In all, there are countless traits and actions that world religions and cultures have put forth as exemplars of excellence. Starting with this foundation, psychologist Martin Seligman and his colleagues have outlined a list of human strengths and traits that potentially lead to well-being—knowledge, courage, humanity, justice, temperance, and transcendence, each of which have a sub-list of yet more traits. No doubt research will continue to look into the scope and outcomes of various human traits.

Sacred River offers its own system of four cardinal virtues: Courage, Integrity, Beneficence, and Openness. These are not presented as immaculate virtues in the sense of a divine or revealed ideal. Rather, they are ways of being, both in action and attitude, in service to our central spiritual aim—leading a more meaningful, fulfilling, and joyous life.

Akin to Seligman’s model, these Four Virtues are intended to be broad, holding within them multiple other virtues. At the same time, we want to avoid dictating specific actions as being virtuous since we recognize that context has a significant impact on deciding if a given behavior is beneficial or not. So instead we want to provide a template, a framework that can guide how we act in the world. Well-articulated virtues can also help give us something to aim for in terms of personal growth.

We consider the aspiration to a virtuous life to be a core spiritual practice at Sacred River. This path is articulated in action—it is not enough, say, to feel compassion for others in order to be a compassionate person, one must also act compassionately. It is ultimately up to the individual to decide when and how to embody the Four Virtues.

Further, these virtues are not perfectible. That is to say, no one can be perfectly courageous or open. Therefore, the true aspiration is not towards some state of idealized perfection or grace, but towards becoming ever more virtuous. If one is doing that, then they are on the path of virtue. One could call this our meta-virtue—the steady seeking of virtuousness. For this reason, we also call this the CIBO Path (see’-bow; taking the initials of the Four Virtues).

Although we do offer a discrete model of virtuous excellence, we don’t intend to tell people which things they should or should not accept as virtues; if one considers prudence, for instance, to be an important virtue, so be it. At the same time, some traditional virtues might not fit in well with the overall ethos of Sacred River, such as meekness or faith. Our goal is not to dictate values, but to offer a system of thought and practice that we believe will be personally and socially beneficial.

I hope to show with future essays that the Four Virtues are not arbitrary, but are established with good cause in reference to our goals. This begins with the understanding that if there were but one true aim in Sacred River, it would be Fulfillment. As with the virtues, Fulfillment does not describe a perfect state but an ongoing process of becoming ever more true to oneself, of fully manifesting one’s core values, talents, and dreams in the world. Fulfillment is not any discrete act, but rather a holistic, emergent experience, both an expression and embodiment of one’s Self. Words cannot accurately describe this experience, and so we must depend upon metaphor—in our case, it is the transition from being a Swimmer in the River to becoming the River itself.

Fulfillment requires developing a sense of meaning and results in joyfulness; this is why all three are mentioned. And while all three are discrete things, nevertheless the core aim is Fulfillment. But as we are progressive in orientation, we can say that this aim is twofold—for ourselves as individuals and for all others in society. Yet, it should come as no surprise that both of these are fundamentally intertwined.

This idea of Fulfillment is the context in which we define virtue. From this we can develop social principles or values, as well as what we are calling the Four Virtues, which can also be called personal virtues. The social principles we promote are those underlying the progressive and humanistic movements, such as justice, opportunity, sustainability, and fairness (future essays will address these in more detail). They are things that we fight for in society. But the Four Virtues do not describe large scale social states, but rather individual ways of being. Both sets are necessary, but the distinction needs to be made.

And so we have our Four Virtues—Courage, Integrity, Beneficence, and Openness.

Obviously these are only the barest of descriptions. We will be soon exploring each of these in much greater detail. In a more distant future, it is my deepest hope that these Virtues can eventually be written into stories, both personal and mythological. It is one thing to discuss virtue as a theory and another to share what it really means to live a virtuous life. I am also hopeful that we will be able to develop programs to help people define for themselves what the Four Virtues mean and how they might be manifested in their lives in meaningful and fulfilling ways. As always, your input is welcome as we explore this vital aspect of spiritual practice at Sacred River.

We often see descriptions of healthy living that delineate various domains, a common set being “mind, body, spirit.” Within Religious Naturalism, of course, we do not acknowledge the existence of a “spirit” needing tending. Although we do not have souls that need to be nurtured, it is certainly reasonable to talk about developing a healthy spiritual life.

Exactly what this looks like will be different for every individual, of course, but one might say that it essentially entails promoting meaning, fulfillment, and joy, perhaps from an explicitly religious perspective. By this I mean from an orientation that includes experiences such as gratitude, reverence, and a sense of deep connection with all things.

But if we agree that there is such a thing a spiritual life, it is not really separate from “mind” or “body”, but rather emerges from the total matrix of our biopsychosocial self. In this sense, one’s spiritual life is not unlike one’s sex life. As important as it is for adults to have a healthy sex life, few would list it as a primary domain, e.g. mind, body, sex (although many might list it as a primary interest, of course).

But what really sets spirituality apart is the degree to which it can potentially become infused with virtually all aspects of living. For this reason Sacred River delineates seven core areas of living, all of which can be profitably approached with a spiritual perspective:

In reality, all these Spiritual Streams are interconnected via the body and mind; however, developing a spiritual life is not a metaphysical exercise, but ideally becomes an approach to living. In other words, this list is but a convenient way of focusing attention and implementing pragmatic action. At the same time, I am confident that it does a fairly good job of modeling, if not irreducible then at least well-demarcated domains of human life.

Some of these areas are not traditionally associated with spirituality, especially the Epicurean or Intellectual Streams. Pleasure is often seen in many religions as being the enemy of spiritual purity, with the latter often being the enemy of faith. We think it is time to change both sets of attitudes. I look forward to getting into specifics in another essay, but for now I will say that sacralizing both pleasure and knowledge is a vital step towards integrating spirituality with the goal of genuine human fulfillment.

The point of this brief note is to express the notion that spirituality isn’t something done alongside physical health, emotional well-being, or one’s job, family, or hobbies. While a life can certainly include explicit spiritual practices, such as ritual or meditation, spirituality ideally becomes infused within all activities, allowing for even the most mundane activity to become a source of meaning, fulfillment, and joy. This act of sanctification, of consecration is of living itself. No external authority is needed for this, only the power inherent in your being as a holy expression of Nature.

