dogmatic faith, and believers begin to regard their promised afterlife reward as so certain and so important that they value it more highly than this life - which is, after all, the only one anyone can know with certainty that we have. The sword of our ignorance cuts both ways. It is a fine line that atheists must tread - between not exacerbating the grief of those who have felt the pain of loss (which is everyone), and taking a forthright stand against afterlife beliefs of the sort that brought the Twin Towers crashing down and that sets off explosives-laden vests in crowded marketplaces. The solution, as in most matters, lies in moderation and counseling humility. Afterlife beliefs might be right, but they might also be wrong, and no one rational should throw away a certainty for a mere possibility.

  Life ends; we cannot escape that fact. But nevertheless, there is hope - a brilliant golden fire kindled on the horizon ahead, a daybreak in the dark woods. Rather than letting ourselves be paralyzed by fear of the inevitable, rather than staking all our hopes on another life whose existence we can never know about, there is a third way. Let us find happiness and purpose in this existence; let us rejoice that life, however fleeting, is ours for any time at all, and offers so many chances to do good despite all the darkness we find in it. We may not know where our journey will take us, but let us go forward unafraid, with heads held high. Life is a wonderful and strange paradox - as delicate as a spiderweb glittering in the rain, as ephemeral as morning mist that burns off in the sun, as infinitesimal as a lone candle in the dark of twilight, and yet more precious than all the diamonds and gold of the world and all the stars that light the night sky. Life is valuable because it is unique, and precious because it is so fragile. So therefore, let us appreciate life - others' as well as our own - and yes, let us mourn the departed as they deserve, but not to the extent that it brings our own lives to a halt. If there is a blissful afterlife, we have nothing to worry about, and if there is not, then death is essentially a peaceful, dreamless sleep, free of suffering, free of concern. In either case, what matters most is the living. Life is fleeting, but it is not pointless; in fact, atheism teaches us, just the opposite is the truth.

  http://www.ebonmusings.org/atheism/lifeisfleeting.html
• 

  compound complex

  My Friend Never,

  I am recently returned from the home of a dear, spiritual friend, a member of my family's congregation. She asked how I was doing and I told her very well - making new discoveries and growing spiritually in ways unimagined. Little did I realize that this incredible series of articles was awaiting my perusal.
  
  How could I have known the "other" point of view? Clearly and objectively presented by the WTB&TS? I think not. This material, my dear Never, fit over my hand like a glove, so to speak. I must admit, however, that it is a bit heady. Several readings are forthcoming. This is the first time I have allowed my self to delve into such material.
  
  There are no words to express how I am feeling at this very moment - it could be satisfaction, freedom from care and worry, love, finding happiness in the smallest of things ... SERENITY....

  Do you understand, Never, that the mere presentation of a viewpoint formerly unknown to me has opened up my heart and mind to an entirely new awareness?

  I am grateful to you,

  CoCo
• 

  frankiespeakin

  Nvr,

  The truth is far more inspiring and powerful than religious mythology. Knowing that the cosmos was not made just for us opens up whole new vistas of wonder and mystery - it makes it all the more surprising and amazing that we are here regardless. Our own existence, and our consciousness of that existence, is a thing so incredible and strange that it alone qualifies as the greatest miracle in our experience. Our life is a glorious mystery, and only by living with our eyes on the ground can we ignore this fact. When one truly understands this, one stands in awe of everything - and that is the spirituality of an atheist.

  Thanks for the thread.

  I think when one, first feels his indoctrinated (chrisitian) belief system being chipped away from a more detailed consideration of science, and logic, the feeling is both frightening, and liberating in the begining. The consolation IMO comes from embracing the mystery of it all just like this writter so nicely puts it.
• 

  nvrgnbk

  Finding Beauty in the Mundane A meditation on the simple things that matter

  One of the most sobering lessons neuroscience has to teach us is that we are at the mercy of our brains.

