Swimming the Sacred River

I have become a major fan of historian and philosopher Richard Carrier. He has done a tremendous job developing a robust set of arguments supporting the naturalistic worldview, and I imagine that he will get regular mentions on this blog. To start out with, I’d like to point you to his posting where he provides clear definitions for natural, paranormal, and supernatural. This is important because naturalism has rightly been criticized for having vague definitions, often described as simply being “not supernatural”, which is problematic when there is no clear understanding of that concept either. Carrier offers a way out of this loop in a way that is accessible and feasible.

To start with, Carrier defines paranormal, which might be either natural or supernatural. He writes:

What makes something paranormal is the fact that it exists outside the domain of currently plausible science. As such, it could just be a natural phenomenon we don’t yet understand or haven’t yet seen. But it could also be something supernatural. Or an entirely bogus claim. We won’t know until we have enough evidence to make a determination. But either way, the category of “paranormal” can be applied to phenomena (hence the mere claim that something happens or exists can be paranormal) as well as explanations of that phenomena, i.e. paranormal hypotheses.

The key phrase there is plausible science. There are an infinite number of potential ideas that fall outside strict scientific understanding but that don’t meet the criteria for paranormality, because (depending on the state of scientific understanding when a claim is made) they might be plausible. Carrier offers two examples: alien abductions and fire that burns underwater. In the former, there is simply no scientifically plausible reason to conclude that alien abductions are happening—but that doesn’t mean it is impossible or even untrue; if enough evidence came to light, then it would be understood as a normal scientific fact. Until then, it is paranormal. The latter example is something that philosopher David Hume once said was impossible, so that any claim of underwater fire would have been to him a paranormal theory—one that we now know in practice to be absolutely true. To reiterate, based on this definition, paranormal claims can be either natural or supernatural; the defining characteristic is that they fall outside of scientific plausibility.

Now then, what makes something supernatural or natural? First, Carrier contends that these are metaphysical distinctions, not epistemological ones (i.e. they describe what things exist, not how we know they exist). This effectively rules out testability as a defining feature. That is a big deal because it is common to hear that the supernatural is, by definition, that which is not testable via scientific methods. The counterargument to this definition is simple—it is entirely possible that things exist (such as what might happen at a subatomic level) that, for whatever reason, are beyond our ability to test, but wouldn’t be thought of as supernatural (in any meaningful sense). At the same time, we can imagine supernatural forces or objects that could be scientifically examined, such as the Jedi Force or Harry Potter magic (to use Carrier’s examples).

So, in the most simple terms, Carrier defines naturalism as the view…

…that every mental thing is entirely caused by fundamentally nonmental things, and is entirely dependent on nonmental things for its existence. Therefore, “supernaturalism” means that at least some mental things cannot be reduced to nonmental things.

Within this scheme, beings such as gods, angels, demons, fairies, and so on, are supernatural insofar as they contain “any mental property or power that is not reducible to a nonmental mechanism.” This extends beyond beings as well—we can include substances and powers as well. Carrier gives some wonderful examples, such as a love potion that “knows” what love is, that it has been imbibed, and who the object of affection is; however, if the potion works entirely by the efforts of, say, a bizarre biochemical substance, no matter how strange, then it would be natural and not supernatural. Further, anything “that is the effect of a supernatural cause is a supernatural effect, even if the effect itself is not supernatural.” An example is when Gandalf causes normal wood to catch fire by speaking a magical incantation—the wood and the fire are fully natural in themselves, but their cause was supernatural, because the spoken words had a direct effect on the wood.

Naturalism understood in this way does not equate with scientism. This is because it is, in principle, possible to scientifically discover and test a supernatural being, substance, or effect, which would nevertheless remain supernatural. For this reason, it is entirely possible for science to negate metaphysical naturalism while maintaining scientific integrity. In such a world, the universe would indeed be dualistic, with natural and supernatural features—or we might even discover that the cosmos is entirely supernatural. It’s possible, although not probable.

Richard Carrier does not own the market on the definition of naturalism, of course, but he has done a superb job of articulating a coherent version of it. In fact, he has changed my mind on a key issue, that of real=natural. I have long held that if science were to discover, say, an immaterial soul, then that soul would become, by definition, natural. While I have held this opinion, I have also felt that it was somehow vacuous. If natural=real, then supernatural=unreal (or a subset of unreal), which is a trivial definition without much utility. Carrier has persuaded me to accept a conception of naturalism where the supernatural could, in principle, be real and yet not natural (although naturalism, as a worldview, would be thus disproved).

Of course, we have yet to discover any evidence of the supernatural whatsoever, and with the profound success of naturalism to date in regards to understanding reality, it is perfectly feasible and rational to adopt naturalism as a worldview. Yes, naturalism has not been “proven”; no one seriously claims otherwise—it is simply the best explanation for what we see in the universe. As Carrier writes elsewhere: “Every (I repeat: every) phenomenon we have been able to explore in the requisite detail has turned up naturalistic, without a single exception so far, in over three hundred years of concerted scientific investigation, by millions of experts, engaging the best methods imaginable, and with nearly unlimited resources.”

I would like to offer an addendum to my outline of varieties of naturalists in my last post. Although I do not believe in any gods, I do not like the term atheist because it sets me up in opposition to theism. In other words, theism is the ground against which I am pushing when using that term. As a naturalist, I do not see myself in opposition to theism because I consider that hypothesis to have failed; it makes as much sense to call a chemist a nonalchemist. Rather, theists are in opposition to naturalism, the de facto standard for objectively understanding reality. Within this context, I categorize people into four main groups.

Naturalists (including religious naturalists) come in two primary flavors: literal and poetic. Literal naturalists articulate their understanding of nature using literal terms (eg. “Creativity is an amazing universal process”). A poetic naturalist might apply an extra layer of symbol on top of the more literal understanding (e.g. “God is my name for the universal process of creativity”). Both are naturalists insofar as they affirm the four basic principles of naturalism:

(1) only the matter/energy world of nature is real
(2) nothing outside nature is necessary to account for its origin or ontological ground (a theoretical multiverse is included within the definition of nature)
(3) nature as a whole can be understood without appeal to any kind of intelligence or purposive agent
(4) all natural events are caused by other natural events in accordance with universal physical laws

Of course, these two categories don’t have hard boundaries. A literalist might not use the word God to describe nature, but she could certainly look to other symbols when expressing sublime concepts or transcendent experiences. These words are just general descriptions—there is no need to apply the literalist or poetic label to any given naturalist. Making the distinction is simply a way of helping us understand that a person who employs traditional religious language can still be a genuine naturalist.