The Second Virtue within Sacred River is Integrity. One aspect of integrity is genuineness, which can be interpreted as embodying one’s most authentic self. Of course, this “self” is not an unchanging relic, but an emergent process of being. There are many keys to achieving this flow of genuineness, but perhaps the most salient is self-knowledge or self-awareness. It is no small thing to be able to pay attention to the self, to one’s quiet motivations, expectations, beliefs, assumptions, fears, values, and all the obscured habits of the mind, to follow the tangled thread in the cognitive labyrinth that leads to our manifested actions and feelings. Any increase in such awareness can be considered another step in the journey of personal growth.

It is true that there is value in the knowing alone, but the true value is in using awareness of the self to change. One metaphor for this is Michelangelo’s description of sculpting, when he said that a statue is already fully formed within the stone, and that his job was merely to chip away the remainder. If it is true that a genuine self exists within each of us, then our job is to chip away at those things that prevent fully authentic expression.

Now then, all of these things are potentially disruptive—self-knowledge, chipping away at the inauthentic, and even genuine expression. By disruptive, I mean that processes within ourselves, our daily lives, and our social systems are interrupted and become more chaotic or unpredictable, often resulting in anxiety. For most people, disruption isn’t pleasant. This makes perfect sense—our survival has long depended on our (assumed) ability to control our environment and to predict outcomes. As such, well-being cannot be long maintained in a disruptive environment.

Considering how life is already chaotic enough without our intentionally throwing a wrench in the works, it makes sense that the idea of harmony, balance, peace, or tranquility would be a common theme in nearly every religion. Sacred River also supports these basic aims and recognizes their many values; after all, another aspect of Integrity is maintaining an optimal balance between all elements of the self. Outside of oneself, harmony in the social and ecological environment is vital to establishing fairness and sustainability. It goes without saying that finding peace and contentment in one’s life can be a source of great spiritual satisfaction.

The core aims of Sacred River are meaning, fulfillment, and joy. You may notice that tranquility is not on that list. This is because, regardless of its many positive virtues, tranquility is not an effective tool to achieve the kind of world for which we are working. Now then, one might experience tranquility as a byproduct of fulfillment, and no one here would begrudge that. But we are progressives here at Sacred River—we hold that things can always improve, and sustained contentment often inhibits the motivation needed to bring about change.

To be clear, I am not proposing we need to live a life of perpetual disturbance, or that it is good to induce chaos for its own sake. What I am arguing is that if we are going to aim for progress—both personally and socially—then we need to make friends with disruption. We each need to find ways to harness the power of disruption. A forest needs fires on occasion to stay healthy, and the same can be said of human life. Fulfillment and genuineness require that we challenge ourselves to break out of unnecessary habits of the body and mind, to learn new knowledge and skills, and to try novel ways of thinking and living. This requires the courage to leap into the unknown, the humility to realize that we don’t have all the answers, and the curiosity to wonder what change might bring.

On the whole, I think it is better to err on the side of tolerance when faced with an uncomfortable difference. After all, who are we to say what is the right way to live? Religious Naturalists don’t have a holy rule book, and so we are forced to use reason and empathy to determine which things are acceptable and which aren’t.

But let’s be clear here—not all things are acceptable. Suicide bombing, female castration, slavery, pedophilia, torture—these actions all represent clear moral failings, and as a humanist, I am not only intolerant of such things, I am also willing to fight for their eradication. Progressive humanism does not have an ethic of “perfect tolerance” in this regard.

Of course, the real trick is dealing with the stuff in the grey middle. There are no clear ethical standards when it comes to complicated issues that involve multiple variables; abortion is a good example. Dealing with such things will always require the messy push-and-pull process of articulating values, examining prevailing conditions, predicting outcomes, and trying to persuade people to accept new points of view.

This is what makes the spiritual journey so challenging. On the one hand, it is good to expand one’s ability to see from multiple perspectives, to labor for the well-being of others, and to promote a patchwork culture that is fair, rich, and harmonious. On the other hand, it is also good to explore what things in society might need changing, and then to be willing to do something about it.

I understand this is a tough one for those postmodernists who want to protect anything that falls under the rubric of “cultural norm” or “religious belief”. But norms and beliefs are not isolated specimens in a zoo—they have real-world consequences. As such, nothing should be off limits for critical examination.

Tolerance does not mean “anything goes as long as it’s part of an established culture or population”. As a progressive, my aim is to see increased fairness, opportunity, prosperity, and freedom in the world. If cultural norms or religious beliefs significantly inhibit any of these four, I consider it my right, and even my duty as a human, to try to counter them. Of course, persuasion and inspiration are my preferred tools, but vigorous debate, legal action, and peaceful demonstration are all legitimate options when called for.

Social transformation is an ancient religious tradition, and there is no reason for Sacred River, or Religious Naturalism in general, to be any different. The fact is, there are beliefs and norms out there (including some of our own as individuals, no doubt) that run counter to social justice and human flourishing that have too long been safe behind the wall of political correctness. If we want to see a more equitable and thriving world, then we must understand that tolerance does not require complacency or silence.

To be clear, what I’m talking about is not black and white. Human beliefs and behaviors are often messy, contrary, confusing, and horrible. But they can also be beautiful, magnificent, inspiring, and transformative. Often, which is which depends on the perspective one brings to a situation; there are few absolutes in life.

Tolerance is that which inhibits our natural drive to demonize difference by stepping out of one’s personal perspective and empathizing with others. In this sense, tolerance is an approach to human interaction which tries to look for fundamental similarities behind the differences. In this way, we can fight those things that prevent a better world, accept benign if conflicting differences, and celebrate our shared heritage as humans, all at the same time.

This is not an easy path. As Naturalists, we do not see a simple world of right and wrong, good and bad. We must choose instead to get in the muck and really engage with the sticky issues of a complex world. We have some wonderful tools to do this with, including reason, empirical inquiry, compassion, and pragmatism. And when we are weary we can lean on history, which shows that the naturalist perspective, on the whole, consistently leads to more veridical, functional, and beneficial solutions. Our mandate does not come from God or any prophet, but from the realization that we alone are responsible for ourselves and if a better world is indeed possible, then it is up to us to get it there, together.