  But then again, that statement is not entirely accurate. It is infused with a subtle taint of dualism, and dualism is a doctrine that I, as an atheist and thus a strict materialist, naturally reject. To say that we are at the mercy of our brains implies that there is some "we" - some essence of self, some soul-stuff, some deeper wellspring of identity - that can be viewed as separate from, though affected by, our brains. Of course there is no such thing - we are our brains. Their workings produce our thoughts, our minds, our consciousness; and marvelous instruments though they are, ultimately they are material things, vulnerable to all the flaws and vicissitudes inherent in matter.

  This conclusion is only common sense, and its most obvious symptom is the way our rational minds are so often overruled by our emotions and so rarely the other way around. Our moods govern our decisions and influence our judgment in a way that dispassionate logic almost never can. How many people, in the heat of an angry moment, have said or done something they would later sorely regret? How many people have ever been paralyzed by fear when alone in the dark, despite the rational knowledge that there's nothing hiding in that corner? How many people have ever been driven to distraction by a hopeless crush, whether romantic or sexual, on a person they know they could never have but couldn't stop dreaming about anyway?

  These experiences are common to all human beings. And though outwardly they may have very different effects, in a fundamental way they are all alike: though we may understand our emotions intellectually, though we may rationally appreciate how they affect our behavior, when they are upon us we are powerless to resist them.

  The experience that gave rise to this essay happened to me several weeks ago. I was alone in my apartment on a chilly fall day, late in the afternoon, and for no reason that I was aware of, I suddenly began to feel lonely - isolated from friends and loved ones, overwhelmed with work, weighed down by all the everyday troubles brooding on my mind. But none of these things were the cause of this sudden melancholy, though they contributed to it once it had begun; it grew seemingly by itself, not in response to any external events.

  Though there's no reliable cure for this kind of depression once it's come on, I know from experience that a sure way to make it worse is to sit around doing nothing. Going for a walk always helps me to clear my head and put my thoughts in order, and often that's enough to improve my mood. In any event, I felt a desire for human companionship, not necessarily to talk to anyone, but simply to be around people. I took my coat and notepad, checked the schedule, and caught the next bus to campus.

  It was early evening when I arrived, and the sun was just beginning to set. Almost immediately, I was struck by how beautiful the sky was. A broad river of clouds stretched across the heavens; in the west it was soft violet, its edges outlined with pink and orange in the waning gold of the sun's last light. As the river meandered into the east, it widened and faded into a string of blue, an archipelago of misty floating islands. There were other colors as well, shadowing the more visible ones: ripples of red and purple, faded pale shades of tan, and in the far east, beyond the blue, smoky suggestions of almost invisible white form as if from mountains beyond the limits of sight. It was a tableau of breathtaking vastness and beauty, a panorama that would put the work of the greatest artist to shame.

  Wanting to get a better look, I climbed to the top of a tall, grassy rise behind the university concert hall. This was several days before an open-air concert to be held in memorial of September 11, and an ascending framework of steel bleachers had been set up on the hill. The top row of these provided the vantage point I wanted, and I sat there for a time, doing my best to write something that captured the beauty of the evening sky. It was an impossible goal, of course. Words were not enough to depict the complexity of shape or describe the vast scale, with distance and size unknowable in the endless blue, and the mind of man has not invented names for all the colors that were visible there. It is in these situations, I thought, when faced with the grand ineffable majesty of nature, that we run up against the limitations of language. At such times I can appreciate the claim of Zen Buddhist mystics that mere words are inadequate to communicate the nature of ultimate reality.

  The colors of sunset never last long, and indeed the scene was slowly, almost imperceptibly, softening and fading even as I sat and watched it. I felt better, but not entirely.

  As the sky edged over into late evening, I happened to glance over to one side, out across the campus library plaza. There were not many people there, but my gaze fell on a couple, sitting on a bench on a nearby grassy hilltop, she in red, he in black. They were kissing, oblivious to everyone but each other, and a thought struck me: whatever had happened in the past and whatever the future held, it didn't matter. Together, for that one perfect moment, they were happy.

  And as if that realization had been a spark that had kindled a flame within me, I suddenly felt reawakened, my melancholy mood banished in an instant. As trivial a thing as it was, it had completely reversed my frame of mind. I never knew the couple, but if they ever read this, I would like to thank them for giving me what turned out to be a perfect evening after all.