A close cousin to naturalism is paranaturalism. The prefix para- is being used here to denote two meanings, beyond and beside. As such, a paranaturalist might affirm the basic story of the Epic of Evolution, or large chunks of it, but also accepts constructs that are not supported by evidence (e.g. “God is the source of creativity”). For example, someone who believes that consciousness arises from an immaterial soul or that magic ritual can cause change at a distance does not accept naturalist principle #4. Another paranaturalist might think that the “Universe” has a plan for him or that human evolution was guided, both violating principle #3. Or another might deny principle #1 by believing that she can consciously visit astral planes or that spirits reside in a nearby dimension. A deist is a paranaturalist because of #1-3. They might all agree with a great deal of what science has to say about nature, but they aren’t naturalists, religious or otherwise.

The final category is antinaturalism, which explicitly denies most or all of the four naturalist principles. An antinaturalist doesn’t have to be a stereotypical Evangelical Christian; it is anyone who understands the world in a way fundamentally opposed to naturalism. An antinaturalist can even be an atheist in the strict sense of disbelief in a god (Scientology qualifies here).

Antinaturalism is a more useful construct than supernaturalism because it references more than specific non-naturalist beliefs. Antinaturalism dictates how the world is interpreted, how behavior is guided, and how meaning is constructed. As such, it is a fully-formed worldview.

The difference between a paranaturalist and an antinaturalist is often one of degree, since both accept constructs that violate naturalism. Perhaps one useful difference is that paranaturalists generally want their non-naturalistic beliefs to be natural. Paranaturalists often look to pseudoscience for validation of their beliefs; they might give credence to, say, parapsychology, paranormal investigation (i.e. ghost hunting), or Ufology. Intelligent Design advocates might fall somewhere in the middle—they believe that their hypothesis is scientifically valid, but the underlying precepts are clearly non-natural. Antinaturalists, on the other hand, reject the method of science altogether. They will outright deny even the most validated of scientific theories—such as natural selection, basic astrophysics, or even geology—when they contradict their religious beliefs.

To summarize, there are two brands of naturalists—literal and poetic—and two kinds of anaturalists—paranaturalists and antinaturalists. The difference between the naturalist and anaturalist categories is based on fidelity to the basic principles of naturalism. The difference between the two in each category is not so straightforward and will frequently be a matter of degree. But by adopting such terms, we can begin to reframe the conversation away from theism as the standard to naturalism being the standard. This is long past due.

There are two perspectives regarding religious naturalism. One is that religious naturalism is a label applied to a range of general ideas and beliefs. In other words, people write about ideas and beliefs and it is possible for an observer to fit them into a category called “religious naturalism.” This can be and is done retroactively; for instance, we can call Spinoza a religious naturalist thinker. We can call this perspective academic religious naturalism (ARN). ARN does not have any strong commitment to religious naturalist principles, it is simply a useful descriptor of a cohesive range of ideas and beliefs, many of which might not have any connection to or even awareness of religious naturalism as a category of thought.

Now we are seeing a new mode of religious naturalism, one that is bound up in human experience and not just abstract conceptions. We can call this mode movement religious naturalism (MRN). MRN emerges from commitment to religious naturalist ideals and establishes social affiliation among committed adherents. MRN is already off to a good start—there are multiple religious naturalist communities, both virtual and real space. And RN now has a Statement of principles.

ARN and MRN are dynamically related but are not the same thing; they have different tasks, goals, and structures. They also have different requirements for success. ARN requires things like intellectual rigor and critical openness (to borrow from Stone), whereas MRN requires social engagement and commitment to clear ideals. Someone coming from the perspective of ARN might be put out by the idea of commitment to ideals, whereas one coming from MRN might be frustrated with the cautious, tentative aspects of ARN.

But the two can work together when members understand that each has an important role to play. There will always be new ideas and beliefs, especially with the existence of an energetic movement, so ARN will have no end of examination and analysis. As new ideas are explored and put through the ARN intellectual wringer, MRN can absorb them into the committed movement, making it more robust and mature. If done well, the two perspectives support each other.

For MRN, it is a serious mistake to soften a commitment to naturalist ideals in an attempt to artificially wrap it around a larger constituency. While this might broaden the constituency, it will result in an anemic affiliation. A better strategy is to establish a firm commitment to well-defined ideals and then to (a) try to inspire those on the fringe to enter into the fold, and (b) partner with aligned movements when there is a shared aim and enough overlap to allow for committed action.

While commitment is good, intractability is not. Flexibility is also required for success. Fortunately, that flexibility is inherent in religious naturalism, due to both its humanistic roots and to the scientific humility that emerges from the awareness of our ignorance. Science changes the landscape of our worldview nearly every day, and we should extend that condition to the movement as a whole. This is why we want various branches off the central religious naturalist trunk, so that variety of thought and practice will lead to overall health in the movement.

There are two brands of religious naturalists: literal and poetic. The literal RN calls things by their proper name, so that love=love, beauty=beauty, and so on. A poetic RN chooses to use “god-language” to describe religiously-salient feelings or things, so that love=god, beauty=god, and so on. A poetic RN remains naturalistic as long as the language remains metaphorical; once it becomes explanatory (e.g. God is the source of beauty), she is no longer naturalistic.

Now then, there is also a group of people who can be called near-naturalists. Any given near-naturalist can choose to affiliate with religious naturalism, especially in the poetic neighborhoods, if she finds it meaningful and fulfilling. But that does not require MRN to then abandon its philosophical commitment to naturalism; rather, it is the task of the near-naturalist to come to terms with being a religious naturalist while holding on to supernatural constructs. Every movement has a set of soft adherents around the edges; changing the boundaries of the movement to fully include them will only result in a new set of soft adherents even further away from core principles, making the movement ever more insubstantial.