Much of what we’ve been exploring so far has been theoretical, especially in regards to what underlies the religious impulse and letting go of supernaturalism as a way of interpreting nature. This is important, and no doubt many more theoretical essays will be written. A significant part of spirituality is the development of a particular worldview, and that is what we’ve largely been working on. However, it’s vital to point out that a spiritual life is an active life. Since we do not have any mysterious “essence” that makes us more or less spiritual, being spiritual must include having a spiritual practice.

We’ve looked at some of the things that such a practice is meant to accomplish. This includes the need to reduce existential anxiety, establish social connections, promote a sense of agency and purpose, express ourselves creatively, and develop a worldview that allows for meaning, values, and aims. There simply can be no one thing that a spiritual practice accomplishes—spiritual development obviously involves a complex web of biopsychosocial elements. This is why it is so useful to have a practice model, to provide a sense of organization and focus. This is something that I hope Sacred River can develop.

Defining Spiritual Practice

And so, let’s not waste any more time. First, what do we mean by spiritual practice? We can say that it is an intentional way of being that is dedicated to developing an ever more insightful, mature relationship with the self and the world in a way that is profoundly meaningful, fulfilling, and joyous. There certainly is a lot there and it will take more than this one essay to unpack it all.

First, what do we mean by an “insightful, mature relationship”? The important part is relationship, a recognition that we are all an integrated part of a much larger whole, or rather a set of wholes, ranging from the many aspects of the self, to family, to friends, to community, to society, to the biosphere, to the entire Universe. This relationship is ideally insightful and mature. Briefly, by insightful, we mean a depth of awareness regarding the nature of things (which includes the knowledge that we can never know it all). Mature refers to a state of increasing complexity, cohesion, and flexibility (in the sense that, say, a mammal is a more sophisticated organism than an amoeba). So, to restate, we can say that one core aim of a spiritual practice is to develop a way of relating to the self and the world that is increasingly sophisticated, adaptable, integrated, aware, and knowledgeable.

The notion of a meaningful, fulfilling, and joyful life has already been explored at a basic level. When I use the adjective “profoundly” above to describe them, I mean that certain kinds of “religious” feelings emerge—including reverence, awe, and wonder—all of which promote a sense of deep significance and connectivity. This last bit—deep significance and connectivity—lies at the heart of the religious experience. Let’s try to keep this in mind as we go along.

So, how do we accomplish all this? It’s a tall order, no doubt about it. Further, the model has to take into consideration the wide variety of individual differences among practitioners. Establishing a robust set of detailed practices is going to take a while, so your patience is appreciated. But I think we can make a good start, at least at a broad outline…

Engagement and Contemplation

A comprehensive spiritual practice must include two primary domains—engagement and contemplation. Engagement, in this case, can be defined as an intentional act of meaningful interaction. Contemplation can be defined as intentional awareness. Obviously these definitions are very broad, but it’s useful to recognize right off the bat that a spiritual practice includes both action and cognition. Further, either can be done independently or in tandem—for example, a state of flow might be a case of engagement without much contemplation, whereas yogic meditation might represent the opposite; both might happen together during a nature hike.

Engagement has two “directions”—depth and breadth. Depth involves focusing experience in one activity and delving into it as deeply as possible. This can be called the Path of Mastery. The other direction aims to broaden one’s set of experiences, which we can call the Path of Novelty. Both paths have their own unique set of advantages, and over time, they begin to accentuate each other. And so we have our first principle of practice: actively striking a balance between the Paths of Mastery and Novelty.

Contemplation also has two “directions”—focus and openness. We can refer to the former as Concentration, and the latter Receptivity. Concentration, in this context, involves aiming one’s attention at a particular idea, sensation, or memory. This can be thought of as the disciplining of the mind, learning how to focus one’s thoughts with minimal distraction. At the other end is Receptivity, which involves intentionally letting go of directing thought and remaining mindful to whatever enters one’s awareness. And so we have the second principle of practice: learning to increase one’s state of awareness, either by focusing or opening one’s mind.

There is no one correct way to navigate through Mastery, Novelty, Concentration, and Receptivity. There will be times when it is beneficial to hone in one just one of these, and other times when it will be best to strike a balance between all four. It will depend on where one is in their own state of development as well as where inspiration leads.

The Spiritual Streams

Spiritual practice can be focused in several main domains in a person’s life—these areas, which we call Spiritual Streams (or just The Streams), are all equally legitimate and valuable. It would be expected that a person would, over the course of a lifetime, shift in and out of the various Streams on their journey of self-discovery and personal development. The Streams presented here are certainly not the only way to categorize such things, but neither are they completely arbitrary. They are designed to provide a context or conceptual environment within which to focus one’s intentions and efforts. In brief, the seven Streams are:

1. Self—fundamental functions of the self, including the biological, psychological, characterological, and spiritual.
2. Relational—personal friendships, romantic partners, family, and community (e.g. neighbors, colleagues, classmates, etc.).
3. Work—labor in domestic, occupational, religious, and community settings.
4. Epicurean—creative or enriching experiences, such as art, food, music, travel, sport, dance, theater, and so on.
5. Intellectual—development of critical thinking and reason, education, research and analysis, and pedagogy.
6. Sociocultural—interaction between the self and the larger culture; working to influence social change in some meaningful way.
7. Natural—connection to and experience of the natural world, including and beyond human beings.

These are intended to reflect all the major components of human life, and while they are here listed as discrete domains, in actuality they are all deeply interwoven (and some actions clearly overlap, such as, say, political efforts, which might fit in the Relational, Work, and Sociocultural Streams). This list is obviously shorthand for what are vast realms of potential experience. Such a system does not offer a delineated path of development, with clearly defined stages. It recognizes instead that life is a web of events, relationships, and ideas, and that no single path can be relevant or useful for everyone. While it’s true that a spiritual practice aims for deep significance and connectivity, what this looks like and how one gets there will be a unique journey for every individual.