  What is the point of this story? Simply stated, it is this: Even in the midst of this dark, downtrodden world of meaningless suffering, there are still reasons to take pleasure in life, wellsprings of happiness. In fact, there are many of these, but most of them are so mundane, so familiar, that they are easy to overlook. I did once, and it took an unexpected spell of depression to remind me to see again. When you are in darkness, even the smallest gleam of light seems far brighter by comparison. On that day, I realized anew that the secret to life is to take pleasure in the small things - to find beauty in the mundane.

  So what are some of these mundane sources of beauty? This atheist finds them in two main categories: in the small acts of human kindness and in the baroque beauty of the natural world. Both these things are all around us, freely available for those who would appreciate them. Consider:

  • Have you ever stood at twilight and watched steam or smoke rise from a chimney against the darkening sky, or watched your breath cloud and spiral away in freezing cold air? From the interaction of just a few simple rules, the infinitely complex phenomenon of turbulence builds up, a restless, swirling fluid flow that so far humanity's best minds have not been able to fully understand.

  • How many stories have you read or listened to recently? How many books have you read, how many plays have you seen? We human beings are storytellers - we have always been, since we were hunters gathered around fires in the dark. It is one of the most marvelous gifts of intelligence and an unsurpassed way to fill our lives with meaning and beauty. In addition to simply entertaining, stories can teach us lessons, instill in us purpose, transport us to places we have never been, and preserve the humor and wisdom of our greatest minds over the ages. Our books and libraries are the crowning triumph and the glory of our civilization.

  • Have you ever awakened early to see the sunrise? It begins with the dark before the dawn, that quiet hour when all the world is asleep. By the faintest of degrees, the sky in the west gradually lightens from midnight blue to pale, milky grey, and the western horizon pearls. Shadows fade and dew begins to sparkle as the soft light becomes a thin line, then an arc, then a brilliant sunburst of bright white light along the edge of the Earth. The sky lightens further, from washed-out grey to pale pink, and whatever wisps of cirrus cloud there may be glow silver, rose and orange in the fire of the rising sun. How beautiful and peaceful are those hours before the world comes fully awake! There is no stillness like that of the dawn, nor anything like seeing the brightness of our home star clear the shadows and dreams of night and renew the colors of the day.

  • Have you ever donated blood? This is one of the most noble and heroic acts a person can perform - willingly putting himself through pain to save the life of a complete stranger. When spilled senselessly, by violence, the red of blood symbolizes death; but when donated for the sake of good, it is a powerful symbol of life, of the altruism that one human can feel towards another. In view of the always-desperate need, all those who can donate blood should do so as often as possible.

  • Have you ever considered the colors of the spectrum? I once had a thought: if an extraterrestrial who had never seen Earth before were to visit our home planet, perhaps the one thing that would strike him the most would be our planet's abundance of light. There must be places in the universe where light is a rare and precious treasure, yet we have it in limitless golden abundance. In even the most mundane scene, there are more colors than can be counted, more marvelously subtle shades of tone and hue than can be named. If we had eyes that saw only shades of grey, we would lose but little information about the world, yet how much more lacking in texture and life our perceptions would be!

  • How often have you listened to music? Like storytelling, the making of music is one of those acts human beings can engage in to create beauty for themselves, and one that carries a profound message about us and the way we view the world. Music can expand our horizons and transport us to worlds beyond the realms of the mundane. With string and wind, brass and silver, we weave rhythms and harmonies that speak to that which is deepest in all of us, a language as nuanced as that created by the greatest masters of the written and spoken word. It was the music of our planet that was sent on the golden records carried by the Voyager spacecraft even now hurtling endlessly beyond our solar system, a message in a bottle cast adrift on the vast ocean of cosmic dark. Though they may never be found, nor understood if ever they are found, we will at least have used our chance to make a statement, in the most fundamental sense, about who we are and what we are capable of.