Academic religious naturalism is well-established; movement religious naturalism is not, and it will continue that way as long as it remains uncommitted to a central set of principles that is clear, accessible, and inspirational. This won’t happen on its own—it will take religious naturalists deciding to do it. And yes, people will get cut out because religious naturalism isn’t a wastebasket for any naturalistic-sounding beliefs, it’s a container for genuinely naturalistic views. Rather than appearing to grow by adopting people outside core religious naturalist principles, MRN should actually grow by inspiring people to join its ranks by the use of persuasion and good modeling. If we can show that a naturalistic orientation can provide a substrate for a fulfilling, meaningful spiritual life, then it will continue growing into a robust movement.

The following statement has been written as a declaration of the fundamental principles of Religious Naturalism. It is currently residing on its own page, which includes the following text and where people can sign their endorsement. You are also invited to sign...

Religious naturalism is the name given to a general set of ideas and beliefs that combine religious/spiritual elements with a scientific, non-supernatural understanding of nature. For most of its history, religious naturalism has resided quietly in the academic halls of theology and philosophy, and not always under that name. This collection of ideas started to take on new life when biologist Ursula Goodenough published The Sacred Depths of Nature in 1998, a wonderful book juxtaposing science and spirituality. This book pushed religious naturalism out of academia and made it accessible to a general audience.

Since that time, we have seen websites and communities adopt religious naturalism explicitly. And yet, even with its rich intellectual history, religious naturalism suffers from a conceptual vagueness. For any movement to mature, it must have a clear understanding of its core commitment, the banner under which its advocates rally. This is the purpose of A Minimal Statement of Religious Naturalism.

The Statement is not a creed nor a test of membership. It is a concise reflection of a broad collection of ideas, perspectives, and ethical stances that has been given the academic label “religious naturalism.” To speak metaphorically, this statement is intended to reflect the trunk of the religious naturalist tree, with many possible branches growing from it.

The Statement is not the only possible articulation of religious naturalism, nor is it in any way perfect; no such statement could be. The goal is to have a conceptual starting point, a place where we can build the religious naturalist movement.

You are invited to endorse A Minimal Statement on Religious Naturalism with your virtual signature. Signing proclaims endorsement of the statement as being a good enough representation of religious naturalism; it does not require being in perfect agreement with it. A signature does not imply that the signatory could not concurrently affirm different articulations of religious naturalism or some other set of ideas. The statement is not affiliated with any organization or group, and so signing it does not imply endorsement of any group or affiliation with other signatories except as fellow supporters of the statement. Signing does not imply membership in any organization and will not result in such, not even an email list.

This is an opportunity to come together as religious naturalists to establish a foundation for our beliefs and our movement. The world is changing rapidly and now more than ever we need new ways of fulfilling our spiritual needs, ways that looks to science for knowledge, to reason and compassion for solving problems, and to each other for making life meaningful, fulfilling, and joyous.

As a reminder, the signatures live on the Statement page, not here…

Recently, a gentleman with whom I’ve corresponded for the last couple of years offered a rather blistering comment in a Sacred River post. My initial response was to blow it off, which is my usual policy when I feel a comment doesn’t meet a simple standard of courtesy (I’m sorry, but you can’t separate what you are saying from how you say it). However, upon reflection, I thought it would be worthwhile to address a couple of the core questions since I imagine other people probably have similar questions about religious naturalism and the work here at Sacred River. And so, he writes:

Religious naturalism, you tell us, needs “an established set of spiritual practices or traditions”, but currently has none; needs “stories, both personal and mythological”, but currently has none; needs a “particular set of moral values or principles” but currently has none. Yet you talk of religious naturalism “becom[ing] a mainstream movement.” Isn’t this putting the cart before the horse, a little? … I’m confused as to how and why one would want to turn into a “mainstream movement” something that not only does not yet seem to exist in any meaningful form, and not only has no firm definition for what it would be even if it did exist, but something of which only the vaguest of statements can be made as to what even that definition might one day look like.

So, allow me to paraphrase a bit. Essentially, the claim here is that there is nothing to religious naturalism, therefore how can one promote or build upon that which is empty. In the brief time I have I will do my best to show that religious naturalism, while it does lack some key elements for it to qualify as a full-blown religion, has a firm foundation from which a mainstream naturalist religion can emerge.

As I see it, religious naturalism is not a religion per se, it is a religious orientation. By this, I mean that it is a categorical descriptor of belief that, in essence, rejects supernaturalism, dualism, and any form of personal god and yet views Nature as an object of reverence and a source of meaningful inspiration. It marks the difference between being religious and belonging to a religion—within religious naturalism, the former is possible while the latter is not, at least not yet.

Religious naturalism does have a rich intellectual history. Some scholars point to Baruch Spinoza (d.1677) as the grandfather of religious naturalism due to his concept of Deus sive natura (“God or nature”). Emerson is also considered a proto-religious naturalist who falls outside of its scope due to his idea of the Oversoul, although his spiritual response to nature is perfectly in line with it. Starting in the 20th century, an increasing number of thinkers started developing what is now considered contemporary religious naturalism.

George Santayana (d.1952) was a firm naturalist who spoke of the difference between idealism and facts, where religion (at its best) promotes the former and science promotes the latter. The problem, as he saw it, with most religions is that they confuse the two, which leads to supernaturalism. A rational religion, according to Santayana, does not confuse ideals with facts, and manages to balance them within a harmonious whole. Such a religion would be one that inspires us to discover what is true and best in ourselves and to pursue transformation into ever-more ideal states of being while keeping a critical mind on what we know and don’t know. Spirituality is the relationship between the self and the world via a central myth, piety is the acknowledgment of the wonder of incarnation, and justice (which he called charity) is the foundation of moral goodness (side note: I myself maintain that truthfulness, fairness, and compassion comprise the foundation of morality).