The CIBO Path or The Four Virtues

The CIBO Path—also called the Four Virtues—is one core practice encompassed by all the Streams. CIBO stands for Courage, Integrity, Beneficence, and Openness. These four virtues are offered as a model for characterological development, defined as the promotion of certain principles for guiding behavior. Within Sacred River, this is vital, because we recognize that spiritual practice, and life itself, can be downright challenging, sometimes even disheartening or frightening, and strength of character is needed to help us through such challenges. Hopefully, much of the model of practice within Sacred River will focus on CIBO development. The following is a very brief outline of each (a full treatment is on its way):

Courage: Personal growth—whether it be spiritual, psychological, social, professional, or otherwise—almost always involves some degree of discomfort. It often requires us to plunge willingly into potentially distressing situations that require relinquishing control, being challenged, or feeling unfamiliar. Courage is that trait which allows us to recognize related fears, to face them, and eventually to overcome them. Virtues related to courage include optimism and determination.

Integrity: The foundation of integrity is wholeness—to be sound and congruent. It means that all the components of a system are properly and effectively working in harmony, each according to its own nature and function. There are many components within a single person, falling into three main categories: biological, psychological, and social. Having a healthy body, flexible and cohesive mind, and deep connections to others are all necessary for a fully integral life. Stated more simply, to have integrity is to be true to oneself, while also embodying related virtues such as honesty, fidelity, responsibility, fortitude, thoughtfulness, and dignity.

Beneficence: Beneficence begins with a recognition that we are all connected—every human, every life-form, every part and parcel of the planet and the universe. At the heart of Beneficence is empathy, from which emerges compassion, generosity, goodwill, gratitude, the ability to forgive, and the willingness to give of one’s time, resources, and energy to promote well-being, opportunity, and fairness. It is possible to say that Beneficence is the active form of Love.

Openness: Openness refers to the ability and willingness to take in or adopt new ideas, behaviors, attitudes, and perspectives. To be Open is to embrace a stance of curiosity and expansiveness which seeks to increase one’s store of knowledge, experience, and capabilities, which in turn gives rise to more options for how to perceive and express oneself. Openness is about exploring possibilities, practicing creativity, adapting to new circumstances, celebrating variety, finding humor, questioning norms and expectations, appreciating beauty, and attempting the new. Openness can also describe Receptivity, the broadening of one’s awareness, which can play a key role in promoting a sense of connection to the larger world in which we exist.

A Brief Commentary

Obviously this essay has presented only the barest of outlines for practice. Naturally I look forward to a time when Sacred River can offer a more robust program. The good news is that there already exists countless variety of religious practices, which means we don’t need to reinvent the wheel. Since Sacred River is naturalistic, we do not recognize the objective validity of theistic or supernatural concepts; however, we do recognize the utility of using religious objects as symbols, a perspective we call Allegoricalism. Said another way, our evolving understanding of the natural world is guided by science and our methods for analyzing and solving problems are pragmatic, while spiritual practice can (although certainly does not have to) include such objects as gods, icons, forms and figures, and so on as tools for focusing attention, as doorways to profound emotional states, and as a way to harmonize a group.

Over time we will explore various categories of traditional practice, such as meditation, ritual, and celebration, while also finding ways to experience the sacredness within every-day events and the natural world. At the same time, Sacred River is essentially a growth-oriented project, and so we are also concerned with the acquisition of knowledge and insight, the development of ability and fitness, and the promotion of experience and expression. Being a progressive movement, Sacred River also encourages efforts to manifest greater liberty, opportunity, and fairness in society at large.

Keep in mind the core goal of spiritual practice—through experiences of deep significance and connectivity, and using the tools of engagement and contemplation, to develop a way of relating to oneself and to the world that is ever more insightful and mature in order to promote greater meaning, fulfillment, and joy. Any tool that helps accomplish this, and is in reasonable alignment with the Four Virtues, is a good tool. Ideally, a spiritual practice also addresses the key areas of life, ranging from daily mundane issues, defining and expressing one’s values, providing guidance and inspiration, developing one’s intentionality and agency, establishing deep connections, coping with struggles and loss, to invoking experiences of meaningful profundity. Naturally, individual people will experience all these areas differently, and so it is ultimately the responsibility of every person to determine their own unique path. This creative process lies at the heart of the spiritual quest—to learn who one is; to discover one’s own values and sense of purpose and meaning; and to express one’s self in a way that is meaningful, fulfilling, joyous.

Goodenough also explains that religion answers two basic questions: How Things Are and What Is Important. I agree with her that the answer to the first question is, well, how things actually are. The single best method we’ve come up with to figure this out is the scientific method. This is not to say that there aren’t an infinity of questions—of course there are. Science will never have it all figured out; that is a very good thing, because otherwise things would become very boring. At the same time, I maintain that we can scratch a few things off the list: what we know about the physical origins of the Earth, the general process of evolution, the biopsychosocial basis of human functioning, geology, engineering, and astrophysics pretty much rules out 99% of religious theories regarding How Things Are. Moreover, the scientific method is far more effective in finding out new things that we never even knew we didn’t know.

If religion is no longer needed to answer How Things Are, that really leaves What Is Important. Of course, religion isn’t strictly needed for that, either. Philosophy and reason have done a pretty good job of constructing systems of ethics that are more flexible and relevant than the rigid rules of scripture. I maintain, as one example, that humanism is a more noble and pragmatic moral system than most of those put forward by major religions. Science is also starting to inform ethics—for instance, evolutionary ethics is a nascent system that recognizes that morality is itself an evolutionary adaptation.

So, if religion is not needed to answer How Things Are or What Is Important, then why is it still here? I have offered some preliminary ideas:

• Safety—this is possibly the underlying motivation for religion, to reduce existential anxiety.
• Affiliation/Connectivity—humans are designed to seek connection, and this can range from joining spiritual communities to seeking mystical Union with God. Of course, people are also keyed to work within hierarchies, and religion can offer a sense of great power and authority.
• Mystery—people want to know stuff, and the answers that religions give are often more comforting or comprehensible than what science offers. Religion can also address questions that actually have no answers, such as why bad things happen to good people.
• Agency—religion can give people a sense of control and competence, leading to a sense of worth.
• Exaltation—humans want to feel good, and religion can (often when fulfilling the above needs) provide happiness, comfort, pride, ecstasy, and a sense of profound specialness.

