There are two types in the world. Those who believe there is meaning in existence, and those who believe there is none. What is the origin of this difference? It seems to me that this is straightforward. We have all been newborn, infinitely vulnerable and with no edges. At this point we were either held in love so that we had confidence to start the journey of life, or we were not. This “holding” is sometimes called maternal reverie, or the experience of unconditional love. This start, I believe sets us on the journey to belief with trust. (Confidence).
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.’
And the camels galled, sorefooted, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
and running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.
Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arriving at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you might say) satisfactory.
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death
What use to me is an Ism?
When face to face with life’s chasm
Your just anger, just a spasm
Turning boundary to schism
What use to me is your Cause?
With its darkness-tight’ning claws
Its axles greased with our flaws
Splinter’d death by legal clause
For joy is formed of love my dear, whose timeless energy
Our will’s embodied mass my dear, bound up by constant-c
For fire and rose unite my dear, maternal reverie
Which legacy of love my dear, is truth to set us free.
Nothing can be proved (at least intellectually). Neither any kind of God, nor any kind of absence of God. Don’t take my word for it. Read Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason. Read Heisenberg and Godel.
This means that any honest discussion about God or no-God equally must always be prefaced by the statement – “I believe”. This applies to a-theism, just as to any theism. These are all equally unprovable belief systems.
You wouldn’t think so if you listened to Richard Dawkins. He’d have you believe that science somehow has disproved God. Nonsense. Literally non sense. What is more he, and other evangelical high priests of this religion, should know better. It is mostly leaders of the old religions – Christians, Muslims, Hindus – who preface their statements with “I believe”. (Have you recited the Nicene creed recently?). But it’s Dawkins and his followers who try to blind you with their pseudo science.
The dangerous Dawkins delusion..
And the result? Worse than any major religion. Atheism preaches a morality of nihilism (there is no point, no spirit, no meaning, there is only the material). Unshackled from morality mankind has released truly demons. Think Hitler, Pol Pot, Stalin, Capitalism. Let the whole law by thyself. Why not indeed if your religion preaches that there is nothing beyond this material existence. There is a kind of logic. But no logic of kindness.
I am a story with no beginning, and no end. Widthless I, yet emergent reality we.
Histoires-ours, eglantine entwined, becoming mine (and thine). Sole souls en-meshed, braided golden vine.
Electric pain imprison’d, refracted joy enprism’d.
Infinitely time divides, differentiating between an all-embracing integration.
We are mystery with no beginning, and no end.
Though as we flow – we shine.
As we enter the world we are infinite. We have no boundary. We are also zero. At three months, or so, we begin to distinguish that there is an “other” – the breast as part object. By 6 months old the boundary between us and the other (usually mother) is clear; and often frightening. Warmth, food, security and affection can be withdrawn as well as present. Our world is strait, though we do not know it. As we age and explore we push the boundary back; and back. If we are fortunate, and conquer our fear, we realise once more that there is no boundary. We are existence and all of existence is us. Death is an illusion. When we leave the world we can then fade to white and lose the loneliness and fear that haunts life, to experience all that is directly once more.