| August 23, 2009 | Four questions, two perspectives. Don Vipond and Philip Symonds |
DON: Four questions: Where do we come from? Who are we? Where are we going? How, then, shall we live?
Unitarians strive for unity in diversity. What kind of diversity? Philip and I are going to offer you a modest example of personal diversity. We do so in unity.
Philip describes himself as a Humanist. But what is a Humanist? I need a Humanist to tell me because I would like to know. And if Philip is a Humanist, what am I? I’ve pondered what would accurately describe me in theological or philosophical terms and the best I can do takes two words: spiritual agnostic.
What does that mean? Take the word, “spiritual” first. For me, it means that I sense, I feel, a grand creative force around us and within us. Within us and across the landscape. Something indescribable, something that cannot be measured, even named, because any name is limiting. Something that feels like a heartbeat in everything. In my search for a sharper understanding, I name it anyway: Sacred Presence.
It does not have the shape of any traditional God I have ever heard described. None the less, it seems real to me. I feel it as deeply sympathetic. I feel it as constantly available, not to intervene, not to make things right, but to promote insight and to help in healing. Trying to capture something of all of this, I use the vague and in-vogue term, “spiritual.”
And when it comes to the great questions of life, I find I have no firm answers. Hence I use the word agnostic, which freely translated means “I don’t know.” Please notice that I say “I don’t know,” not “I don’t care.”
For me, “I don’t know” is not an easy answer. It’s not a copout. It’s humbling. And frustrating. A little voice inside me says: “After all these years, Don, what do you know?” Regrettably, not much. That’s not a confession. That’s how I feel.
Don asks himself, “What am I, spiritually?” and his answer is “A spiritual agnostic.” He has told you why he describes himself that way.
And he describes me as a “Humanist”, with which I agree, and he asks what a humanist is. A quick dictionary definition of “humanism” is “Devotion to human interests; a system concerned with human (not divine) interests, or with the human race (not the individual)...” That captures it fairly well, but what the dictionary doesn’t say is that most, perhaps all humanists are atheists, and perhaps that is what Don is really asking: “How can Philip be so sure there is no god?”
I wasn’t always an atheist. I was brought up a very believing Anglican. And then as I grew up and started thinking, which didn’t happen until I was in my twenties—I’m a belated thinker—I began to have doubts. I first became an agnostic, like Don.
Part of the reason I didn’t start thinking until I was in my twenties was that like most young boys I never stopped to think. But when I was studying shore crab behaviour for my Master’s thesis at UBC back in 1960-61, I had to sit and watch shore crabs do nothing for fifteen minutes at a time, many times over. I had never sat still for so long in my life! So as not to get bored, I began to think. And that led me to a very frightening thought about where we have come from and where we are going, but I’ll let Don give you his views on that before I delve into mine.
DON: Where do we come from?
Clare and I like to walk in British Columbia’s glorious assortment of parks and we have tramped through quite a few of them. In the past 20 years, we have noticed the proliferation of benches in these parks, placed at viewpoints, benches which carry dedications. We always read the dedications. What words can you find for a small plaque to express an abiding love? That’s a challenging writing assignment.
A few years ago in Helliwell Park on Hornby Island we came upon a bench plaque which touched me deeply. It offered an answer to the question: where do we come from? An answer which continues to appeal to me.
The plaque named the person and under the name it noted the date of birth and the date of death. Then, under the date of birth, were the words “Out of Mystery. . .” Mystery spelled with a capital M. And under the date of death were the words, “. . . Into Mystery.” Again with a capital M.
I thought “yes! Nicely said.” When we come into life we emerge from Mystery; we die, we return to Mystery. Mystery, with a capital M, is a grand word. It makes no claims; it’s humble. A word without boundaries, I find it better for me than the loaded word, God.
Coming from an Anglican background, the great mystery called God was defined for me. In detail. With examples. I was not asked for any opinion. I was told. I came to quietly resent and then to reject this hard sell of someone else’s God. I am more at peace admitting my ignorance. I carry my theology or philosophy about, not as a firm statement. Instead, I have a small sack full of singular words which are meaningful to me. One of these treasured words is Mystery. With a capital M.
PHILIP: Where do we come from?
I left you a few moments ago by saying that my thinking as a young man led me to a very frightening thought. It was frightening because I had been brought up a strong Anglican believer in God and an afterlife, and now I was having doubts about both. Here’s what happened next.