Religion addresses these things, especially the base issue of existential anxiety, in a more direct way than nearly any other human endeavor. These needs and drives are fundamental features of being human, and as long as that remains true, religion will endure.

But religion isn’t just a theoretical construct—it is an experience. When people say they want to be spiritual, what they often mean is that they want to feel spiritual. But what does it mean to feel spiritual? What differentiates a spiritual feeling from any other kind? As I wrote in that last essay, a religious experience is one that involves some shift in perspective related to an embodied sensation that is interpreted to be religiously meaningful. Such an experience involves (1) pre-existing beliefs or schemas, (2) a somato-emotional event, and (3) an interpretation involving religious concepts. Such a shift might be dramatic or it might be gentle, ongoing or fleeting, (seemingly) paranormal or tellurian. And, as a general rule, religious experiences occur within the context of some established model of belief and practice, while each experience is yet unique and individual.

But that doesn’t tell us what it feels like. I don’t have a strict answer for that one, especially since there is such a huge variety of religious practice, but I’d like to offer an initial hypothesis. I think the core sensation of a religious experience is meaningful profundity. By that, I mean a sense of deep significance and/or transcendence from normal states of being. I think it also involves a sense of super-reality (or hyperreality, depending on who you ask), a kind of connection with, experience of, or insight into a level of reality that is normally beyond everyday awareness. This can have any number of emotional expressions, of course, ranging from the perfectly tranquil to the wildly ecstatic.

I suspect that the great spiritual drought of modern times involves a lack of meaningful profundity in so many people’s lives. This is one possible explanation of the rise of fundamental evangelical religion—despite the fact that those religions offer a model of reality that has no relation to how things actually are, and often promote actions that are diametrically opposed to their fundamental doctrines, the sense of significance they give people helps them thrive. I don’t think it’s an accident that the avatar of this movement is the mega-church, with thousands of members; being surrounded by so many people in thrall to the Good Word certainly must feel momentous. The drive to experience meaningful profundity lies behind the irrational and unshakable faith in obviously ludicrous notions, ranging from personalized gods to a 6000-year-old Earth; people are often more than willing to sacrifice reason and critical thinking for the sake of it.

We are also willing to do very strange things for the sake of meaningful profundity. If you really think about it, religious practices can be downright bizarre—speaking in tongues, twirling in one spot, drawing various shapes in the air, fasting and weird diets, putting oil on each other, flagellation, dunking people in water, and of course wearing all those funny clothes. Clearly we are talking about something that drives people to think and behave in very strange, often nonsensical ways.

It should be noted that what is experienced as meaningfully profound is both deeply subjective and mediated by social constructs. In other words, nothing is objectively profound, we can only experience things as such (yes, this is essentially the same argument I made in the last essay on divinity). Now then, I said “mediated” by social constructs—let me explain what I mean by that. Many people have experiences that are triggered by things like entheogens, physical exercises (e.g. dancing; exhaustion events), focused contemplation (i.e. meditation), and various other circumstances that can lead to an intense set of sensations. But in themselves they are not meaningful—only by understanding them within the context of some kind of social construct can they become integrated in an intelligible way. By connecting an experience to a larger construct—often an established religious one—then a person can decide what it means, as in what import it has, its implications and significance.

And so, we come to the relationship between sensation and worldview, a dynamic complexity from which emerges religious experience. A religious worldview mediates various experiences, while adaquately-intense experiences can alter one’s worldview. This dance is why in our brief 10,000 or so years of civilization we have seen virtually as many different religions (although there is evidence that basic religious ideas have been around for at least 300,000 years).

But science has really thrown a wrench in the works, because it is so significantly superior to religion in regards to exploring and understanding the workings of Nature. Similarly, reason (often based on scientific data) can produce more relevant, just, and pragmatic ethical systems. But as noted, science and reason rarely evoke meaningful profundity.

This is the challenge for religious movements that aim to align spirituality and science. It’s one thing to talk about the magnificence of Nature, and another to experience it as meaningfully profound. Not impossible certainly (just read Emerson’s Nature), but difficult, especially in our highly urbanized, technology-dominated culture. Moreover, naturalist religious movements do not often articulate aims for us beyond environmental stewardship or group-level behavior; there is little guidance in terms of what is good for an individual to accomplish. We need some set of ideals that we can look to for who we are supposed to be. And we need that experiential doorway that leads us to meaningful profundity.

If I have my way, this will not be a top-down process. It is possible to offer some general outlines for practice, and I plan to do that, but I think it will be much more valuable if a set of practices arises organically out of experimentation and community discussion, grounded in a set of general principles. This is why so much effort is going into the development of those principles first—we need to figure out what we’re trying to accomplish before we can know how to accomplish it. I look forward to this part of the adventure and I hope you will join me as it continues to evolve.

Religion

Another major product of our neocortex is religion. It is arguable that religion was really just the earliest form of natural science, using available data and human reason to explain and predict various phenomena, such as seasonal changes or various illnesses. It has been a long strange trip from that point to modern religion. Although some religious movements still try to explain the physical world (such as the many Christians who use the Bible to determine the age of the Earth), most have moved into the more abstract domains, such as morality, transcendence, and the afterlife.

Still, the fundamental needs behind these abstract domains predate the neocortex—such as the desire for safety, social affiliation and competence. While the afterlife is a relatively new concept, for example, fear of death is primordial. Religion also serves to order society and provide guidelines for behavior, both of which address affiliation and the basic mechanisms that deal with social hierarchy (which themselves relate to resource, mating and kin dynamics). But the neocortex allows us to manifest complex abstract structures using the power of the intentional mind. As such, we have the ability, and I would argue the obligation, to continually question and reconstruct our models of value and meaning.

Intentionality as a Value

Emerson once wrote, “The education of the will is the object of our existence.” I take this to mean that the highest human virtue is our own intentionality, that it is our sacred duty both to become more aware of our power to choose and to act, and to make sure those choices and actions are well-informed. After all, intentionality is the key to a power of transformation more potent than any on this planet in four billion years—we are altering the global environment that keeps us alive while reaching into the genetic code that determines our very being. It is in this ability to imagine, reason, and direct our actions that we are become as gods and demons, and with this awesome power comes great responsibility.