  • How often have you looked up at the sky? The heavens have as many moods as human beings. One could do this every hour of every day of a full human lifetime and never see the same sky twice. There are days when the sky is heavy with pale white and sculpted gray, the shadows of clouds like sketches in charcoal, and there are days when the sky is clear, endless golden blue, bright with warmth and life. There are dawns in orange and silver and twilights ablaze in red and violet; evenings dark as midnight and indigo and ones where the entire vault of the heavens is like a bright sea breaking on distant shores. And then there are the clouds, which take such fantastic shapes: waterfalls, vast mountain ranges, wispy streaks and contrails, arcs and discs, rippling flags and curtains, broad bands, smoky slow-motion avalanches, enormous rolls like cotton bales, tremendous swelling anvils and plumes, aerial islands and continents. It is easy to see why people have always believed the sky was the home of the gods: it offers us a glimpse of something beautiful and celestial, infinitely above the concerns of the mundane earthly world.

  • Have you ever considered the small acts of human kindness, those that happen around us every day? They may be as basic as holding a door for a stranger or helping someone across the street, as simple as the pleasures of love, family and friendship, or more profound, such as comforting a grieving friend or helping another through times of distress. Though human beings are capable of terrible acts of evil, by these good deeds we also show that within each of us is the potential for redemption and the hope of becoming better than we are. Compassion is our heritage, if only we learn to use it well.

  • Have you ever watched a bird in flight? Do they feel joy, I wonder, soaring beyond the reach of gravity? Do they exult in the freedom of flight? Each kind brings its own character to the air: the swift blurred darting of a spray of sparrows, the plaintive cries of a circling gull, the ragged black wings of a crow flapping like a pair of hands applauding, the lofty glide of a hawk floating on air currents, its wings motionless, like a king not deigning to touch the earth. For ages we have dreamed of flying, and though today we ply the skies in great silver ships, still we cannot soar as they do. But though our bodies are earthbound, when we see a bird take wing, our minds can lift off the ground along with them.

  • Have you ever watched a rainfall through glass? Have you ever listened to its music as it splashes to earth, observed its wet glistening on the green leaves of trees, the patterns of concentric circles rippling in puddles and streams, the scent in the air both sweet and earthy at the same time? There is beauty in even the gentlest rain: the earth drinks, and it brings life. But at the same time, there is power in the rain. Have you ever stood beneath a pouring shower or a raging thunderstorm? It is a spectacular sight to see bolts of lightning cleaving the dark sky, illuminating vast mountains and canyons in the clouds for a brilliant instant, followed by a crash of thunder that makes the earth tremble. And when the storm clears: bright rays streaming yellow through the breaking clouds, colorful reflections rippling in calm pools of water, sunlight scattering off droplets of mist in the air so that the whole world seems to glow with subtle light, and maybe, if you're lucky, the evanescent watercolor arc of a rainbow.

  • Have you ever considered the trees? Though their kind of life is far grander, slower and more patient than ours, they are each individuals, as different as human beings are. They add beauty to the world, give peace in their dappled shade, freshen the air and enrich the earth, and turn even the most hard-edged urban environment into a blossoming garden. We humans grew up beneath the trees, and we love them still: mighty oaks, sweet red and silver maples, flowering dogwood, quaking aspen and yellow birch, fragile green willow, dark hoary evergreen, bright rainforest mahogany, palms of the tropical sea, and still more kinds than can here be named. And then there are the seasons! In sweet spring, when bright buds appear on every branch and the warm air and damp earth are permeated with the smell of growth, then it is easiest to believe that trees are living beings just like you or me. In summer, their leaves spread into a living cathedral that drinks the sun and filters the light into gold-speckled shade. And in autumn, leafy green gives way to an explosion of color: reds and browns and yellows and golds, a last fiery bloom in defiance of coming frost and slumber, whirlwinds of crackling sheaves stirred up by the breeze and crunching underfoot, the crisp dry-wheat smell of harvest in the air.

  • Have you ever watched a snowfall? The winter has its own austere and solemn beauty, different from that of the growing seasons, but in its own way, no less beautiful. Winter touches every sense: the smell of ice crystals and woodsmoke in the air, the crisp bite of the whistling cold wind that brings showers of powder from evergreen tree branches and stings and numbs the hands, the crust of the snow cracking underfoot, the sticklike gray of leafless trees rising from white snow and clouded silver ice. Granted, this weather is inimical to us, but when one has a home to go back to, the chill of winter makes one appreciate the warmth and comfort of the hearth all the more. And nothing is more beautiful than being awake in the dark and secret hours of the early morning, watching the falling snow silently blanketing the slumbering world in peaceful, pristine white.