I can then point to more modern thinkers, such as the pragmatists Mead and Dewey, Sellars (religious humanism), Smuts (holism), and other significant naturalistic philosophers. The alignment of religious naturalism and humanism began here and is not arbitrary—starting with Sellars, several early prominent humanists, such as John Dietrich and Julian Huxley, advocated for the naturalization of religion and drew the basic conclusion that a religion which no longer focuses on a supernatural god or an afterlife should focus instead on the here-and-now well-being of humans. The Chicago School of Theology in the 1930s and 1940s produced a great deal of religious naturalist thinking, especially from Henry Wieman (this essay doesn’t have the space to consider all these people in full. Stone’s recent book is recommended).

Contemporary religious naturalism really got off the ground in the 1990s. Writers like Stone, Drees, Barlow, Swimme, Cavanaugh, Dean, Murry, and Milligan have begun a rigorous academic conversation. I am a fan of Henry Levinson, who is developing religious naturalism within a Jewish context. He says (and I paraphrase) that the goal is to celebrate joy without transcendence, responsibility without theology, science without scientism, holism without essentialism, chance without chaos, sufficiency without certainty, and the love of life in the consciousness of impotence. Further, that religious naturalists “love what good life there is and seek to protect and enlarge it.” Finally, Ursula Goodenough is probably the most well-known religious naturalist writer out there. She has begun to describe not just a philosophical construct, but a description of how a religious naturalist might experience the world (what I see as a foundational element to religious naturalist practice).

This has been the most bare survey of religious naturalist writing. The object was not to offer a comprehensive outline of religious naturalist thinking, but to show that RN does have a substantial history of robust thought. This is not to say that it is complete: far from it. In fact, I consider much of the theological writing to be a bit off-center from genuine naturalistic thinking (see this essay about RN and god-language for example). However, as with all systems, they are but the sources upon which a maturing religious naturalism will evolve.

Now then, the critic’s question made the error of taking my earlier observation that we do not have an adequate store of established stories, ethics, and practices to mean that we are completely absent of them. This is obviously false. First, we have what some theorists believe is a core requirement for a religion, which is a central myth or story, ours being The Epic of Evolution. The scientific story of the universe is our central “myth”, and (to paraphrase Dr. Goodenough) it is not only inspiring and majestic, it has the benefit of being true. We have a profound and factual tale involving the components and processes of Nature, and the growing size of the religious naturalist (proto)movement is a testament to its power to inspire and amaze.

What we do need are specific stories that can accomplish what Santayana saw as a chief function of religion, the poetic illustration of ideals. But again, we are not completely absent of them: Goodenough’s The Sacred Depths of Nature provides a wonderful example of looking at a scientific understanding of nature and responding with reverence, awe, and gratitude. My wife put a book on my desk not three days ago, The Whole World Kin, filled with naturalistic essays and stories. The story of Charles Darwin himself is fully legitimate as a religious naturalist tale, one that espouses the struggle towards understanding and surrender to empirical truth, even when it flies in the face of our most cherished beliefs. Finally, any inspirational story about nature absent the supernatural is a religious naturalist story, or at least one that an RN can adopt (this practice is not unlike what the Unitarians commonly do). This shouldn’t stop us from writing stories that are specific to religious naturalism, of course, but we have a rich ocean of material from which to draw.

It is also true that a basic foundational ethics exists within religious naturalism. It is not complete by any means and it does not exist in the form of dogma or a creed (which I imagine won’t happen anytime soon, all for the good). But religious naturalism is not ethically empty as the our critic suggests.

Theologian Roger Gillette speaks on the ethics of religious naturalism, which he says “provides superior directions and incentives—superior in that they more clearly govern behavior toward non-humans as well as humans, and offer the achievement of justice and mercy as its own reward. Religious naturalism does so by calling for religious or spiritual intellectual and emotional reconnection and love (agape) that leads to concern for and thus ethical behavior toward self, family, local community and ecosystem, and global community and ecosystem.” And further, “ethical behavior will be directed and driven by scientific knowledge of the consequences of various kinds and modes of actions and a desire to choose those actions that will best further the well-being of those affected by the actions. The resulting religious ethics thus will include social/political, bio/medical, engineering/developmental, ecological/environmental, and economic/business ethics, as well as what may be called population ethics. This religious naturalist ethics can be expected to provide principles and rules for decision-making and behavior that differ markedly from those provided by traditional theistic religion-based ethical systems.”

Jerome Stone also does a good job of detailing other ethical precepts that can be drawn from religious naturalist thinking:

a) “We should adopt and continually nurture a stance of critical openness and commitment”
b) It is good to “struggle for liberation against all forms of oppression.”
c) The spiritual ideal “is expressed in the drive toward concern for the [well-being of the] universal community of all beings.”
d) It is necessary to “avoid both despair at the enormity of our problems and fanaticism of assuming that we have the answers”
e) Many RNists “have a strong sense of urgency in protecting, nurturing, and renewing the natural systems and ecosystems” of the planet.

But at the same time, religious naturalists acknowledge that there is no perfect moral system, in part because the human condition constantly changes as society does, and because we continue to learn more scientifically about the moral function itself and the issues that moral systems focus upon (here is a wonderful overview regarding the evolution of morality). This is why critical openness lies at the heart of our approach to ethics, and can be seen as an ethical precept in itself (Openness is one of Sacred River’s Four Virtues). But religious naturalism does promote the moral imperative—the importance of being good, of striving for a more noble life, of helping to make this world a better place, even while we do not lay down hard and fast rules on what defines goodness. This is why Sacred River offers virtuous principles rather than rules: although not the only “formula” for goodness possible, we maintain that a moral life can be led by cultivating courage, integrity, beneficence, and (critical) openness within one’s self.

Are the ethical details of religious naturalism worked out? No. But the foundations are there and numerous religious naturalists are not idle—the project continues apace (here is an interesting example by David Tarbell). I am not an ethicist, so I don’t pretend to offer any ethical contributions of academic substance. But I do my best to explore ethics as I understand them and to encourage people to develop their own sense of morality grounded in naturalistic thinking.

The final components mentioned are traditions and practices. Traditions are grounded in culture, so to criticize religious naturalism for not having an established set of traditions before a culture of RN has had a chance to develop seems premature. This issue is relevant to religious practice as well, since rituals and celebrations largely develop within communities, even those that are intended for isolated practice. So, a priority of Sacred River is exactly that, the development of religious naturalist congregations (although this effort is on hiatus at the moment, alas), and I try to promote this effort in the existing RN community.