There is also a less ponderous side to intentionality, which is the ability to transform our communities and ourselves so to attain greater meaning, fulfillment, and joy. There are several streams of life where one can point their intention and connect with the larger world, realize one’s potential, and experience wonder, harmony, and love. While easier said than done, the rewards are certainly profound.

Outline of Intentionality

There is a very large literature on the nature of human intentionality. Although there are other far more sophisticated models of intentionality, or will, than I might create, I would nevertheless like to offer my own conceptualization. For those philosophy fans out there, my view on intentionality draws upon the compatibilist position, which says that determinism is compatible with free will. I also recommend the works of existential psychologist Rollo May, philosopher Daniel Dennett, and psychiatrist Roberto Assagioli (visit the wiki based on his work, WillProject). This is a bare bones model, and certainly open to change, but it gives an outline of my basic view.

1) Agency

I break intentionality into three broad, interrelated categories: agency, drive, and expression. Agency, the first category, can be defined as the capacity to make choices and to engage with the world based on those choices. Agency emerges from the interplay between skill and limitations. Skill is the what and how in agency—what needs to be done and how to do it—composed of knowledge (an emergent property of awareness, reason, and declarative or explicit memory) and ability (primarily arising from procedural or implicit memory, although what we call “talent” is often involved as well). Behavior requires a frame within which to act, and the boundaries of a given situation will largely determine what can and cannot be accomplished. Limitations, in this case, are both subjective (e.g. a lack of data, an injury) and objective (e.g. environmental conditions, available tools).

2) Drive

The second category of intentionality is drive, which is the emotional component of intentionality. Within this model, I am limiting drive to affective states that impel action—such as fear, desire, hunger, disgust, curiosity, excitement, anger, and sadness. Drive fuels action, although such feelings do not have to be arousing. For example, think of a chilly Saturday morning without any pressing need to get out of a warm bed—at some point, you will decide to brave the cold and throw the covers aside. You might have been saying to yourself for 20 minutes, “I should get up. I’m getting up now.” But it took that small bit of drive to push you past the threshold into action (more on action thresholds a bit later). Drive is influenced by many things, including temperament, personality, health & diet, rearing, and past trauma.

3) Expression

Both agency and drive are interrelated with the third component of intentionality, which I refer to as expression. Expression is the why of intention, and is far and away the most complex of the three. What is being expressed via intentionality are all the various elements that make up the self, including basic needs, instincts, desires, values, and, for lack of a better word, destiny.

At the bottom of the pile are the adaptive psychological components derived from the core drives of survival and reproduction, as well as the basic instincts of approaching pleasure and retreating from pain. These represent the earliest human and pre-human needs, influencing everything from the bottom up. As the brain evolved from the brain stem to the prefrontal cortex, it developed increasingly complex motivations and instincts (that are nevertheless built upon and influenced by those more primitive functions). There is a huge range of such psychological influencers, dealing with mating, child rearing, and social dynamics, through to more modern motivations built upon values and principles, and finally ending with transpersonal experiences, including the desire for personal growth, peak experiences, and communion with Nature/Universe/Deity (the latter of which, it must be noted, are in themselves optional choices rather than adaptive needs, and are, therefore, uniquely human).

Tied into all this is what I call destiny. I myself do not believe in predestination, but rather see existence as a constantly created emergent phenomenon arising out of the dynamic interplay of complex systems (that’s the Sacred River). That said, for any given person, conditions arise to produce a fully unique individual, with a singular genetic code, born into a particular circumstance during a given period of history, all interacting with a series of life experiences that literally shape the brain and the view of the self and the world. Intentionality is, in large part, an expression of this unique self, the gestalt or totality of being constantly manifested as one swims the Sacred River of existence. Remember, “the education of the will is the object of our existence”—by becoming better “swimmers”, we become ever more human, more genuine, more true to who we really are.

As a quick review, here is a rough outline of what we’ve just covered:

I) Agency
A) Skill
1) Knowledge
a) Awareness
b) Reason
c) Declarative memory
2) Ability
a) Procedural Memory
b) Talent
B) Limitations
1) Subjective
2) Objective
II) Drive
A) Temperment
B) Personality
C) Past experiences
III) Expression
A) Primitive needs
B) Values and principles
C) Transpersonal motivations

Passive and Active Intentionality

There are two phases of intentionality, the passive and the active. The passive includes things like imagination, evaluation, deliberation, and planning, but also includes drive, the emotional aspect of intention, often experienced as anxiety or anticipation. Passive intentionality represents a potential for action, which is often nonconscious and other times in full awareness (in the form of thinking). The active phase is much more immediate as it drives potential into action (although there is always some form of passive intentionality going on behind the scenes). Each phase has a range of mindfulness, from deeply nonconscious to full, immediate awareness. In the active phase, this range can take the form of thoughtless habit on the one end through to the state called flow on the other (which anyone who has experienced being “in the zone” can recognize).

Moving from passive to active intentionality requires overcoming what I call the action threshold. This threshold is created in the dynamic interaction between drive and resistance. Stated simply, intended action cannot occur until motivation (the drive to act) overcomes inertia (the drive not to act). Part of educating the will—of becoming a better “swimmer”—involves developing skills and traits that help one overcome difficult action thresholds in service to genuine expression.

Conclusion

Once again, this has been the most basic treatment of a complex topic. As I have tried to illustrate, intentionality is not an isolated construct—it is deeply interwoven into the fabric of both one’s being and surrounding conditions. These are both emergent phenomena, and so intentionality will always be in flux to some degree—as John Lennon said, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” That said, effective intentionality is in alignment with both the deepest self and the demands in the environment, with adequate drive and the agency to be successful. To say this requires a lot of work is an understatement. It is, in effect, the work of being human. But, as with all honest work, this labor has a great payoff—a life of profound meaning, fulfillment, and joy.

Defining Experience, Religion, and Spirituality

First we have the difficult task of definition. David Yamane (2000) defines experience as “an ongoing temporal flow of reality received by consciousness, where consciousness is understood more broadly than simply as cognition” that also includes “feelings, expectations, and bodily states.” I agree with his insistence that a distinction be made between subjective experience and the interpretation of experience—”existing social or cultural structures predispose us to experience certain emotions, sensations, and bodily states in particular, culturally inscribed ways…there is no such thing as an unmediated experience. All experience is always already shot through with interpretation.” This will come into play a bit later in the essay.

