ColumnSome people experience overwhelming awe in church, some on magnificent mountaintops, some in elegant equations. But some of us tend to get “it” when witnessing stunning examples of our human footprint. If that sounds like you, you just might be a humanist—something with very down-to-earth implications.  

“I was blown away.” The phrase is used so often it’s a wonder we’re all not aloft. “Awesome!” A term so ubiquitous, you might find yourself yearning for the run of the mill. Indeed, if every OMG! were an honest-to-god conjure of what’s holy, His/Her/Its omnipresence would be completely and finally undeniable.

Of course it’s easy to pick on our culture’s most overused overstatements. (OMG aside, the above are certainly part of my vocabulary). But if we dial down the hyperbole for a moment and honestly think about the things that make us dizzily reach for the nearest handrail, we’re likely to learn a lot about who we are and what makes us tick.

Consider that second glance, the super serious one, that says, “No, really! I was blown away!” This usually features earnest and pleading eye contact that begs you to believe and embrace the gravity of what the speaker is gushing about. The subtext: “I’ve experienced something beyond words.” (So to speak.)

For most of us, the varieties of religious experience are evidenced as many. (I use the term “religious” advisedly, requesting some latitude from my fellow nonbelievers.) We know this because, hopefully, we know a variety of people. I, for one, have dear and respected friends who have been knocked off their horses by the Judeo-Christian King of Kings, both with and without the help of his also-divine son. Other believers I know have experienced more creedless, less-moderated Big Moments with what they perceive to be supernatural forces. Alas, such supernatural events have never happened to me.

Others tend to have their wow episodes in or considering nature, sitting on a mountaintop, watching the ocean’s waves or simply staring up at the vastness of the cosmos on a starry night. These happenings reportedly include a number of overwhelming sensations (smallness, bigness, existence, nonexistence, self, non-self) and a feeling of oneness with the universe. For a range of folks, from Buddhists to Gaians to Newtonians, our natural world offers up awe like candy, if we only take the time to look, pay attention and feel.

Unlike being touched by the supernatural, these natural episodes have happened to me. It would be something if they didn’t, living as I do in Northern California where a four-hour radius from my front door offers up glories like Yosemite and the shores of the Pacific. Over my lifetime, too, I’ve had the great fortune of experiencing marvels ranging from the Arctic Circle to the Gobi Desert. I’d have to be pretty thickheaded not to have been occasionally swept away. I, too, can be floored by the awe and joy of being a part of the universe and it’s clockwork workings, whether known, yet to be known or forever unknown. Yet despite its power, nature, per se, is not my biggest mind blower.

To Each His Swoon

The name of this column, HyperKulture, refers to a psychosomatic phenomenon that presents “rapid heartbeat, dizziness, fainting, confusion and even hallucinations when an individual is exposed to an experience of great personal significance, particularly viewing art.” In its debut, “In Swoon’s Way,” I wrote about a recent trip to Europe during which I had experienced a number of such events (healthily upright though I remained). Today, looking back at those moments and holding them up alongside similar events throughout my life, a pattern has emerged.

What sends my mind off its rails are the awesome things we humans do. (Yep. Awed. For real.) This goes back to what prompted my first swoon—Neil Armstrong setting foot on the moon (though this is probably a swoon-after memory of a memory given the fact that I was only 5 when it happened). In fact, I remain blown away by that historic feat; just conjuring it in my mind for more than few moments can make me dizzy and if I really push it, even a little teary. I mean, the dude left the earth and walked on the moon. WTF?!

Over the course of my lifetime, I’ve had a number of these man-made experiences. Visiting Atelier Brancusi, listening to the Beatles’ “Dear Prudence,” reading Leo Tolstoy’s “Anna Karenina,” enjoying a dinner once prepared for me by Chef Paul Prudhomme—all head-spinning. Even imagining indirect experiences—Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation, MLK’s Dream, the idea of Amelia Earhart taking off into the ether—can totally spin me out when I give them more than just passing thought.

Don’t get me wrong. It takes a lot for someone or some deed to set me off—and sometimes it’s unpredictable. Why did that Caravaggio at the Met that one day spike my BP and send me running out to the street for air when all the other masterpieces I saw before it left me relatively unshaken? And what was it about that one time at the Jefferson Memorial in Washington? Why was that visit so different than all the other times I stood inside its colonnade? Who knows what kind of perfect brainstorm has to occur to rock my world?

