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.

Where does the evil and good come from?

“Evil” and “Good” aren’t substances or states, but moral judgments on behaviors and ideas. All judgments are products of the human mind grounded in the evolutionary necessity of primates to live together in a reasonably harmonious way. We are beginning to find the basic building blocks of human ethics, which are related to such issues as fairness, resource/mate protection, incest avoidance, and reciprocal altruism (to name a few).

As in language, the moral building blocks have evolved into complex structures that are now largely culture-based. These structures form in every group (churches, schools, workplaces, clubs, and even whole cities and nations), and the majority of them are implicit, meaning they are unspoken mandates and rules of thumb that guide how group members behave and interact. When someone violates a rule, everyone knows it, even when that rule isn’t written down. Humans are simply wired this way.

Although the underlying purpose of morality is logical—the creation of social rules that allow humans to live together in groups—individual morals or moral sets are not always rational or even beneficial. At one time, for example, slavery was considered perfectly acceptable by many Americans and was even justified with the Bible. Many people would now consider slavery to be an unambiguous evil.

This is why there is a movement to push morals into a principle-based system rather than attempting a set of absolute rules. For example, increasing fairness and decreasing suffering are “good” principles, but what those look like will change along with a changing society, just as the acceptability of slavery changed with the Civil War. This is but one benefit of a non-theistic perspective—we can approach goodness from a reasonable and compassionate place rather than by attempting to fulfill rigid decrees, regardless of their relevance or logic.

Where does the “self” come from? And please don’t say the self is a set of neuronal connections…that is ridiculous and has not been proven.

The experience of self does indeed stem from complex neural nets in the brain, although the total self certainly includes the whole body. This might seem ridiculous to you, but there is a great deal of empirical evidence for it (and no evidence to the contrary). True, we learn more about the creation of self all the time as we learn more about the brain, but it isn’t the mystery you are making it out to be.

What we call the self is constructed from many psycho-neurological mechanisms, including temperament, emotions, personality (a la the Big Five), subjective perception and awareness, motivations and bodily needs, working memory and long-term memory, worldview and heuristic sets (e.g. social roles), and what you would call thinking. The self is an emergent phenomena that arises from the integration of all these functions, each of which are borne in the brain and derive from a combination of genetics and experience, and shifts according to environmental priming (a great example of this is an experiment with Chinese-Americans: one group was shown American symbols and the other Chinese symbols: each group then interpreted a single image, with the first group preferring a Western concept of individualism, with the other preferring an Eastern communal perspective. So based on how they were primed, different “selves” came to the fore).

To learn more, I strongly recommend “The Developing Mind” by Dan Siegel.

I’m afraid you might be falling for what our ancient ancestors fell for: the assumption that anything we don’t fully understand in nature must be due to a supernatural agent. It’s as if to say that if something in nature is amazing and beyond our comprehension, it couldn’t have “just happened”. But why not? There is no reason to think that anything in nature required an external agent, and the more we learn about the universe, the more we must conclude that indeed no agent could have caused any of it. Nature is self-sufficient; that is part of its majesty.

Pascal’s Wager is frequently offered by modern Christians as justification for faith, even though Pascal himself said that the wager is only enough to consider finding faith. Nevertheless, they will say,  “You’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain…and if you’re wrong, then Hell awaits you!” There are, of course, many logical shortcomings in this wager. For example, it doesn’t include the possibility that:

* The Christian god isn’t the correct deity
* God’s judgment is arbitrary
* God might also reward honest unbelief or punish dishonest belief
* Belief isn’t a necessary or adequate criteria for entry into Heaven

So, let’s take these issues into consideration in the following table, assuming the religion is Christianity with a “good” non-believer and an undefined believer:

When we add these choices, then the best choice is to be a good non-believer, because she has the best possible outcome—she gets both reason and Heaven if God is real and rewards those who act good. Likewise, in this choice and the choice where God is not real, the non-believer gets to have a fulfilling life of doing good deeds, without any unnecessary emotional, physical, or material sacrifices in the name of faith.