Religion can be defined as “a covenant faith community with teachings and narratives that enhance the search for the sacred and encourage morality” (Dollahite, 1998). Another take says that religions “are rooted in authoritative spiritual traditions that transcend the person and point to larger realities within which the person is embedded,” whereas spirituality involves “inner, contemplative practices” dealing with things like transcendence and meaningfulness, with the search for the sacred being the link between the two (Emmons & Paloutzian, 2003). Other theorists describe spirituality not in terms of the sacred but as human characteristics, such as the development of insight, the awareness of the interconnectedness of all things, the experience of awe and mystery, an attitude of compassion and gratitude, and the “expression to the being that is in us; it has to do with feelings, with the power that comes from within, with knowing our deepest selves” (Beck, 1992). It also goes without saying that religions include non-sacred functions, such as social affiliation and self-identity, but these aspects aren’t as relevant within this discussion, so I shall leave them aside for now.

Defining the Religious Experience

And so, we come to defining religious or spiritual experience. It should come as no surprise that there is little consensus as to what is and is not a genuine religious experience. A broad definition might include all experiences subjectively interpreted as religiously important whereas a more narrow one might include only dramatic encounters with God, spirit, or ultimate reality. Perhaps a more sophisticated definition of religious experience involves “a continuing feeling of transcendental reality or of a divine presence,” not simply dramatic experiences, but also “seemingly more ordinary but deeply felt experiences” (Hardy, in Yamane, 2000).

After reading many definitions (and having such experiences myself) I shall use the following for the sake of this essay: a religious experience is one that results in a profound and meaningful shift in perspective—whether of time, space, function, relation, or state of being—involving an embodied sensation and a resultant interpretation that is explicitly religious in nature. While this can often involve the sensation of a paranormal presence, this is not absolutely necessary. For example, one might look at a blooming flower and be overcome with awe. On the flipside, sensing the presence of a disembodied being in a creaky old house might result in a strong emotional state, but wouldn’t necessarily be interpreted as a religious experience (although it might).

There are a wide range of events that can evoke experiences that people interpret as religious—ceremonial rituals, ecstatic dancing, prayer, transcendental meditation, chanting, musical performance, vision quests, conversion experiences, psychic communication, tantric love making, communion with nature, entheogen consumption, communal worship, almsgiving, lectio divina, fasting, sensory deprivation, and on and on. I think it is safe to say that the various experiences that each of these would evoke would all be quite different from one another. Before we talk about the differences, though, let’s explore what holds them together. On a basic level, there are three components that can lead to the type of religious experience defined in the preceding paragraph—(1) priming, (2) sensation, and (3) interpretation.

Priming

Priming is a well-established effect within psychology. It is the activation of certain pre-existing conceptual schemas, whether conceptual or perceptual. Priming evokes certain ideas, memories, and expectations, so that proceeding events will be largely framed within those constructs. For example, walking into a church will evoke far different schemas than walking into a bar, shaping the interpretations of otherwise similar experiences within them.

Psychologists Granqvist and Larsson (2006) write, “through the use of religious schemas, a religious individual may be predisposed to interpret a somatosensory sensation coupled with a sensed presence as the presence of God. A nonreligious individual may interpret the same sensation in anatomical or secular terms and may even seek medical help on the assumption that it is a hallucination.” Said simply, people are socialized to religion, and the existence of certain notions in the mind about religion are one vital component of the phenomenon (although I note that the next component, sensation, can itself be the priming agent). David Yamane (2000) agrees—”We know that existing social or cultural structures predispose us to experience certain emotions, sensations, and bodily states in particular, culturally inscribed ways…There is no such thing as an unmediated experience.”

Sensation

The next component is sensation. Although the sensation of perception is common (i.e. the feeling that one is receiving information via one or more of the five senses), at the core of a religious experience is emotion. “The connection between religion and emotion,” writes Emmons and Paloutzian, “is a long and intimate one. Religion has always been a source of profound emotional experience, traditionally love, gratitude, and thankful joy.” In general, there are two branches of emotional experience within religion: the charismatic and the contemplative. Fraser Watts (1996) explains that the “charismatic movement stresses the cultivation of intense positive emotions…whereas the contemplative tradition stresses a calming of the passions and the development of emotional quietude,” while a third, less common tradition involves the disciplined, creative expression of emotion.

But even when emotions are not being deliberately manipulated, they nevertheless play a central role. This is because emotions provide a sense of realness to an experience. Even William James acknowledged the legitimizing effects of emotions, and modern research further suggests that they “can play an important role in revealing the world rather than merely obfuscating our intellectualization of things” (Ratcliffe, 2003). Ethnologist Raymond Firth (1996) explains that it is the “element of emotion in whatever kind of experience that gives the basis to the belief [and] provides it with a strong flavour of reality”…Ultimately, “it is not intellectual or moral proofs for belief, or religious concepts that provide validity; it is the emotional proofs.”

Interpretation

The final component to the religious experience is interpretation. An event cannot be religious unless it is given meaning as such, plain and simple. Yamane (2000) maintains that there is no such thing as a religious experience “in-and-of itself. There are simply experiences which are made meaningful after the fact, often in terms of narratives furnished by certain religious groups.” It is not uncommon for an event to be considered highly religious at one time only to be seen in a completely different light after a change of perspective. An example might be certain experiences during hallucinogenic drug use interpreted as religious while in one’s teens, only to be seen merely as weird, chemically induced illusions as an older adult. Similarly, it might take the wisdom of age to perceive the profound spiritual beauty in a sunset, which was long overlooked as a youngster. Such an event in itself remains unchanged, but the perspective applied to it can change the meaning completely.

These three components—priming, sensation, and interpretation—weave a complex tapestry. Indeed, they each feed and are fed by the others. Pre-existing beliefs or schemas can be primed for or by a specific type of somato-emotional event which can then be interpreted as religious. However, interpreted experiences can also transform beliefs leading to new schema for priming. In talking about ritual, Dornan writes, “Ritual can both channel experience based on belief, and alter belief in accordance with experience…ritual performance is more than representation or symbolic expression of belief—it is the actual practice of ritual that both instantiates, reinforces, and authenticates belief though subjective experience.” Essentially, the same could be said of any religious practice.

