Being religious or non-religious isn't an on-off, binary, this-or-that state of mind. It's a continuum. Much the same as drinking or non-drinking is.
If someone once was a serious alcoholic, changing to only drink a couple of beers a day will seem like a huge difference. He or she will think, "I'm barely drinking." But to someone who doesn't drink at all, that person will appear to still be wedded to alcohol.
These sorts of attitudes are reflected in both comments and posts on this blog. What seems non-religious to some, will look like raging religiosity to others. It all depends on where you are on a continuum. This can be called the Spectrum of Theistic Probability.
Richard Dawkins puts it this way:
- Strong Theist: I do not question the existence of God, I KNOW he exists.
- De-facto Theist: I cannot know for certain but I strongly believe in God and I live my life on the assumption that he is there.
- Weak Theist: I am very uncertain, but I am inclined to believe in God.
- Pure Agnostic: God’s existence and non-existence are exactly equiprobable.
- Weak Atheist: I do not know whether God exists but I’m inclined to be skeptical.
- De-facto Atheist: I cannot know for certain but I think God is very improbable and I live my life under the assumption that he is not there.
- Strong Atheist: I am 100% sure that there is no God.
But there is more to spiritual belief than God. Many people don't believe in God, but do believe in supernatural phenomena. They've given up a Father figure who resides in an ethereal heaven, yet hold on to other sorts of other-worldly entities.
Such as consciousness separate from the brain.
After heading down the churchless path, for quite a while I carried along this belief, or at least a "weak theist" version of it (I am very uncertain that consciousness exists separate from the brain, but I am inclined to believe that it does).
Now, though, I'm much more on level 6 of the continuum above. I live my life under that assumption that when I die, that's it. No more me. When my brain dies, so does my existence as a conscious entity. I can't be certain of this, but it seems like by far the most likely possibility.
A blurb on the cover of the most recent issue of New Scientist said, "Meaning of life. Learning to live with the reality of existence." Ooh… that sounded intriguing. It was the first story that I read.
Which turned out to be an interview with neurophilosopher Patricia Churchland called At peace with my brain. Or in the online version, The benefits of realising you're just a brain.
Here's some excerpts. I'll include the entire piece as a continuation to this post.
Why is it so difficult for us to see the reality of what we actually are?
Part of the answer has to do with the evolution of nervous systems. Is there any reason for a brain to know about itself? We can get along without knowing, just as we can get along without knowing that the liver is in there filtering out toxins. The wonderful thing, of course, is that science allows us to know.
Are there any implications of neuroscience that you feel unsettled by?
I'd have to say no. It takes some getting used to, but I'm not freaked out by it. I certainly understand the ambivalence people have. On one hand, they're fascinated because it helps explain their mother's Alzheimer's, but on the other, they think, 'Gosh, the love that I feel for my child is really just neural chemistry?' Well, actually, yes, it is. But that doesn't bother me.
By and large I find neuroscience liberating because it allows us to see our connections to other biological things, and because it's not full of metaphysical junk about preparing your life for the great beyond. Of course it's possible we're wrong. But it doesn't seem very likely, and that lack of likelihood is sufficient for me to not want to organise my life around this possibility. I want to enjoy it now. I don't want to make useless and meaningless sacrifices, and I don't want to trash this planet because I think a better one awaits me.
…Some might say the idea that you are just your brain makes life bleak, unforgiving and ultimately futile. How do you respond to that?
It's not at all bleak. I don't see how the existence of a god or a soul confers any meaning on my life. How does that work, exactly? Nobody has ever given an adequate answer. My life is meaningful because I have family, meaningful work, because I love to play, I have dogs, I love to dig in the garden. That's what makes my life meaningful, and I think that's true for most people.
Now, at the end of it, what's going to happen? I will die and that's it. And I like that idea, in a crazy sort of way.
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