If the believer is good, then he has two extra chances to get to Heaven, but no one can know for certain what qualifies as “good enough”. The undefined believer might be “good enough” in choice #3, but has nevertheless made unnecessary sacrifices that the non-believer did not make. If God is not the Christian god, then there is equal risk of the unknown, making a rational and good life that much more worthwhile. If God is not real, then the believer does not have zero loss: he has, as Dawkins’ writes, squandered his “precious time on worshiping him, sacrificing to him, fighting and dying for him, etc.” And Hell becomes less one-sided, since the believer might get there if he is not adequately good (e.g. the mass murderer who repents in the gas chamber).

On top of all this, we then need to take into account the likelihood of God’s existence. There are already many arguments out there about this, but I will keep it at this: God isn’t necessary. God is not necessary to explain the origin of the universe, universal laws and processes, or how we humans came to be. There is no question in science that is best answered with “God”. This doesn’t prove his non-existence, but it does make it very, very unlikely, especially when we consider the countless number of gods humans have created and the complete lack of observable evidence for any of them. Virtually every universal theory that has arisen from religion has been shown to be wrong; why not just admit the concept of supernatural dualism is wrong altogether? With this in mind, we have to put the choices on a scale, with the existence of God being very unlikely and the non-existence of god being very likely.

The fundamental problem with all of this—as has been pointed out by non-theists many times before—is that one cannot be threatened into genuine belief. Faith requires that I honestly think that something is true. Any fear of being wrong does not, in itself, provide evidence that something is real.

And finally, I present my own Naturalist Wager:

If there is a creator God, then he created the universe and the world and humans. He also created your brain that is able to observe and reason and feel compassion. Looking at and learning about His creation using direct observation and empirically-based reason would honor His gifts, while making the world a better place for every human would honor the heart He gave you. If a loving creator God is real, it is reasonable to believe that He will reward you for your faith in Him and for the use of the reason and compassion He gave you. If God is not real, then you will have made excellent use of your life by fulfilling your ability to learn about and find wonder in the natural world and by making life a bit more worth living for those who remain.

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.

Our understanding of the world is informed by Science—we express our relationship with the world through Art. This is the matrix of knowledge and imagination, of empiricism and inspiration, of curiosity and creativity. This marriage of Science and Art lies at the heart of Sacred River.

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.

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.

A popular refrain states that science cannot answer all questions. That is undoubtedly true. Embedded within the universe are processes and events that will be forever beyond our ability to analyze, predict, or understand.

The part of us that desires to know things seduces us into thinking that there is a deeper level of reality that can be grasped by a special tuning process of the mind. After all, the brain is the only real mediator of experience (and therefore of all knowledge), so it must be possible to manipulate that tool to perceive and grasp this hidden reality that sits beyond the keen eye of scientific examination. An extension of this perspective argues that some people in the past have indeed achieved this and developed translation systems that allow every day people to have access to this hidden wisdom—astrology, tarot, gematria, Cabala, goat entrails, tea leaves, entheogenic ritual, bibliomancy, augury, palmistry, scrying, Ouija, runecasting, and any other number of countless methods.

Employing these practices can have numerous etiologies and consequences. As stated, the foundation of them all is certainly the desire to know things, which itself derives from our common need to seek safety and reduce existential anxiety. It matters not one whit if the “knowledge” they provide has any objective veridicality—all that is important is that they produce the feeling of knowing.

The “feeling of knowing” is a somewhat poorly understood psychological phenomenon. In general, it is hypothesized to be a function of the familiarity process in memory. Key components include cues and target familiarity, which would perhaps explain why working within certain memorized systems (e.g. the Tree of Life or Tarot) might produce such strong feelings of knowing, because they provide numerous cues for highly familiar symbols. The key here is that such methods are closed systems—the data that they produce are only relevant to the system itself, and to nothing else in any objective sense.

But this is all academic. Nothing can explain away the intense desire people have to know things. On top of this, believing that one has an inside track to the secrets of existence can lead to feelings of pride and exceptionality. If one harbors deep doubts about one’s self worth, then indulging in such systems can also provide profound relief. Likewise, if one has developed inadequate skills for dealing with every day life—especially in regards to predicting consequences and developing the necessary resources to thrive—then retreating into an occult world with relatively easy-to-follow rules might seem like a better choice.