In any case, to my religious friends: Some of your prophets. Holy shit! The idea that actual people have had that kind of impact on the world? That their ideas would hold such power and sway? Wow, man. It still baffles me that the Buddha came up with what he came up with. And to my science-focused friends, about those elegant equations that so turn you on? Given that the math is way above my pay grade, it’s the scientists themselves who suffered and slaved to arrive at such beautiful truths who ignite my wonder. Newton. Einstein. Hawking. When I think about what these people accomplished and the impact they’ve had on how we live every day—oh my!

Yep. For me it’s the humans. How about you? Have you been set asunder by Homo sapien heroics? World-renowned feats of wonder aside, are there people in your life who have done the unimaginably awesome? Your grandfather’s charity? Your mother’s unconditional love? Your aunt who lived gracefully with disease and died with strength and dignity? Maybe the person with whom you shared your first kiss? For those of us who have this mortal-creature-based swoon pattern, may I suggest that perhaps we have—heaven forbid!—an ism.

Us and (Just) Us

There’s no simple, all-purpose definition of humanism. Its many facets include historical, academic and philosophical angles dating back to well before the term came into use during the early Renaissance. But for these purposes, let’s use one that seems to be recurring and general enough to get the job done: “A system of thought that focuses on humans and their values, capacities and worth.”

Of course, there’s nothing in those words about the type of “religious” experiences I’m speaking of here. In fact, most definitions of the philosophy (or worldview or whatever you choose to call it) allude to it being distinctly rationalist and secular (big draws for me). But if we can agree with the idea that there are instances of experience in our lives that at least seem to be transcendental, then perhaps it’s okay to go ahead and give humanism its religiousy due.

Einstein here: “The most beautiful emotion we can experience is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion that stands at the cradle of true art and science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead, a snuffed-out candle. To sense that behind anything that can be experienced there is something that our minds cannot grasp, whose beauty and sublimity reaches us only indirectly: this is religiousness. In this sense, and in this sense only, I am a devoutly religious man.”

The great scientist was speaking broadly and, of course, addressing rapture emanating from far beyond our actions on the ground. And let’s be clear: No one would go so far as to call humanism a religion. But for those of us who ascribe to this philosophy in its secular form, we can indeed point to our very own swoons and appreciate our awesomeness in what some might go so far as to describe as a spiritual way.

However you characterize the idea of humanist rapture, if you’re going to go ahead and claim the ism there are ramifications of such a throw-down—there is no doubt a yang for this yin. While most definitions of the philosophy speak to our ability (and even inclination) to make the world a better place, there is another side of the equation that speaks to something darker about our ability to achieve.

Yes, our capacity for evil is awesome too. While there are heroes who can truly make us swoon, just watch and listen and know about the bullies, as well. The beheaders, the fundamentalists, the reactionaries—know that the visceral shudder you get when you see their “achievements” is just rapture turned upside down. We humanists can’t offload the sublimely destructive on a less-than-benevolent god, the weather or the downside of an equation. If you’re anything like me, this dark side of our awesomeness can be as mind-blowing as the brilliant side. Oh, the humanity—and the voodoo that we do.

Scott Adelson is EcoSalon’s Senior Editor of HyperKulture, a column that explores opening cultural doors to initiate personal change. He is also the author of InPRINT, which reviews and discusses books, new and old. You can reach him at scott at adelson dot org and follow him @scottadelson on Twitter.

Related on EcoSalon

HyperKulture: Beyond the Algorithms – Don’t Look Now, But You Are What You Click

HyperKulture: Multiple Personality Order – Embracing Your Inner Yous

HyperKulture: Living in the Past – You Can’t Go Back… Why Would You Want To?

HyperKulture: Making Space for Your Inner Homebody – A Case for the Great Indoors

HyperKulture: You May Ask Yourself, ‘How Did I Get Here?’ – The Pitfalls of Passion Drift

Images: Aldrin Apollo/Public Domain (top), Smithsonian Institution (middle), Footsteps on the sand from Shutterstock (bottom).

The post Do People Blow Your Mind? You Just Might Be a Humanist: HyperKulture appeared first on EcoSalon.

ColumnOprah seems to think she knows best when it comes to social and religious identities. Here’s why that should piss you off.

During an awkward television interview last month, the extraordinarily famous Oprah Winfrey informed endurance-swimmer hero Diana Nyad that Nyad was not, despite her claims, an atheist.

Almost immediately, the godless Internet lit up with a range of reactions from heretics of all shapes and sizes proclaiming their indignation, anger and even “hurt.” This was Oprah—Queen of the popular media big leagues—and she was getting it wrong. But there’s more to this story than “nonbelievers annoyed.” Believers should be too.

