At the end of the previous post, I raised the “So what?” question. If a Supreme Being, by whatever name, exists, why does it matter? What difference does it make in my life?  In this last post, then, on the current round of reflections on this subject, let me bring, if not closure, at least a point-in-time conclusion to my “knowing and believing” on this very important topic.

I have to preface what follows by noting that in another document that explores in much broader terms my personal World View (and which at some point down the line I plan to include in my blog in a series of posts), I identify myself as a Reverent—or, maybe, Spiritual—Humanist. As I noted in the previous post, a human “person” is who I am.  So even if I come to believe in something trans-human, something non-spatial and non-temporal, I must still begin with and live, along with my fellow humans, in this “spatio-temporal continuum,” the only world I know. It is this (and as noted below, the example Jesus provided) that leads me to believe, therefore, in the supreme value of human persons and human relationships—i.e. my Humanist identity. It becomes a “Reverent/Spiritual” Humanism if two things are true:

• If a Supreme Being/Ultimate Reality/God planned, or simply allowed to evolve, beings capable of what I and others have described as “spiritual” experiences, that Being, by intention or by “hindsight,” must supremely value such beings.
• A Supreme Being must, by definition, be self-sufficient, needing nothing outside itself from the universe or the human beings who are a part of it. So if I, as a human being, wish to serve such a Being, the only way to do so is to serve what that Being values supremely—i.e. in practical helpfulness to the human family and to the natural world that sustains us.

At this point, I return to Fosdick. While his approach is not unique to him, it was in his writings that I first encountered it. He was intent on establishing a context for talking about God that makes contact with human experience—not the “cosmic end” of God, but the “near end” of God, close to wherever we encounter beauty, truth, goodness, love.

• “Wherever such spiritual experiences are, there is God, too, not far off, but here, not outside us, but within. That is where we really meet God—within ourselves”(A Great Time to Be Alive, p. 233).
• He wanted people to see God the way Jesus saw Him, not off among the stars or at the end of an argument, but in children and nature and plain people, in ordinary situations and in opportunities for service. 
• Because that is where “the water hits the wheel,” where believing in God matters—there must be a connection to human need, such that where our hearts go in compassion, our hands and feet go in tangible helpfulness.

If the “near side” of The Great Mystery is available, I believe that human lives and relationships at their best provide one supremely important place where we might touch it. And while I have experienced in my relationships both full lives and luminous moments of “persons at their best,” I tend to come back—inevitably because of my background—to the life and teachings of Jesus as the measure of “the best.” That, in my judgment, is what the notion of the “divinity” of Jesus was meant to say, not as “doctrine,” but as experience: that in his life and character we touch “the near side.” And because he was offered to us as a model, there is also a near side available to us in those human persons and relationships that seek to mirror the best of his legacy, both those who acknowledge him as a model and those who don’t, but live and behave as though they did.

While I am no expert, there are certainly other religions and belief systems that offer pathways to and models of admirable and exemplary human lives. In fact, there are multitudes of people with high-minded, useful lives who are conscientiously involved in human service, lifting the quality of life, who adhere to no religion and do not recognize a Supreme Being at all. They, too, represent the best of persons and human relationships. If that is true, it is reasonable to ask, why, then, is it of any consequence to believe that a Supreme Being exists?  As a question meant to have universal implications, I have to confess that I don’t know.  But I will offer two observations.

• First, I have the utmost respect for those, some of whom are my closest friends, who choose to believe that no Supreme Being exists, are committed to the high importance of the human family, and are involved in serving its needs.
• Second, while I cannot answer for anyone else, I am bonded to the model that Jesus provided by valuing above all human persons and human relationships, serving their deepest needs, and calling forth their highest aspirations and—in deference to my longing-to-believe heart—I lean toward the assertion that in his life and teachings, and in those whose lives try to model him, we have the opportunity to touch “the near side” of The Great Mystery.

Despite the degree to which I have “tip-toed” through the ambivalence I feel and around my questioning mind—which, if I am to be an honest person, I must acknowledge—it should also be clear from what I have said that there have been times in my life when I have felt a sense of “connection” to something larger than myself and have drawn from them strength, resolve, exhilaration, peace . . . depending upon the situation. All of them have been important, but I let me speak briefly to one category among many.

There have always been in the world those disintegrating forces—personal, social, political, religious—that threaten to tear us apart, but it seems to me, as I reflect back over the eight-plus decades of my life, that this is truer now than at any time in my memory. They are within me and beyond me and, while it doesn’t happen every day or even every year, I deeply need “on call” those interior resources that can help me gather the split and fragmented portions of my self—that can help me hang together when life threatens to go to pieces.

I have done that at points in my life; I have been so close that I do not understand yet why I didn’t go to pieces and, I suspect, many others have, too. Some would speak of memories, some about prayer, some about hope, some about the support of friends, some about inner fortitude, some about divine intervention. I cannot say from where such reserves have come other than from deep within myself but, in my best moments, I tend toward belief that at the inner precincts of my being there is a connection to a Ground of Being, to The Great Mystery.

While there is much more that could and should be said about the “So what? Why does it matter?” issue, I will leave that for, perhaps, another day—enough is enough—and end pretty much where I began.  I have to acknowledge my undeniable need and propensity to ruminate, explore, and test the boundaries of the belief systems that have been a part of my life. So while I have found comfort in certain experiences from time to time and may choose to believe that in those experiences I have made a personal connection with—touched the “near side” of—The Great Mystery , I cannot know that I have done so. 

Since this is the last of these series of posts on “knowing and believing,” let me finish with two conclusions: first, as I acknowledged in the first post, neither knowing nor believing can provide certainty, but, second, both of them can have a profound effect on behavior and quality of life.

In that spirit, I leave you with these quotations—with which again, in the province of my wishful heart, I am inclined to resonate—from Leslie Weatherhead:

“If God is only a myth, a wishful thought, a projection of human fatherhood, a phantasy of infant thinking, then the atheists are right. But I have had moments which do not make sense unless God exists . . . . It may be only in the love of another human being, the gratitude of one we tried to help . . . the solemnity of the evening sky, the trust of a little child, great music if our mood is right, or great poetry or great art, the sound of a church bell far away, the silence in the lonely hills. . . .

There are still many things I cannot understand and many things that frighten me. And I know that I still have a long way to go. I have had experiences that make me doubt, and even tempt me to cynicism so that I attempt, for days, to leave God out of my life. . . . And then, warmed of heart by some contact with love, by some word of another, . . . or even by the glory of a summer morning, or the quiet music of the sea at night, I come back, . . . . and once more I know that all is well” (The Christian Agnostic, pp. 362, 364).