At the same time, I am not convinced that religious naturalism requires a standardized or codified set of spiritual practices. The world does not lack for such practices and anyone can adopt and convert them to work within a religious naturalist context. There is already much discussion about various forms of mindfulness and non-petitionary prayer. I initially created the Spiritual Streams to function as a backbone for creating a wide range of practices (eventually I want to create example practices, but that is also on the back burner). Over time, I am confident that we will see more ideas in this area.

Religious naturalism has no “established set of spiritual practices or traditions”, no “stories, both personal and mythological”, and no “particular set of moral values or principles”. You, I assume, consider yourself to have a more-or-less “spiritually fulfilling” life which you have clearly managed to achieve and sustain without any these things that you acknowledge religious naturalism cannot yet provide. That being the case, as a genuine question, why do you think that a “mainstream movement” is needed to provide such things if you’ve managed to do perfectly well without them yourself?

Religious naturalism is, at this time, mostly a robust religious orientation, a way of spiritually interfacing with the world. It has developed a core set of ethical principles (although more work needs to be done) and has a powerful central story. The potential of religious naturalism does not come in the form of dogma, creeds, or set practices, but in a spiritual perspective towards life and the world that eliminates the supernatural yet inspires awe, creativity, and even reverence (which is why RN is not simply atheism, which is nothing more than a lack of theistic belief). As more people are discovering religious naturalism, it is moving from the theological/academic stage to the real-world/movement stage, even while philosophers, theologians, and scientists continue to work on the intellectual infrastructure.

Now then, to the question at hand—why do I think a larger-scale movement is “needed to provide” a spiritually fulfilling life, especially since I’ve been able to get by without those things that RN is missing?  I think the problem is in the word “needed”…let’s take that out and substitute it with “worthwhile.” So, why do I think it is worthwhile to continue developing religious naturalism with the hope that it will become a mainstream movement, even when I cannot say what form it would finally take and am more or less satisfied with the system as it is?

First, I am not satisfied. I firmly align with religious naturalism’s core spiritual/ethical orientation, but I very much want to see more of the components that successful religions enjoy. And so, I advocate for their creation—the only other option would be to abandon the effort, which I see no reason to do, especially since I do find it fulfilling to do this work. Further, I want me and my family to have access to a real-world religious naturalist community (i.e. not just online), so it makes sense to try and actually build one. Second, I think that an increasing number people in the world are seeing the danger and irrationality inherent in theistic religion and yet want something more than materialistic atheism, and I believe that religious naturalism can be an attractive “landing pad” for many of them.

To summarize, religious naturalism does come from a considerable intellectual tradition, has a basic set of rational ethical principles, offers an outline for potential religious practice, and is rapidly developing a compelling spiritual worldview that sits in tight alignment with reason and a scientific understanding of nature. Is it enough to call it a full-blown religion? Some say yes, while I say no—I think religious naturalism does need certain things before we can say that, including more stories grounded in the Epic of Evolution, a firmer science-based ethics, a collection of rituals and celebrations, and active real-world congregations. However, what religious naturalism does have is more than enough to exist as a firm, compelling religious orientation from which further stories, practices, and communities can emerge. It is that process that I am personally inspired to work on and is the reason Sacred River exists.

As much as I identify as a religious naturalist, I must confess that I do not like the term. To be clear, I’m not suggesting that religious naturalism be eliminated, only used in the way other categorical terms are used, such as Abrahamic Religion. I can’t say that I have a better choice, but I do hope that one comes to light.

First, the term is blandly descriptive—it fails to evoke the deep emotions that many of us actually feel about nature. It simply does not reflect the life and majesty inherent in its object of reverence. Second, the use of the term “religious” is for many naturalists a source of dissonance, in some ways requiring a redefinition of the word. Third, “naturalism” is a poorly understood and confusing construct—because of that, its boundaries are too porous for my own taste (e.g. does it include pantheism or is it somehow distinct?). Finally, the term is an academic one, mostly referring to dry concepts found within the pages of theology journals, untethered from the personal and cultural experience of adherents.

Alas, I believe the term is becoming solidified in the wake of recent publications, most notably The Sacred Depths of Nature, by Ursula Goodenough, and Religious Naturalism Today: The Rebirth of a Forgotten Alternative, by Jerome Stone (both excellent books). But rather than address religious naturalism as a religion, or even a religious movement, these books use the term to describe a religious orientation within an intellectual or academic framework. There’s nothing at all wrong with this, but it places RN more in the realm of philosophy or academic theology, places generally inaccessible to the average person.

Another major drawback with the term is that it describes an attitude towards Nature as a whole, offering little in terms of what we think about each other. From what I can tell, many religious naturalists have adopted some form of humanism into their worldview to fill in the ethics gap. But it really becomes a mouthful to say I am a Religious Naturalist Humanist.

Words matter. Names matter. The best names are symbols, which is why I chose Sacred River for this venture rather than “Ash’s Religious Naturalism Project”. It’s hard to imagine an inspiring symbol for “A scientifically-informed, reverent orientation towards Nature absent of the supernatural yet worthy of awe and wonder.” If there is an answer, I think it lies within the Story of Everyone, also known as The Epic of Evolution—not just natural selection, but big-E Evolution, the process of change that resulted in everything there is, including us. Something that embodies the experience of discovery, the thrill of progress, and the mystery of emergence—the sheer majesty of this universe and an utterly complex brain that allows us to contemplate and study it. What name could possibly encapsulate all of that?

I’m certain that the answer is out there, waiting to emerge from our movement. Until that happens, I’ll have to be satisfied with our working title.

In general, Sacred River is not intended for intellectual meta-discussion of religious naturalism, but this is an interesting issue that is worth exploration. Naturalism, as a philosophical orientation, explicitly denies the existence of anything that is outside of nature, and at this point in our scientific understanding of the universe, that includes personal deities, non-corporeal intelligences, meta-terrestrial dimensions, and occult/New Age forces. At the same time, religious naturalism recognizes that Nature includes a large dose of mystery—while our store of reliable knowledge increases daily, there are questions for which we might never know the answers. For some people, the way of articulating this sense of mystery, and the awe and reverence that attends it, is to use “god-language”. The question is, how does such language fit within an orientation that does not recognize the objective existence of personal gods?

