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"How Can an Intelligent Person Believe That in This Day and Age?"
© John Erickson
Religion stirs up violent arguments within every strata of society, and it is no different within Mensan culture — with the exception of the arguments being more loquacious and the arguers being more resolute in their respective positions.
One question too frequently shouted from the housetops is: "How can an intelligent person believe in a spiritual existence?" The shouter may be uncomfortable with having to contemplate a force he cannot substantiate intellectually. Perhaps he's had negative experiences with religion - which is a valid basis for one's personal preferences; but significantly less valid as a reason to declare spiritually‑minded people to be categorically unintelligent.
The difference between the atheist and the believer is not simply one of physical facts vs. wishful thinking. There is a fundamental personality difference that guides each party's thinking.
The believer is comfortable with accepting life's eternal "solve for 'x'" characteristic - the realization that no matter how much knowledge we gain, there will always be a black hole in our comprehension of the mass and movement that lay behind our experiential reality.
An atheistic personality is uncomfortable with loose ends and is constantly itching to declare that the present level of knowledge is the only thing worth entertaining. Anything lacking physical evidence should not be embraced for any reason. To do so would leave him in the psychologically untenable state of accepting an unsolvable "reality" governing some portion of his existence.
"Genius" enables one to analyze things more quickly and thoroughly than others. It is somewhat less useful when delving into the shadowy realms of metaphysical considerations. Here its higher-octane abilities are limited to the pursuit of more elaborate examinations of a belief system and, subsequently, engineering more persuasive rhetoric for supporting one's conclusions. Our "Third Eye" remains frustratingly unaffected by our synaptic acrobatics.
The decisive factor is not intelligence but "hunger." The impact our life experiences have made on our respective psyches determines our passions and, from these, our beliefs. Intelligence merely adds more fuel to this fire.
- Someone profoundly dissatisfied with the existential realities of life will likely be driven to probe areas that hold no interest to those who confine their curiosity to this promiseless ball of mud and the infinite emptiness which surrounds it.
- Those sufficiently content with their physical existence will be infinitely frustrated by the idea of pondering intangibles. Their hunger may lie in attracting validation from peers and luminaries, which is often achieved merely by making glib, sarcastic dismissals of viewpoints contrary to their own.
The spiritually hungry mind needs to know what's behind all of this. He wants to know the meaning of life and death. He comes to terms with the fact that such things cannot be ascertained by physical perception. His curiosity makes him increasingly sensitive to those shadings of self-perception typically categorized as "spiritual." He sees consciousness as a spiritual energy. His hunger requires him to feel at home in this metaphysical awareness: forces that produce and sustain life, taking an action based on intuitive direction ("faith") when physical data are insufficient.
The source of "consciousness" is better felt subjectively than determined objectively by physical study of the brain. It is this subjective perception that leads the believer to embrace the concept of an "insoluble constant" as a driving force of this life, whereas the atheist is frustrated by anything he cannot subject to a peer‑reviewed study. Consciousness is beyond dissection and examination. One can define the outer layers of it, but its origin eludes detection.
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A (Subjectively) Logical Climb From Agnosticism
I'll hazard an attempt to illustrate the development of a "spiritual psychology" using myself as an example:
When I was a young agnostic, I thought the source of life to be an "energy field" - something like light but on a different spectrum. This concept matched my youthful comprehension of scientific development, man's physical and cultural evolution and the general feeling of "futuristic excellence" which seemed to be implicit in all areas of man's pursuits. The "causative force" behind human achievement had to be reflective of this shimmering vista that captivated man's consciousness.
The idea of God having anything resembling a human form seemed an absurd construct created by simpler-minded humans attempting to mollify their fears with some wishful thinking. The real Creative Force had to be quite removed from any fundamental likeness to this collection of witless, self‑absorbed poop machines.
I would never have considered the idealistic imagery that tinged every presentation of science to be its own kind of wishful thinking. (An introvert can be easily overly influenced by the printed word when his reality is bereft of human interaction.)
So it is in youth that brief periods of exposure to attractive theoretical concepts can remove oneself from one's humanity. When concepts and studies are not counterbalanced by social interaction with family and friends (the things that fortify our self-image as being of the same species as the organisms around us), unnatural ideas dominate one's perception of reality within this lifeless vacuum.
I had been aware of the sterility of life - as my philosophy defined it - from age 10. But it didn't impact me emotionally. Rather, it freed me: I knew I was destined to achieve some superior state of existence. The artificial nature of the world around me, and its people, proved it to me daily. This state of remoteness was exciting and liberating. There was nothing to be gained from conversing with others: at best one's efforts would yield one a peal of insults, at worst a beating. The saga of the socially‑maladapted introvert.
As we mature in adolescence, there is a point where the stark realities of life and death become unobscured. This awareness forms our core philosophies and social ambitions as we look toward adult life. When I reached that point of awareness I found nothing. An absolute emptiness had been engineered by my own clever imagination. People were unreal. There was nowhere to run, no refuge to deliver me from this unavoidable reality. Just the limitless blackness of the universe swallowing up a temporary planet of lifeless unreality - no security, no family, no comforts existed anymore: it was all an illusion.
If one only accepts physical evidence to determine "truth," this is the only conclusion one can honestly reach. There is no way to dress up that mess. Remove the aura of profundity accorded to such "scientific" views - just ever‑so‑slightly slanted toward an atheistic perception - and we've used all that elaborate mental energy and time to perceive ourselves as "nothing."
An analytical mind discovers the unpleasant truths of life more quickly and thoroughly than do others. Almost as quickly he discovers others' cluelessness on these subjects. He alone can furnish the answers he seeks. Others may speak of such "existential crises," but they have not absorbed their naked reality. Good for them. But once the genie's out of the bottle, blissful ignorance is no longer an option.
Observing this, some would say, "That's all there is."
Another says, "We need to know more."
If a purely intellectual observation of life brings man closer to understanding the totality of the human experience, logically it would have to lead to a healthier existence physically and mentally. Why? The truth would lead us closer to our natural design: that which increases our ability - our will - to survive.
A purely physical analysis of our existence yields only a more detailed map of limitation and meaninglessness: A few years of thought and motion followed by oblivion.
True intellectual curiosity would not rest at this point of awareness, but instead categorize this conclusion as being inadequate to explain the innate nature of the life we sense within ourselves.
When the available facts are insufficient, the analytical mind continues probing, developing hypotheses and testing them. There will never be enough evidence to conclusively prove every matter that comes before us. A greater part of intelligence is assessing likely possibilities when hard evidence is unavailable.
At which point we arrive at "belief." And do so with our intelligence intact!
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