To summarize: a religious experience is one that involves some shift in perspective (one might say a change in consciousness) related to an embodied sensation that is interpreted to be religiously meaningful. Such an experience involves (1) pre-existing beliefs or schemas, (2) a somato-emotional event, and (3) an interpretation involving religious concepts. Such a shift might be dramatic or it might be gentle, ongoing or fleeting, (seemingly) metaphysical or tellurian. And, as a general rule, religious experiences occur within the context of some established model of belief and practice, while each experience is yet unique and individual.

Categories of Religious Experience

So far we’ve established a broad, but I think well-defined outline of religious experience. Although the list of religious activities (prayer, meditation, ritual, etc.) is a very long one, I have not been able to find any established taxonomy for religious experiences themselves. Below I will describe various categories that are listed in the literature, and others that conform to my own experiences and observations.

The most common category written about involves mystical experience. There is no hard and fast definition, but I will say that, at the least, it involves a loss of ego or sense of isolated self, which is often a peak or ecstatic event (but not always). Normally called transcendence, this can involve, say, achieving a non-dual state with ultimate reality or God, where one can see “a fundamental unity underlying the diverse strivings of nature” (Emmons & Paloutzian, 2003). But in my definition, mystical experience can also include entering fully into a state of flow, where all awareness is swept up fully into the activity at hand.

Another category involves what is called psychism, defined simply as sensory intrusions within the stream of consciousness. These intrusions usually involve sounds, images, or a sense of presence, which can be experienced as originating from outside of the self. Such events can interrupt what is known as the “natural attitude”, and so they can be given a special status—since they do not easily conform to empirical constructions of the world, they can engender a new belief system if the “intrusions are intense enough, the interpretations are plausible enough, and the identity commitments are either weak enough to be abandoned or are strong enough to survive a change” (Laubach, 2004). If supernatural beliefs are already held, then psychic events can further intensify those beliefs. It is also not uncommon for those who interpret such intrusions as religiously veridical to feel special or privileged themselves, and research suggests that such folks often develop “privatized” religious practices and beliefs that support and legitimize their unique experiences.

Similar to psychism but of a different category is portaling, which, as the name suggests, involves the experience of out-of-body consciousness. Traditionally, this practice was mostly familiar to shamanistic traditions, but is now common in New Age movements that promote the idea of astral travel. Portaling is a cross-cultural phenomenon that has been studied in detail, seen by neuropsychologists as a “radical re-entrainment of the neurological systems mediating experience in the brain” (Dornan, 2004).

Affiliative connectivity is yet another broad category of religious experience. I include two sub-sets of experience—communal and individual. Communal affiliative connectivity involves profound religious feelings arising from group activity, most often in the form of worship or ceremony. The other subset, individual affiliative connectivity, primarily involves a personal sense of connection, which can include a deity, nature, or humankind as a whole. It is of a kind as the mystical union given above, but is generally not a peak experience involving ego-loss or attaining a non-dual state. Rather, it reflects profound religious feelings involving a sense of relationship, of being a part of or connected to something beyond the individual self. Although these two subsets have unique characteristics, obviously they can work in concert.

Many people are also drawn to the occult. For these folks, the true nature of things is seen as concealed from normal reality, and so the religious experience is typified by a sense of mystery and exploration. Meaning is found within models used to decipher the code of existence, which can involve the Hebrew Tree of Life, numerology, Tarot cards, astrology, and similar tools used to divine hidden truth.

Spiritual transformation can also be a profound experience. This term is most often applied to conversion experiences, also known as quantum change, which can be a sudden or gradual event. I myself include any religious experience, not just conversions, that involves a meaningful sense of change (which can happen during change-of-state rituals, such as baptisms or initiations). Interestingly, research suggests that such change has minimal effect on basic personality (i.e. the Big Five), but can lead to major differences in things like goals, attitudes, and behaviors. Indeed, Emmons and Paloutzian (2003) explain that “self-defining personality functions (such as identity, life meaning) do change dramatically after a spiritual transformation.”

One other possible category is tranquility, which is common in contemplative traditions. Here, profound spiritual meaning is found by achieving a deep sense of peace and harmony. This experience is unlike those outlined above in that it involves a state of being rather than a discrete event. Tranquility describes a way of being that is applied to all events, and so this category exists somewhat outside the scope of the others. Since tranquility doesn’t fit perfectly under my definition of a religious experience, either it isn’t one or my definition needs refinement.

The Experience Grid

The image above offers a simplistic model for organizing various religious experiences. One axis is the emotional, with the other representing the empirical orientation. Barring any changes, this is the model I will be using to organize both experience and eventually praxis. It isn’t too hard to figure out which quadrant various experiences fit. For example, contemplative meditation might result in a #1 experience whereas speaking in tongues might fit in #4. Being overcome by a sense of wonder of the natural world might belong in quadrant #2, and a #3 experience might involve a nurturing spirit encountered during astral travel. This model will be developed further in future posts.

In Closing

This brief foray into the realm of religious experience has only barely touched the surface. There is so much else to cover, including the possible nature of these experiences, the effects they can have on one’s life, how to know which are healthy and effective for any given individual, and the possible range of intentions, motivations, and aims related to each. This will certainly involve a long, ongoing discussion, and I look forward to your participation.

Before moving on to Part II, I will give you a teaser. In that upcoming essay, I will be addressing the two following assertions:

1) All sensory experiences involve a physical process within the brain and so must be caused and mediated by physical objects and processes. As such, all metaphysical or supernatural sources or states are considered non-veridical.

2) Religious experiences, regardless of the veridicality of the interpreted source or medium, certainly do occur phenomenologically and can lead to increased well-being. As such, they possess great potential value.

My task will be to find a way to square these two statements.

References

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Emmons, Robert & Paloutzian, Raymond. (2003). The psychology of religion. Annual Review of Psychology, (54), 377-403.
Firth, Raymond. (1996). Religion: a Humanist Interpretation. London: Routledge
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