For the most part, this discussion takes place in the rarefied atmosphere of theology and philosophy journals. We can read about how God is used metaphorically to describe authenticity, freedom, process, unity, goodness, energy, connectedness, love, or the sacred object of worship. But there are several problems with this approach, the worst perhaps being the usage of a vague term to describe something that is already vague or intangible. Rather than bringing clarity, saying “God” further diffuses the object of consideration.

This is compounded by the fact that the vast majority of people in the world do not use God as a metaphor. In general use “God” is first and foremost a pronoun, a name for an objectively-existing Supreme Being. Second, it is a homonym for deity, of which many in human culture are not necessarily “Supreme” but nevertheless are superordinate to the normal order of physical reality. When a religious naturalist uses god-language, a general audience will likely not understand that it is metaphorical, thereby undermining one of the key elements of RN, namely that it rejects supernaturalism.

This is not to say that metaphor doesn’t have a place within religious naturalism. Sacred River actually makes this idea a core component of its approach. Perhaps the one thing that makes humans special is our use of symbol, which arguably underlies language, logic, mathematics, music, art, poetry, and even culture itself. It is important for religious naturalists to develop stories, icons, and experiences that can provide social cohesion, ethical illustrations, and opportunities for meaningful profundity (a sense of deep significance or transcendence usually involving a change of perspective different from ordinary states of awareness). This is how a religious movement is able to mature.

However, using god-language is neither necessary nor advantageous for our movement because, at its root, the concept of God is antithetical to naturalism. It is fair to say that we currently lack adequate language to describe the more sublime elements of the religious experience within a naturalistic orientation. But using God does not advance the development of such a language; rather, it keeps us stuck within a pre-scientific context. It is akin to using God to fill in the gaps of scientific knowledge, which is neither accurate nor useful in terms of promoting understanding.

Another issue to consider is cultural. One of the greatest benefits of the RN perspective is its universality: nature is nature everywhere. However, “God” is largely a construct of the West—by using it, the speaker is limiting the context to those places where god has meaning. It seems obvious that religious naturalism has much more in common with Eastern religions than with Abrahamic. Using god-language to describe the RN perspective excludes a large portion of the Earth’s population who see the world in a similar way as we do, at least when compared to Western theists. By using naturalistic language only, we universalize our message.

Carl Sagan once said, “A religion old or new, that stressed the magnificence of the universe as revealed by modern science, might be able to draw forth reserves of reverence and awe hardly tapped by the conventional faiths. Sooner or later, such a religion will emerge.” I believe that religious naturalism, or some variant, will be that religion. Like it or not, science and the concept of God, even as a symbol, are not compatible frames of reference. In the deepest parts of our minds, God is both a stand in for a lack of knowledge and a non-conscious elevation of our parents to the status of immortality and omnipotence. For us to mature as a naturalistic religious movement and also as a species, we must let go of God. It is not enough to transform him (and God is a “him”) to a metaphor, claiming that the supernatural elements have been banished. As long as God is used to describe the sublime within nature and ourselves, supernaturalism will survive, even if only in a silent form. We no longer need to anthropomorphize the universe.

Naturalism states that only the natural is real; that the universe as a whole lacks purpose and intelligence; that nothing exists, in principle, beyond the scope of scientific examination; and that all physical events are caused by other physical events in accordance with universal laws. Religious naturalism is a reverent orientation towards Nature that excludes supernaturalism; that responds to Nature with awe and wonder; that recognizes the mysteries inherent in existence; and ideally will develop a morality grounded in promoting human flourishing and ecological stewardship. The concept of God is not necessary and does not advance any of these principles, while it can be said to work against them. Yes, that includes the issue of mystery. Using God to explain mystery (such as why there is something rather than nothing) is generally just a way of trying to dispel mystery rather than accepting and abiding in it.

Letting go of God is necessary to fully embrace naturalism—which I write with a full understanding of how easy that is to say and how difficult it can be to accomplish. Rather than using a supernatural term to describe that which we see as sacred within Nature, let us instead consider those those things as sacred in themselves. That is what religious naturalism is all about, discarding the supernatural and exalting the natural. Instead of “Love = God = Divine”, religious naturalism says “Love = Divine”.

There are, of course, religious naturalists who do not have a problem with god-language, Dr. Goodenough being one of them (edit: although she herself does not use the term to describe her own beliefs). In no way is this essay an attempt to censure them. Neither am I calling for a “war” against believers in God (or those who use that term metaphorically), except perhaps in those cases where faith is used to justify hatred, suffering, discrimination, or willful ignorance. What I am attempting to do here is to persuade religious naturalists and those of like-mind to consider letting go of a word that muddies the waters, evokes supernaturalism, and inhibits the development of a naturalistic language of reverence. Chet Raymo said it best—When God is gone, everything is holy.

A wonderful “song” using bits from Carl Sagan’s Cosmos, featuring an appearance by Stephen Hawking. It is a lovely example of the awe, curiosity, and joy that nature can inspire.

There are already plenty of good overviews of religious naturalism, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to have one more. It certainly doesn’t stack up to the work of Jerome Stone [PDF], and I’ll probably update it over time, but I think it’s healthy to have multiple viewpoints that address a core set of ideas. Of course, I am no expert on religious naturalism, so I hope I can be forgiven a certain lack of unique insight or academic sophistication. For me, however, it is exactly this kind of exercise that helps develop a clear articulation of values and beliefs, an exercise that I consider to be central to my own personal progress. And you, dear reader, are naturally invited to comment and make suggestions.

Albert Einstein once said, “Religion is concerned with man’s attitude toward nature at large, with the establishing of ideals for the individual and communal life, and with mutual human relationship.” To this I would only add that religion is also concerned with promoting the experience of transcendence. These four things—attitudes, ideals, relationships, and transcendence—are, put together, best served in a religious context. Of course, it is really the last item that tips the scale towards religion; exploring things like science or philosophy might inspire fascination, curiosity, and thought, but only for a tiny few might they lead to a transcendent state of mind.

