The Indoctrination of Atheism

The refusal of a lie leads to the dogma of “a truth.” The indoctrination of atheism is a piece that has been echoing in my soul for quite some time. I use the word soul both in a strategically comedic way and in a manner commensurate with one who wishes to understand psyche. Psyche which means “mind, spirit or soul.” Though regardless of the level of verification of all three of these definitions I would replace the word “or” with “and,” as scientific endeavor has left the details of these constructs in wanting.?

Where is the mind? Science tells us it likely resides in the brain, which is nestled into the skull. However, recently it has become common knowledge that experiences perceived in the mind also reside in the body. So much for the integrity of the theory of mind. Where is the soul, the incorporeal immortal essence? Science tells us it doesn’t reside, and if it does we can’t measure it. And what is spirit? So far, it just resides in a woeful airline and a few overwhelming beverages.?

The basic atheistic proposition as I understand it is that there is no higher power or God, that religion is nothing more than mere dogma wrapped in narrative form, and that chance is the overarching dictum of the universe. This is the proposition of any atheist, whether they be science-bound or not. Now I could reasonably conceive of a more agnostic stance in atheism that involves empiricism, which is a largely scientific stance, generally. Science being a method of theorizing and testing that lends itself to reproducibility of phenomena, and empiricism being a theoretical backing that relies on experience as a source of knowledge. Thus, the agnostic lies in the conceptual grey of the extremes of atheistic “knowing” and religious faith. However, both stances are equally dogmatic without the wisdom of the agnostic “I don’t know.” Perhaps a recapitulation of many if not all of these terms is in order, but for the purposes of this thought I shall leave them alone and trust that definitionally these ideas are in working order. Where I fail I fall and where I fall we rise.?

I used to run from religion. It disturbed me half to death, and the pressure of its rituals and sacred rites made me physically uncomfortable. Therefore, my discomfort with compliance for a myriad of reasons lent itself to a discomfort with the entire enterprise. Yet, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake an unconscious lust for story, and believe me… I didn’t try.

Still an avid moviegoer and watcher, with an uncleansed palate that thinks too much of itself, I escaped one religious setting to find myself engaged with mythology of every sort. And I marveled at the wonders of the universe both in terms of the scientific and Campbellian. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I realized that religion was not my enemy, rather it was the rites and customs that were blindly adhered to that made my stomach ache. I realized that in my aversion to those customs, I had lost my connection to wonder, to splendor. I had reduced chromaticism in its "infinance" to a monochromatic, soul-less disapproval. All the while, I knew that I did not know what was truly out there, but believed myself sure that it was not the God of my ancestors.?

Now it wasn’t the belief in God that bothered me… it was a system that demanded I give myself away to conditions I regarded as undesirable. Thus, in response, there was a time I would have considered myself flirting with atheism in frustration. I would cast God away and let him know I was doing so, only to feel guilty about my abandonment, which let me know I didn’t believe my own pronouncement of unfaith. One cannot renounce the existence of their imaginary friend to that friend without maintaining that friend’s importance. What’s more, the culture of such a removal was torturous and felt to me to be self-loathing. The narrative of a higher power, God or otherwise, feels compelling in the narrative of my own worthiness. This may mean that a higher power is a proxy for ego, but it may also be a recognition that I experience the divine in more commonplace occurrences. I have been uplifted in moments by a power that feels beyond the “me that knows me.” These moments could be chemically induced and they could be created by a higher power. It's in the “and” that I find myself living these days. I don’t feel there’s a force besides myself vying for control, nor do I believe that source so limited in scope that it would have interest in my day-to-day happenings. But I do find the reduction experienced by dogma to live away from the “and.” It lacks scientific rigor while being dead in the water like a corpse bursting with rigor mortis.

When I was young my grandfather prescribed me a dose of lecture. He spoke to me about hubris and its relationship to conversation both implicitly and explicitly. In that conversation, he imparted to me the first bit of wisdom I ever received from him. Saying “I don’t know” is not a sinful act, but a gracious one. There is a vulnerability in it and a sensitivity to our own limitedness. I, to this day, struggle with saying I don’t know, and use the dogma of science quite often to explain that, which in its essence, I simply don’t know. The reliable gift of science is remarkably unreliable at times. So, I must choose, to live in the “and”. The “and” is the place where two worlds can meet with no apparent bridge. The “and” is found in all disciplines at one time or another.

Thus, a story is not merely a story. And a story not truth incarnate. A story is a story “and” it holds within it truths. How those truths are excavated is largely up to you. But try as you might you’ll always be confronted by the “and” in your explanations. Though the “and” may not be a pragmatic tool in moments where decisiveness is required, “and” is a practical analytic tool for us all when the dust has settled and the stakes are low. So, perhaps the middle way is the way. “And” that’s good enough for me.?