Having moved up from watching crabs to watching sticklebacks (a little fish), I had another moment of revelation. I had met some people who were interested in forming a Unitarian Fellowship in Leiden, the Netherlands, where I was studying for my Ph.D. And one evening, as I was approaching the apartment building where we were to meet, I met an older man heading to the same gathering. Somehow in the few moments before reaching the door of the apartment building we got talking about whether we believed in god, and I said I couldn’t make up my mind whether I was an agnostic or an atheist. “What!” said my friend, “You mean to say you don’t believe in ‘a ground of being’?” Apparently ‘a ground of being’ was how Paul Tillich, some famous philosopher of whom I’d never heard, defined god.
Now my Anglican Christian background had taught me that you could pray to god for all kinds of good things, and one of the things I had fervently prayed for as a young boy was for a little bit of musical talent so that I could play like our young pianists Braden or Leslie. God never answered my prayers, and I’m as useless at the keyboard now as I was when I quit in total frustration at age 17. So prayer was of little use to me, but others still believed in it. How in the heck, however, could you pray to ‘a ground of being’?
The realization came to me in a flash: people wanted to believe in god because of all the nice things that went with it, like life after death, and somebody to grant you favours: please god, grant us victory over the Iraqis—or the Americans, depending on which side you’re on, but whichever it is, god, of course is on that side too, which raises a question as to whether god is schizophrenic, but we’ll leave that for another day. People are willing to go to any extent to re-define god from that bearded old guy in the sky, which has become pretty passé even among Christians, to ‘a ground of being’ just so they could hang on to the concept of god. In that instant of realization on my way to the meeting, I became an atheist, and I’ve been an atheist ever since.
So that rather long-winded explanation tells you what a humanist is, and why I became one answers the question from my viewpoint, “Where do we come from?” The answer: We are the sum of a bunch of chemicals that became highly organized through hundreds of millions of years of evolution. It’s not nearly as poetic, or spiritual, if you prefer, as Don’s answer, but that’s me.
I take the “we” in the question to be the human species. So my response would be that we are one of several million species, life forms, on planet earth. We are by far the most dangerous one, perhaps the most imaginative one, certainly the most arrogant one and potentially the most aware and compassionate one.
I will forgo a rant on the countless ways our species is trashing the Earth and, often, trashing each other, how we are erasing other species at a breathless rate through the way we collectively pillage the planet. Instead, I offer a small, true story to suggest a fragment of who we are.
On the street where we live, which is Patterson Road in Saanichton, there is a small ranch-style house, across the road and two houses to the right. Neat, well kept, with cedar siding, brown shingle roof. In this house live three, sometimes four, profoundly handicapped people and their care-givers, a staff of two or three or four, care-givers who work shifts and are there night and day.
We live in a third-floor condo and from our kitchen table, where we take most of our meals, we look out on the street. Over 14 years, we have been watching the residents and the staff in the brown rancher. I don’t think any of the residents in this house talk, although they can make noise. The staff take them for walks, pushing their wheelchairs, sometimes with a balloon attached. One of the residents wears a hockey helmet. One can walk slowly and is led by the hand, shuffling up and down the road, looking at his feet.
This is hugely expensive care – a whole house for three or four patients, all the maintenance that goes with it, 24-hour staffing, food, cleaning, medical supplies. All for this handful of profoundly handicapped people who from their expressions, appear to be occupying another world.
This is your house, your project. Our project. The provincial government, which it seems to me fails those among us in need in so many ways, has arranged for this house and this care. Day after day, it happens. Faithfully. I am glad to have this expression of who we are, right there on our street. Who are we? This house, this care, is part of who we are.
PHILIP: Who Are We?
We are human beings, a species of ape with a highly developed means of communication and learning. Language and learning enable us to indulge in a higher degree of abstract thought than any other species.
But the animal baggage in our genes, such as a tendency to develop social hierarchies, and to enjoy hunting and killing, can lead us into trouble. One of our brain’s features is to seek patterns, and it will often see patterns where none exists.
For instance, "as kids, you look up in the sky, and you say, 'Oh, that cloud is shaped like a dog, or like a poodle.'” That’s harmless enough, and even fun, and our brains are wired to do it. But like so many attributes, seeing patterns where none exists is probably one reason why so many of us believe in god.
There are many wonderful people who believe in god, and humans are not going to give up religion any time soon. I work with a great group of Christian woman in “Faith in Action” who live the kind of compassionate life Don has witnessed from his kitchen window. But being wired to be religious, which is a part of who we are, is also highly relevant to “where we are going”, and could turn out to be our species’ downfall. But let’s hear where Don thinks we’re going first.
DON: Where are we going?
