It is now ten days into the month of Ramadan in the Islamic calendar. In a few days, Christians will observe Good Friday and have a big Easter feast on Sunday. Jewish families will get together for the Passover Seder. Next week, it will be the dawn of a new year in the Tamil calendar.
A non-believer in any supreme being, I note all these in my calendar because in my framework, whether it is Ramadan or Rama Navami, or whatever, they are reminders to help us mortals reflect on our fleeting existence on this "mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam," as Carl Sagan so poetically put it. These special religious days are intentional pauses to our everyday lives. A forced interruption that then makes us think, for at least a few minutes, about what we want to do with the little time that we have on this planet.
I suppose it can seem bizarre that this atheist writes such stuff. It shouldn’t; for all the non-believer that I am, I consciously think about my existence, and question what it means to be human. Nor am I one of those militant atheists making a fanatical religion out of atheism. As long as the religious do not impose their practices on me, I seek nothing but peaceful coexistence, friendship, food, and laughter and conversations with them. On the other hand, if they impose on me their religion-derived ways of life, either directly or indirectly, then I suppose the roads diverge and my travel in life takes a different route.
Furthermore, I am not that different from most atheists in that we reach the conclusion not with ignorance about religions, particularly the religion with which we were raised. Even through my agnostic teenage years, I was curious about the Hindu faith and its philosophy. Which is also why I am so familiar with ideas like dukrijnkarane that I talk about.
Curiosity then made me find out at least a tiny bit about a few other religions. Unlike most of the truly religious who are committed to only knowing about their own beliefs, we atheists often end up knowing a tad more about various religions.
I am acutely aware that the entire cosmos does not exist only to serve me! The cosmos is. It doesn't have feelings towards me, nor for you or anybody else too. When bad things come my way, like when I get laid off in a Zoom meeting, I do not need a god to turn to. "Shit happens" I tell myself.
Over dinner a couple of weeks ago, when I provided a thumbnail sketch of an unfortunate event in my life, a friend asked why such crap happened to me when I am a nice guy. ‘The luck of the draw,” I told them.
For the most part, given how much probability governs every aspect of our lives, I expect shit to happen more frequently than it really does. I am surprised that my life has not been shitty by any means. I have lucked out. Dumb luck!
I remember all too well how as a young boy who was committed to the Hindu faith, I waited for miracles to happen. Every single day. The older I got, and the more I understood science, I figured that there are plenty of things wrong in interpreting the happenings via miracles.
And then I grew up some more. I began to appreciate the river as a miracle. The sounds of birds are miraculous. The mountains, the green meadows, the wildflowers, oh boy there are miracles all around.
Quite a few years ago, when I was in Costa Rica, I spent my final day on a conducted touristy package. One of the stops was to a waterfall that the guide had been hyping up the entire time.
When we reached the falls, I put away my glasses and climbed down to the observation deck.
With every step, the spray from the falls increased. It was delightful. Soothing. Comforting. Welcoming. Peaceful. I was overjoyed.
I reached the railing at the end. I could feel a lot of the spray. I felt the waterfalls washing away my pain. My disappointments. My problems. My worries. I stood there with my arms stretched outwards on the sides. I remember feeling one with the waterfalls. There was a strange sense of oneness with the world.
Perhaps that is what the faithful feel when they go for a holy dip in the Ganges. The river washes away the problems if they feel that oneness. Oneness with the water. Oneness with the cosmos.
Alan Lightman refers to this as “spiritual materialism” and calls himself a “spiritual materialist.” I think he is on to something to describe how some of us live and interpret our lives.
We are materialists “in the literal sense of the word: the belief that everything is made out of atoms and molecules, and nothing more.” This framework does not mean that we do not feel feelings that are wonderfully profound and transcendental.
Lightman writes:
I have feelings of being part of things larger than myself. I have a sense of connection to other people and to the world of living things, even to the stars. I have a sense of beauty. I have experiences of awe. And I’ve had transporting creative moments. Of course, all of us have had similar feelings and moments. While these experiences are not exactly the same, they have sufficient similarity that I’ll gather them together under the heading of “spirituality.” I will call myself a spiritual materialist.
Whether you are a spiritual materialist or one who follows a religion, I hope you find a few minutes over the next few days to commune with the cosmos.