This is a main reason why religion exists: many people have a strong drive towards transcendence. Song, dance, chanting, meditation, ritual, and other activities continue to be life-enhancing for many people, even when they do not contain an ounce of supernaturalism. The experience of stepping out of one’s “mundane”, every-day state of mind is key to what we call meaningful profundity, being the sense of deep significance and connectivity which lies at the heart of religious experience.

The movement known as Religious Naturalism has yet to move substantially beyond theory into practice, although it has started to establish the attitudes and ideals that Einstein described. Sacred River, of course, has its own outline for these things, including the Spiritual Streams and the Four Virtues, as well as our understanding of progressivism and the utility of allegoricalism. But we are far from having an established set of practices. This will, hopefully, happen organically over time.

As a general point of observation, it is past time for mainstream religion to stop offering a few things that are not on Albert’s list, especially those things related to explaining phenomena. Religion has a terrible track record of providing accurate descriptions of the material universe and its multitude of processes. Some of the worst abuses of modern religion, such as campaigns against birth control or gay marriage, are often predicated on factually false models of reality. Worse, religion tends to offer what it cannot possibly deliver on, whether it be a miraculous cure for disease, an escape from poverty, or even a never-ending life of eternal bliss. People have a natural need for a sense of control and comfort—after all, life is difficult and often unfair, painful and confusing. Many religions take advantage of this by soothing the needy with fantasies, resulting in an overall decreased ability for people to think critically, to face the natural world on its own terms, and to cope effectively with the existential angst inherent in human life. That nearly half of American adults believe the Earth is only 6000 years old is indicative of the profoundly toxic effects of deistic religion’s efforts to provide causal accounts of the natural world.

In light of this, Sacred River takes the position that the Religious Naturalist movement has several ethical obligations:
1) to advocate for science as being the most reliable way of knowing about the world,
2) to increase fairness, economic opportunity, knowledge, and well-being (both personal and ecological), and
3) to promote naturalistic means for people to cope with the inescapable agonies of life.

I hope that this list might lead to a wider discussion about Religious Naturalism and the obligations implied by our shared worldview. After all, Einstein said that religion is, in part, about ideals. Perhaps it is not too far-fetched to hope that we might aspire towards an ever-more courageous, integral, beneficent, and open society grounded in a healthy combination of scientific understanding and transcendent inspiration.

The following talk by author Jennifer Michael Hecht is highly recommended. My own comments follow below…

Jennifer Michael Hecht: The Triumph of Poetic Atheism from Ethical Culture Society Bergen on Vimeo.

Hecht brings up many wonderful points in her brief talk. A key point that is certainly relevant to Sacred River is the idea that atheism doesn’t have to be antagonistic towards the idea of religion/spirituality. No doubt many visitors here are familiar with thinkers such as Dawkins and Hitchens who are downright militant towards religion, and it is no surprise that they have become the public banners for non-theism. Although I myself agree with 90% of what they have to say, that 10% difference is rather critical, and it seems that Ms. Hecht is of like mind.

Specifically, I agree with her that there is a place for communal and personal ritual in our lives and that it is beneficial to seek out transcendent states, two things that historically fall under the provence of religion. I also agree that there is no need for gods or supernaturalism to have them. Hecht is one of those who believe that life can be fulfilling and wondrous without the need for the metaphysical, even while looking towards structures and models that we call religious.

Something that Sacred River hasn’t yet delved into is the subject of death, which Hecht rightfully suggests is a key component of religion. As she says, millions of people go to a building once a week to stare at an image of a dead guy. While Sacred River will not adopt the morbid elements of resurrection worship, it is important to address the meaning and import of death, to allow our knowledge of human mortality to make our lives richer and brighter.

We stand with those who say that non-theism can be much more than a movement of NO. Religious naturalism is one promising manifestation of that notion. While we at Sacred River explicitly reject supernaturalism of any kind, we also embrace human excellence, beauty and imperfection, the majesty of Nature, the challenges and comforts of intentional community, and our ability to transcend the everyday and see ourselves as part of the sacred web of being. The universe is so stupendously complex and amazing that—even as science offers the best way to comprehend it—it requires art, poetry, and music to even begin to capture our experience of it. And is this not one of key elements of any religion, to provide a system for transmitting an understanding of reality and what it means to be a living part of the world? At one time (and, alas, for many people still), God (and his supporting cast) was the best possible model for all we didn’t grasp; now it is time for new models that reflect the grandeur, terror, and ecstasy that is life.

One of common elements of theistic religion is the belief in a beneficent force that is aware of and concerned about individual humans. I assume that people have a wide range of emotions about this force, from fear to awe to comfort. We non-theists lack faith in such a supernatural consciousness and so we are absent of the anxiety or hope of our actions, thoughts, and prayers being weighed on celestial scales.

But Nature is not without its forces, blind to the welfare of humans as they might be. It is possible now to understand the world in a way that is far different than the clockwork materialists of the Enlightenment. Religious Naturalists no longer see the universe as being filled with just a bunch of matter knocking about the proverbial pool table. Rather, we can see an intricate web of subtle processes, a metaphorical river of being and creation.

Ever since FDR first introduced prayer at the inaugural ceremonies in 1933, they have each and every one invoked a monotheistic god. A strong case can be made to say that including such prayers is inappropriate at one of our chief secular rituals. Nevertheless, they are here to stay for the foreseeable future. This year, with Rick Warren, the anti-gay pastor of the Saddleback mega-church, set to give the opening prayer at Obama’s inauguration, the issue has grown in significance. His support of California’s Prop 8, which strips the right of marriage from gays and lesbians, makes his participation especially abhorrent.

Since it is safe to assume that his prayer (and those of the other religious speakers) will again call on a personal Father-God, I wanted to write my own benediction from a naturalistic orientation. The following is hardly poetic or memory-worthy, but I will be reading it during Warren’s invocation, dreaming of a time when supernatural beliefs no longer have a place in our secular life.