The exchange took place on Winfrey’s Super Soul Sunday, which featured the talk-show host trying to muscle Nyad’s ability to experience awe and wonder into what is increasingly becoming mainstream God vocabulary—that is to say, one that expands the definition of the term well beyond its traditional angry-dude-in-clouds confines. Nyad, eloquent and powerful (figuratively, as well as literally), allowed Winfrey some wiggle room with language, but overall wasn’t having it:

Nyad: I’m not a God person…

Winfrey: Do you consider yourself atheist?

Nyad: I am an atheist…

Winfrey: But you’re in the awe.

Nyad: I don’t understand why anyone would find a contradiction in that. I can stand at the beach’s edge with the most devout Christian, Jew, Buddhist, go on down the line, and weep with the beauty of this universe and be moved by all of humanity—all the billions of people who have lived before us, who have loved and hurt and suffered. To me, my definition of God is humanity, and is the love of humanity…

Winfrey: Well I don’t call you an atheist then. I think if you believe in the awe and the wonder and in the mystery, then that is what God is… God is not a bearded guy in the sky.

Nyad: It’s not bearded, but there is an inference with ‘God’ that there is a presence, that there is either a creator or an overseer.

A moment later, after Nyad stated the fact that “we will never know,” Oprah said “’til that last breath—and [somewhat defiantly] maybe it will be an ‘oh, wow’ one for you…”

For us nonbelievers, this kind of exchange is nothing new. It’s one we’ve all had with often well-meaning folks (I should say that Oprah shows no malice here and seems genuine, albeit insensitive) who have trouble arranging us on their spiritual (and often religious) gameboards. It’s certainly well-trodden ground in the media. Here’s another recent example that caught a news cycle or three—CNN anchorman Wolf Biltzer, after May’s deadly tornado in Moore, Oklahoma, interviewing a survivor standing amidst horrible debris with her young child in arms:

Blitzer: I guess you gotta thank the Lord, right?

Tornado survivor: Yeah. [Clearly trying to quickly dismiss the question.]

Blitzer: Do you thank the Lord? …

Tornado Survivor: I – I – I’m – I’m actually an Atheist.

Unlike Oprah, Blizter seemed to quickly catch the woman’s drift, as it were, and moved on to playing with the kid. (Very cute.) Nevertheless, in watching the interview, one gets the sense that in that moment he was pushing the issue. When he didn’t get the “oh, yes, praise be” response he expected, he slipped into ‘But you have to, right? Do you?’ Like Nyad to Oprah, this woman did not fit his paradigm and he was taken aback.

These high-profile exchanges bring up two important questions. The first, which has been well covered, is whether atheists can have awe (and/or spirituality) in their lives without god(s) or a “higher” power. As a nonbeliever, I certainly don’t want to diminish the issue, but the question’s frequency really isn’t all that surprising, despite its insulting nature. The concept of being unable to make room for supernatural dualism in one’s spiritual framework is confounding to many. Burden of proof issues and a lack of scientific method aside, believers are operating within a framework that simply does not accommodate the kind of utter oneness that edges out anything higher or lower or elsewhere; it’s just something they can’t not see.

But question two is broader and more baffling, and one that has caught the attention of a number of my faithful friends (yes, believe it or not, I have many): Why is it that Oprah would feel comfortable responding to someone explaining his or her (very) personal sense of self (such as, “I’m a spiritual atheist”) with a “No. You can’t be that. I’ll tell you what you are.” Odd, right? Well, not really.

Pegs and Holes—Atheists are Not Alone

Sadly, it’s not difficult in our culture to find a wide range of precedent for the “you don’t believe what you say you believe” admonition. In fact, most of us can start quite young. Remember mom and dad’s head-patting “I know you think you believe that”? (Oh, man. Instant tantrum.)

How many women have been nominally exiled outside the cap-F, feminist camp because they might harbor the idea that a fulfilling life for them features being a stay-at-home mom, or perhaps, god forbid, they enjoy porn now and again? How about the virgin homosexual teen being told he or she’s not really gay—yet—or the bisexual who’s informed by certain members of the homosexual and lesbian communities that he or she is merely “confused”?

Want more? Might you be an animal rights advocate who’s “not” because you eat meat? An environmentalist cast away for not being sold on the evils of GMOs? And here’s one that’s near and dear to my heart: evidently, to some, my atheism somehow interferes with the Jewish identity with which I was born. (There’s a great line from Ricky Gervais that I like to trot out when asked by my tribespeople why I’m an atheist: “God made me this way.”)

