I have always been proud to be a staunch atheist. The kind of person who swallows every religion of Christopher Hitchens, and every theory of Richard Dawkins.
I remember how impressed I was by Stephen Hawking’s ‘A Brief History of Time’. It felt like a cosmic key to how our universe came into being. There was no divine puppeteer pulling the strings. These ideas fit perfectly into my view of the world. Logical. Clinical.
And yet I recently found myself wondering: Are my beliefs open-minded, or just extreme?
An existential speedbump occurred during a visit to my ancestral home in Fort Kochi with my wife and daughters. One of the things they wanted to do was spend an evening at the gorgeous Santa Cruz Cathedral, which is famous for its painted ceilings, stained glass windows and midnight singing on Christmas. I reluctantly obliged and went in, expecting not to feel anything.
I remember thinking: “I could spend an evening learning how to knit my own socks. Absolutely useless.”
Then I stepped inside, and something about the high arches and serene pews caught my attention. The choir began singing some hymns before the formal service began.
The buzz of that grand place was breathtaking. I couldn’t understand the lyrics, because they were all in Latin. But the sound combined with the warm glow of the candles made the basilica feel strangely sacred.
I say “oddly” because I’m still labeled an atheist in my mind. Yet here I was, caught in a moment I can only describe… in another world.
I tried to remind myself that beauty is not truth. Just because something arouses awe doesn’t make it any more legitimate.
Then a voice came into my head, “Aren’t you a little stubborn yourself?” Then it occurred to me: perhaps we atheists can sometimes stray into the same absolutism that we criticize in religion. Perhaps we too are guilty of developing the unwavering belief that our truth is the only truth.
I laugh at the idea of a God who spoke the universe into existence. But if I’m honest, I should also laugh at Hawking’s proposal that a random quantum fluctuation caused all this.
Let’s face it: The idea that the universe “came from nothing” is as baffling as the idea that it was created by a bearded anthropomorphic figure in a matter of days.
I never want to be called an extremist. But if an extremist is someone who can’t afford the slightest doubt about his or her worldview, then I’m getting dangerously close to that.
God is not great, Hitchens famously wrote, “What can be said without proof can also be denied without proof.” I have always supported that line. But standing in the basilica, I saw evidence of something else – human devotion, artistry, community – that was real to the people around me.
Have I suddenly changed? I don’t have. I’m still uncomfortable with dogma in any form. I am uncomfortable with the idea that any text can be beyond question.
But now I’m also uncomfortable with my capacity for dogma. Perhaps it is not enough to say “I do not believe in the God theory” and leave it at that. Perhaps I have to admit that there are concepts – whether secular, philosophical or spiritual – that I do not fully understand.
And that’s okay. After all, scientific minds are built on curiosity and a willingness to be proven wrong.
Dawkins himself wrote, “Let us be open-minded by all means, but not so open-minded that our minds become useless.”
For me, being open-minded now means making room for the possibility that the universe may be more layered than I can understand.
I’m still an atheist, but ever since I stepped out of the Basilica, I’m a humbler person.
I don’t have all the answers. I can even accept it.
I would rather be an atheist who occasionally marvels at stained glass windows and ghostly choirs than someone who lives in a fortress of ego, disguised as perfection.
Perhaps not all our theories about life and creation are correct. Ultimately I’m okay with not knowing for sure.
(Charles Assisi is co-founder of Founding Fuel. He can be contacted at assisi@foundingfuel.com)