On this historic day we inaugurate our new President and Vice-President, that solemn ceremony epitomizing the secular process of our enduring democracy. We offer our gratitude to those great minds that courageously embarked upon the American experiment, who had faith in the essential goodness of humanity and envisioned a country whose every citizen might equally enjoy the freedom, security, and opportunity that the rule of law might provide. We further give thanks to all those individuals, both civic and military, who have sacrificed all they have to forward the fortunes of our nation.

On this day, we grant unto President-elect Obama, Vice-President-elect Biden, as well as their families and members of their administration our support and our hope that they will find the strength and wisdom they will need in the coming years. In light of the challenges we as a nation face, may they never fall short of the fierce courage, unwavering integrity, compassionate beneficence, and broad open-mindedness they must have to fulfill the potential of their profound duties.

Despite the darkness of these days, we recognize that this can also be a wondrous time, a time of great renewal and revitalization. We must now reaffirm our dedication to a culture of social responsibility and environmental stewardship. Once again we must look to our own resources to refill the national vault, not only with economic prosperity, but just as importantly with our wealth of humanity—education, the arts, science and green technology, health care, and a new age of justice, liberty, and progress. The world is ready to look to us once again, not only as moral leaders, but as a partner in the struggle for a healthy planet and a lasting peace, and we must not, we shall not fall short of these sacred obligations.

Let us mark this day as a turning point in the journey towards the splendor that is our potential, a potential measured by our dedication to a world without poverty, injustice, or fear. A world where all humankind can embrace each other as the Great Family we truly are, and live as one on this divine earth as virtuous and responsible citizens.

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.

A quick thought for tonight… Something that my partner, Janet, and I like to say is that we are “non-theists” rather than “atheists”. Certainly we are atheists in a technical sense—we do not believe that god(s) exist. But right or wrong, atheism has come to mean more than that simple statement. For many, I suspect it also indicates an anti-religious attitude or at least an absence of religion. And those things do not quite describe us.

I make the distinction because I agree with religion professor Loyal Rue when he asserts that humans acquire meaning in the form of narratives. As such, religions can be seen as more than systems of beliefs and practices, but as cultural narratives that provide meaning, guidance, and a sense of identity. For example, it isn’t enough to simply have a list of things that are important—religions must also tell stories that explain why they are important. And on a deeper level, religion tells the human story, the narrative of who we are as a people and how we fit in the larger world.

I might be a non-theist, but I am not non-religious. I believe that it is possible to develop a robust system of ideals, practices, ethics, and narrative meaning that serve all the primary functions of religion without any need for supernatural elements. In fact, that is exactly what we are trying to do with Sacred River, and what has already begun with the bourgeoning Religious Naturalism movement.

This is not to say that I do not respect those who apply the term atheist to themselves. By some accounts, there are as many as 700 million to one billion non-believers out there. That’s a lot—by comparison, there are approximately 900m Hindus, 375m Buddhists, and 14m Jews. Technically, I am of their number, but I want to see religion reformed rather than abolished. And a big part of that will be spreading the perspective that religion does not need God.

In general terms,  tolerance can be defined as acceptance (even if grudging) of people who look, act, or believe differently than you do. This is a fine principle that falls under the Third Virtue, Beneficence. If Nature tells us anything, it is that variety is a fundamental property of a healthy system, and so even on a pragmatic level it makes sense to promote tolerance of difference. Homogeneity might be easier, but it would be static and, well, boring. Far better to celebrate diversity, no?

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.

In her classic book, The Sacred Depths of Nature, Ursula Goodenough writes:

As a religious naturalist I say “What Is, Is” with the same bowing of the head, the same bending of the knee. Which then allows me to say “Blessed Be To What Is” with thanksgiving. To give assent is to understand, incorporate, and then let go. With the letting go comes that deep sigh we call relief, and relief allows the joy-of-being-alive-at-all to come tumbling forth again.

Here Dr. Goodenough is briefly addressing a core existential challenge: to come to grips with reality. As one who looks to science as the primary instrument for understanding reality (or at least how it works), it can be daunting to accept that we humans (and myself in particular) have no real importance in the Grand Scheme of Things. The universe does not care about us. As absolutely amazing as life is, especially the emergence of self-awareness, life itself has no Ultimate Purpose. There is no Plan for us—there is absolutely nothing that we have to Learn or Accomplish, no preordained Destiny to fulfill.

Yes, acknowledging all that is a serious downer, no doubt about it. It very much goes counter to the human need to feel special, valuable, and safe.

Ursula Goodenough, one of the leading speakers in the Religious Naturalism movement, once pointed out that while the story of Nature can induce awe and wonder, the scientific knowledge of universal processes rarely inspires religious feelings. That is one reason why this spiritual movement isn’t “religious scientism”. It simply isn’t enough to think that Nature is great in and of itself—religion is, ultimately, about the human condition. Unless a spiritual movement appeals to one’s core existential concerns, it simply will not be of much use.

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.

Religious beliefs are a strange thing and cause people to act in strange ways. Otherwise intelligent and thoughtful people can have their minds turned inside out when their faith is questioned, either by a skeptic or by a scientist. A key problem with non-allegorical (i.e fundamentalist or supernatural) religious beliefs is that they generally have a static view of the world. Because the world can be seen in only one way, when seen through the religious lens, such beliefs revert the mind to an immature state where things are black and white and fixed. When the world provides evidence that goes counter to those beliefs (as it always will), instead of incorporating those new understandings, adherents instead will either twist reality to conform with their bias or they will ignore it altogether. It is, in short, a kind of insanity.

Wikipedia has a good article on Religious Naturalism. I mention this because that pretty much describes me. The basic definition states,

All forms of Religious Naturalism agree that the natural world must be placed at the center of our most significant experiences and understandings. [...] Religious Naturalists affirm the human need for meaning and value in our lives, drawing on two fundamental convictions in those quests: 1) the sense of nature’s richness, spectacular complexity and fecundity and 2) the recognition that nature is not only the realm in which we live out our lives, but that we and who we are – our physical bodies, our amazing brains with their capacity for human sensibilities and understanding, and even our predisposition to be religious – are actually part of nature.