Of course, this is certainly not true of everyone who is involved with occult/supernatural systems of knowing. Some simply have wonderful imaginations and take great pleasure in believing they live in a world described by mystics and prophets. These are the romantics, and I was certainly counted among their number at one time.

I must make something very clear here—there is infinite room in our lives for symbols and metaphors, for tools that inspire and focus. Life is hard and if a charm, horoscope, or ritual helps one to find greater meaning, fulfillment, and joy, then that is a good thing. A love amulet can help keep a mind open to potential partners; a prayer for employment might influence a person to keep looking when despair is near; a baptism often helps people to feel emotionally integrated into a new community. The allegorical perspective recognizes that symbols are doorways to emotional depths that are otherwise difficult to access, and as such, they have a vital role to play in our lives.

But there will always be things that are beyond knowing. This is not because there is a hidden world, mysterious powers, or unseen intelligences that care about our individual lives and manipulate events for some Grand Purpose. Mystery is simply intrinsic to reality. The emergent nature of the universe is such that a certain amount of randomness is inherent to existence. This is what gives things the wiggle room needed to change and produce variety. If randomness didn’t exist, we would not have galaxies, planets, or people, only a homogeneous cloud of elementary particles.

All knowledge is provisional. But this is not because all theories have equal value. When something is thought to be known, it takes a great deal of evidence to supplant it with new understanding. As things stand, we now know a great deal about the origins, functions, and workings of nature. As new information comes in, what we now know will change or disappear. This is philosophy of science 101.

But supernatural systems don’t follow the same rules. They do not allow for better ways of seeing things. They demand a static view of the world. If science is brought in, it is twisted to try to confirm existing conclusions. This is what makes supernatural systems completely inadequate as tools for exploring and understanding the natural world.

At some point, we need to accept the fact that there will be things we will never know. In some cases, that will be because they are beyond our ability to examine (e.g. what happens after death?). In other cases, it is simply because there are no Answers. Is there a Grand Purpose to Life? Not only is there no answer to that, it is the wrong question. Instead, try asking: how do we make life more meaningful, more fulfilling, and more joyous? Part of the answer to that is to make peace with Mystery, to realize that there will be some things we can know and other things we can’t, and to be okay with that. What will the next moment bring? Who knows.

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.

But Goodenough provides one possible way out from the despair and nihilism that reality can impose: what she calls assent. Rather than responding with disappointment or resentment to a world that refuses to conform with our more childish desires or soothe our existential anxieties, we can choose to acquiesce—to say “What Is, Is.”

I recognize the huge challenge of this orientation. For Goodenough, assent is the key to relief and joy. While assent might be necessary, I’m not sure it is sufficient, at least not for everyone. I agree that gratitude for “What Is” is very important (at a basic level, be thankful that there is something instead of nothing, because the latter could have happened just as easily as the former). But I maintain that, in general, humans have not developed into beings that tend to be satisfied with acceptance for what is (and in all fairness, I’m not at all certain that Goodenough would disagree with me here). It’s certainly possible to achieve this state, of course—one could even claim that this is the basis of Buddhist practice.

I hypothesize that joy comes about as a result of meaning and fulfillment. From a naturalist orientation, I would agree that both initially require assent to the general conditions of reality. This means giving up cherished stories and paranormal assumptions about the workings of the world. No small thing, that. It is akin to what addicts describe when they try to quit their drug of choice—initially, the world seems flat and bland without the high. Similarly, life without the magic and miracles might seem the same. But in both cases, it is possible to eventually see the world as it really is—a vibrant, unpredictable, beautiful, thrilling, magnificent place. And that we are beings with the astounding ability to influence ourselves and our environment to conform with our imagination.

A naturalist spirituality emerges out of this relationship between imagination and reality. Or said another way, to say “What Is, Is” and “What might be, might be”—the alliance between assent and creativity. And the creation of what might be—the ability to imagine and then to act to make a vision manifest—is what makes fulfillment and meaning possible.

This is also a part of the Sacred River—the ongoing dance between imagination and manifestation. This is not a mechanical process, but an emergent flow of being, of human life. We are not static, but careen down the channel of change. True, our brains thankfully provide an illusion of stability, but from moment to moment we oscillate between potential and discharge. And we can influence that! We can have a hand in the creation of ourselves and in the way we relate to Nature. And that makes us Gods.