The list goes on.

We all know how our culture is sadly characterized by a scarcity of empathy. But what about these instances where empathy is simply not available, when there’s just no way one can put themselves in the shoes of others who are so, well, other? What’s missing from the equation that leads people to feel okay contorting another’s sense of self and transmuting that sense into their own ideas and language? The answer seems to lie in the inability to simply listen and accept—baffled or not. Comfortable bemusement is just not in most people’s skill set. Control, however, is.

But that’s their side of the street, right? What about ours? Us others? What is our role in the cultural codependence that has the likes of not only average Joes telling us who and what we are, but our institutions, as well? Where do pundits and anointed culture purveyors like Oprah and Wolf come off telling us what we think? How dare they!?

How dare they, indeed. Have we handed them the keys to our personal kingdoms? Perhaps. Oprah’s untold millions are “earned” from a nation of viewers who turn to her to interpret their thoughts for them (not to mention telling them what books to read—including, um, “The Secret”). Why would we be surprised when she offers such interpretations and contortions designed to bring outsiders into the mainstream from what must surely be the cold? She’s just doing her (read: our) job.

What was great about Nyad (who, at 64 recently achieved her goal of swimming from Florida to Cuba) is not only how she didn’t evade the issue (she chose to appear on a show called Super Soul Sunday, for god’s sake) but how well thought out her feelings were, and how she held firm throughout the discussion.

Not all of us are prepared to come out of our closets when our belief systems are queried, challenged and dismissed, nor should we feel forced to do so. But given the opportunity—and the platform—to stand one’s ground, doing so deserves a ton of credit. That pesky acceptance thing, both self- and societal, ultimately emerges from freedom from fear and the courage to speak one’s mind.

Now, no one is suggesting that the shaken Moore survivor should have blitzed Blitzer with what might have been a (some might argue wiser) alternate question: “Why do you think God chose to punish and kill all those people? What do you think they did to earn such horrifying and violent deaths?” That would be insensitive, right?

The bottom line is that no one gets to tell you who you are or what you think. That’s up to you—no matter what anyone believes. Or doesn’t.

Scott Adelson is EcoSalon’s Senior Editor of HyperKulture, a monthly column that explores opening cultural doors to initiate personal change. He is also the author of InPRINT, which reviews and discusses books, new and old. You can reach him at scott@adelson.org and follow him @scottadelson on Twitter.

Related Reading:

HyperCulture: From The Sanbox to Syria – Tribe, Ego and Decision Making

HyperKulture: In Swoon’s Way – Time traveling and Staring Down Florence Syndrome

InPRINT: A Novel Challenge – Take Action and Read Outside Your Box

InPRINT: You Want Erotic? The Countless Shades of Anaïs Nin

InPRINT: Albert Camus and the Biggest Question of All

Images: Surian Soosay (top) and Bob Wells

The post Dear Oprah, Please Tell Us Who We Are — Atheists, Feminists and Other ‘Others’ Need to Know: HyperKulture appeared first on EcoSalon.

A solemn structure makes the case for a post-secular kind of design, and worship.

Several months back, The New York Times reported on a man named Tony Carnes who has taken on the Herculean task of mapping out all of New York City’s houses of worship. “Mr. Carnes is in search of every church, cathedral, synagogue, shtiebel, mosque, temple, zendo and ashram,” the story states. He posts his findings to his “public square,” nycreligion.info, where folks can find out about “the sizzle of religion in New York — the kosher sizzle! The halal sizzle!”

By the end of this year, Carnes and his group of volunteers will have driven down every last street in each and every borough of what he calls a “postsecular” city, meaning not quite a Jerusalem or a Mecca, but somewhere between secular and sacred.

A project in Finland, meanwhile, is making a solid (and solemn) case for a new breed of urban postsecular. A modern contrast to the stone and mortar rigidity of traditional houses of worship, the Chapel of Silence is a meant as a meditative refuge in the heart of Helsinki. A place to reflect and a space to be. Ostensibly, it’s a dogma free zone that, arguably, every city should have.

With its curved wood facade, the Chapel of Silence flows into the cityscape while its gently sloped interior beehives visitors from the bustle of city life outside.

Warmth and calm define the space, while wood provides the structure.

If not for the discrete crucifix on the façade, which might very well be a doorknocker shaped in the letter “t”, and another in the interior, architecturally-speaking the space is almost secularist. There is no apparent doctrine in the design, and minimalist simplicity trumps superstition. 

 Images: K2S Architects via ArchDaily; The New York Times

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