It seems to me that we live in perhaps the most blessed, the most privileged place on Earth. I find an underlying spirit of community throughout the Capital district; we have stable government, (frequently inadequate but stable), schools, health care, quality food, mostly reasonable laws, many freedoms, moderate climate, great natural beauty. If we can’t get it together here, I don’t think there is much hope for our earth-wide species.
I think our great collective shortcoming is myopia. We see our immediate surroundings quite well but it seems so hard for us to understand that our interests also lie elsewhere, sometimes far away. We are finding it so hard to convey a genuine, pragmatic concern about the welfare of our species over the next hill, across the ocean. But if we don’t, I believe our species is doomed.
It seems to me that the future of mankind will be determined, not by those in power but by those most in need. People in need do desperate things. I think we would too. If the number of people in urgent need grows, if we do not willingly, rationally, share at a level quite unknown at the moment, I suspect we will eventually self-destruct. One more species driven, by itself, into extinction. That would be so sad because we have such potential.
PHILIP: Where are we going? I confess I’m not optimistic, but I never give up hope.
When I was answering the question “who are we?”, I noted that our brains are particularly adapted to seek patterns, sometimes where no pattern exists, and I noted this can be very dangerous, and lead us to very dangerous beliefs. One of those dangerous beliefs is that there is a god and he/she/it will take care of us, so don’t worry, be happy.
Some religions instil this belief in their followers despite enormous evidence that much is going awry in today’s world. Robert Wright, in his book “A Short History of Progress,” suggested that the reason many past civilizations collapsed was because the elite priesthood convinced the people that though things looked bad, they needn’t worry, god would look after them. But of course he or she didn’t because god, by the definition of those priests, doesn’t exist.
Unfortunately the belief that god will take care of us is now very prevalent in the U.S., particularly among fundamentalist Christians. We Unitarians should challenge such illogical beliefs. I have suggested one of the reasons people believe in god could be the fear of the inexistence of an afterlife. Michael Moore suggested in his film “Fahrenheit 9/11” that the reason Americans suspect there are terrorists everywhere is fear. He may be right, but the aggressive response engendered by this fear is wrong. When fear, ignorance and complacency lead to inaction or war, our species may be doomed! There are some things Unitarians should NOT tolerate.
DON: How, then, shall we live? Put another way: given what we see and hear and believe to be accurate, how should we respond? How should we spend our energy, our time, our resources? This question hangs in front of us every day.
I think many of us live to nurture the people and the things we love– children, parents grandparents, grandchildren, friends, mountains, rivers, music, puppies, flowers. What we love. And in doing so, we somehow nurture ourselves; we feel that our tiny, fragile lives are worthwhile. It’s a marvellous, mysterious equation.
Philip notes that he is not optimistic but he never gives up hope. That’s how I feel as well. But how can we justify hope when we live in such massive ignorance of so much, when we collectively reflect such a stubborn, self-centred myopia?
At least in my life, I find examples all the time of love made visible. Countless modest examples. Little favors. Numerous beyond count. They don’t make the news but they feed my soul. They carry me forward into the next day. They leave me hopeful.
“Hope” is a vital word in this collection of key words in my pocket. Another key word for me is “trust.” Trust means I am not sure - but it feels like my best option so I’m going to risk. Hope and trust are bound together for me.
One more key word – “community.” I treasure my privacy but I now understand that I am a thoroughly communal creature. Community is as essential for me as the air I breathe. So I have come to trust in community, this community for one. In community I can nurture and be nurtured. I can feel I belong. You belong, I belong. To be persuaded of that relationship is life-giving.
How then shall we live? In community, with hope, seeking to trust, always questioning, listening carefully - and forever celebrating life.
Don’s last and most important question is “How, then, shall we live?” I have related how unquestioned beliefs led earlier civilizations to their doom, as described by Robert Wright in his “Short History of Progress.”
We must live never abandoning our responsible search for truth and meaning, always questioning, realizing during our search that we only ever have a portion of the truth, whatever that truth is. Until now I have found that fourth Unitarian principle troublesome, but in preparing this address, I see better how it fits. I’m still learning!
And because each of us ever has only a portion of the truth, we need to guide our actions by using our right of conscience to pull together a clearer picture of what the truth is through the democratic process within our congregations and in our society at large.
And we must, I think, trust in the inherent dignity and worth of every person. There are many wonderful deists and agnostics out there. As mentioned, I work and enjoy working with four wonderful Christian women in Faith in Action, a multi-faith group that is trying to reduce poverty and homelessness in Victoria, which is a very humanist thing to do. If you remember the definition of humanism with which I started: humanism is “a system concerned with human (not divine) interests, or with the human race (not the individual)...” Working together democratically for the dignity and worth of every person is how I think we must live.
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