  • Have you ever stargazed on a clear dark night, far from the lights of civilization? On such a night, with the stars like a scattering of diamond dust across the black vault of the heavens, it is easy to understand why the ancients thought the sky was a vast domed firmament arching over the world. But the truth is even more awe-inspiring: each of those faint twinkles is a great sun like our own, though unimaginably far away, and what you see are the lonely few photons that set out from their home star tens of thousands of years ago, that have traveled for trillions of miles across the gulfs of space to finally arrive at the small blue world that is our Earth, and at the terminus of this vast journey, passing through your pupil and striking the retina of your eye, becoming electrochemical flashes carried through the optic nerve and into your brain - becoming thought, a thought that began in the fiery fusion of hydrogen atoms in the heart of a star across the galaxy, or across the entire visible universe, before human civilization or even the human species existed.

  While I have listed some of the things I take pleasure in, there is no universal key to happiness. Different things doubtless will work for different people. But those theists who believe happiness can only be found through belief in God are badly mistaken. They are looking hopefully to heaven and entirely failing to notice that there is a vast and beautiful world all around them. Why invent new sources for that which we already have in abundance? Reality is beautiful and meaningful all on its own.

  In fact, paradoxical though it may seem, nature becomes more beautiful when we realize it is a thing in its own right, independent of us, and not just created for us to appreciate. This latter view reduces the fantastic intricacy of the natural world to something like a stage backdrop: scenery only, a shadow of the real thing, a mere theater on which the story of human salvation is played out. Does this not diminish the grandeur of nature? Is this view not egotistical in the extreme? Some may accuse me of worshipping the creation while denying the creator, but I will never understand the arrogance of one who cannot appreciate beauty without believing it was all made just for him.

  Though we may appreciate the magnificence of the natural world, we must not lose sight of the fact that nature all too often acts in ways that, to us, seem capricious or senseless or cruel. Life is a painting done in shades both of dark and light. If we hold to the logical principle that a creation reflects the personality of its creator, then we must conclude that if nature is the product of an intelligent being, that being must be capable of great evil as well as great beauty. However, if we conclude that nature simply exists in itself, then it is no surprise that it contains examples both of breathtaking grandeur and senseless cruelty, for natural forces which do not take human needs into account may act either in our favor or against us, depending on chance. In either case, we, as human beings, must care for each other; but this does not preclude us appreciating the natural world for its often glorious and fantastic beauty. An atheist can have a life as full, rich and worthwhile, with as much opportunity for happiness, as any religious believer. When we can find beauty in the mundane, we need no gods to make our lives meaningful - merely to be alive is enough.

  http://www.ebonmusings.org/atheism/findingbeauty.html
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  nvrgnbk

  But then again, that statement is not entirely accurate. It is infused with a subtle taint of dualism, and dualism is a doctrine that I, as an atheist and thus a strict materialist, naturally reject.

  Sounds like something Narkissos would be all over.
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  Dansk

  Great thread, Never!

  I, too, am an atheist - but I'm spiritual, too! One thing that really pleases me about becoming an atheist is being rid of the many superstitions I once had, all religiously induced. Now, I really do look into my dogs' eyes as equals (i.e. they have as much right to life as I have). I am enthralled by evolution and how life started out. I am no longer in fear of God and have learnt that one can be a really kind, considerate and moral person without having a religion. Actually, being atheist, I believe we see life more importantly because we don't think of a "better life" after this one. Therefore, it is fundamentally important that we get on with our fellow man and nature NOW!

  Ian
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  nvrgnbk

  Therefore, it is fundamentally important that we get on with our fellow man and nature NOW!

  Could not have said it better.
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  Narkissos

  Lol, nvr, you did figure me out!

  Thanks for the great posts.
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  nvrgnbk

  Lol, nvr, you did figure me out!

  Thanks for the great posts.

  I thought of you immediately when I read that sentence on dualism.