Genuine spirituality in fiction, part 3
Looking for expressions of the best parts of religion
In Genuine spirituality in fiction, part 2, we looked at secular or “denatured” spirituality, which often diminishes the authentically spiritual aspects to the point where what’s left is only human psychology and materialism.
The absence of the “alternate reality” (as noted in the quote from Experiencing Spirituality in part 2) leaves one on that fragile emotional plane as discussed in Emotion, “Inpletion,” and Devotion, part 2. When devotion—the aspiration toward the divine—has been stripped away, one’s only hope of finding a semblance of inner peace (or “inpletion,” in a broader sense), is through some form of therapy. I think this is why I’ve heard adroitly non-religious people state that everyone needs a therapist, which does have a certain logic when you’ve taken God out of the picture.
Such denatured spirituality, in short, is very limited and limiting. Although it allows one to identify as a virtuous person without the churchy stuff, it doesn’t allow for a higher power of any kind to lift one above the psychological or emotional plane. And this is why so many titles on those lists of “spiritual” books, as mentioned in part 1, contain no genuine spirituality.
Fortunately, though, for all the flaws of this approach, any kind of sincere focus on spirituality, even a secular spirituality, will ultimately bear fruit. Psychological inspiration and upliftment are still inspiration and upliftment, and such an upward directional movement of energy will eventually lead one to higher levels of inspiration. Human nature is fundamentally spiritual, and that nature will inevitably reveal itself in due course.
A circuitous path back to genuine spirituality
An as example of this “eventually” and “inevitably,” let’s return to Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower and its “Earthseed” religion as discussed in part 2. A core tenet of that secular religion is that humankind’s destiny is to populate worlds beyond earth.1
Putting aside the religion’s lack of any greater reality or consciousness beyond the material and the psychological, this vision is at least an aspiration beyond the mundane realities of this earth and can help people deal with existential crises like the potential for nuclear war and now climate change. And many people do find inspiration in a “destiny among the stars”: it feels cosmic and expansive, mostly because it conjures up any number of spectacular, awe-inspiring images from the Hubble and James Webb space telescopes or other fanciful notions of space flight as we see in science fiction art.
But let’s now dispense with the romance and consider the hard reality: at whatever point we humans manage to populate other planets, the day-to-day business of staying alive will be no different than it is today. In fact, because we won’t be able to take along anything but a fraction of humankind’s infrastructure (like pharmaceutical research equipment and any number of manufacturing technologies), life will likely be far more difficult. We’ll need to grow food and find materials for clothing in an environment we don’t understand, hoping that plants from earth will even survive in that environment. We’ll need protect ourselves from diseases, weather patterns, predators, and other natural threats that we don’t even know exist. And we’ll still need to reproduce to maintain the species, which means protecting, raising, and educating our vulnerable children amidst all the other demands of an utterly new and strange world.
In short, after we make our idyllic “journey to the stars”—which, by the way, is going to become quite boring after a time because the view out of a spacecraft’s viewports will be nothing like what we see in artwork or in long exposures through highly sensitive telescopes—what’s on the other end is not some glorious experience of cosmic wonder. No, what awaits us on all those new worlds are the exact same problems with which we already struggle, including the existential ones.2
But here’s the saving grace: faced with those same struggles, people will end up on the same quest for meaning and inner joy that has already occupied humankind for all of history. And whether on this or any other planet, the answer will be exactly the same: seek God within your eternal soul. In the end, then a sincere effort to follow a secular (denatured) spirituality like Earthseed ultimately leads back to genuine spirituality.
What might people really be looking for?
The inescapability of our spiritual nature is why I think that those who identify as “spiritual but not religious” are not specifically looking for a wholesale rejection of religion. Instead, I think they’re primarily interested in rejecting the baggage that seems to come with religion:
A long history of bigotry, violence, genocide, corruption, etc. carried out in the name of God and religion but often concealed or swept away with excuses. As Blaise Pascal identified, “Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction.”
Dogmatism, that is, “our view of reality is the only truth regardless of any and all evidence to the contrary,” which is also a suffocating smallness of vision.
Sectarianism, institutionalism, churchianity, and the kind of arrogant exclusivity that claims absolute authority for oneself or one’s group, that is, “ours is the only true way and everyone else is damned to hell.”
Hypocrisy, often expressed by conveniently ignoring even obvious elements of one’s religious teaching while tenaciously clinging to others, even anachronisms, that bestow personal or institutional benefits (most notably socio-political power).
When I was a young adult and began to encounter all these things—both in other people and through reading history—I certainly wanted to reject everything to do with religion. At the same time, I could see that a purely secular approach wasn’t any better and in fact can easily go down the same sordid pathways.
Eventually, then, I had to admit that despite all the negatives, religion brings many positive elements to the table—the aspects of genuine spirituality:3
Love, compassion, open-heartedness, and empathy, extending to all peoples around the globe.
Justice and fairness, that is, that divine law cannot be mocked.
Authenticity, that is, being true to one’s chosen teachings/faith without demanding that others adopt them.
An understanding that how one lives does matter, taking to heart, for example, many of Jesus’ statements that specifically speak to right action, like “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.”
A reason to attend to one’s inner life, such as knowing that goodness and virtue also accrue to an eternal soul.
A source of meaning beyond the material world and the human ego, for example, a loving, compassionate God (rather than a wrathful one).
In other words, I came to understand that dogmatism, sectarianism, exclusivity, and hypocrisy are what’s responsible for all those historic evils, not specifically belief in God or the eternal soul. There’s correlation but not causation. For when people of faith set aside egoic arrogance where their particular practices are concerned, when they let go of thinking that they somehow own God and can claim him for themselves, then they come to recognize that sincere devotees of other paths are their brothers and sisters in God.4
That, I think, is the kind of spirit—and the spirituality—that many people would like to experience in their lives and thus would like to see expressed, as spiritual realism, in fiction.
Fictional examples of genuine spirituality
Let’s return, then, to a few books that we’ve looked at in previous posts that, to my mind, express this genuine spirituality.
For starters, Max Lucado’s You Are Special must quality, as discussed in part 1 of this series, for its simple message of “care more about God’s love than people’s opinions of you” is something that anyone can put into practice.
Martine Leavitt’s Buffalo Flats, which we saw in Mystical character arcs in fiction, part 1, also meets these criteria. The story is about the protagonist’s quest to purchase a plot of land in order to be closer to God, and even though it’s set in a Mormon community of 19th-century Canada, Leavitt doesn’t allow that aspect to intrude on the genuine spirituality of the story. As I wrote in a footnote:
The book [contains] a few other instances of Rebecca’s spiritual awareness, which Leavitt presents without ever promoting Mormonism or trying to explain anything about the faith. In fact, those experiences are rather universal and thus Leavitt makes them relatable to many readers. Rebecca’s faith community is simply the backdrop of the story.
Leavitt, in short, keeps the story in the sweet spot that neither pushes the Mormon faith forward nor pushes it away.
The Song of Bernadette, too, a book I’ve talked about in multiple posts (including the aforementioned Mystical character arcs in fiction, part 2), holds itself in that same space. I think this is due in large part to the fact that its author, Franz Werfel, was not Catholic but Jewish. As such, he wasn’t in any position to inject Catholic or even Christian theology—let alone dogmatism or sectarianism—into the book that wasn’t already integral to the story, such as concepts of original sin and the immaculate conception.
Similarly, it wouldn’t have made any sense for Werfel to take Bernadette’s story and twist it into something that somehow elevated Judaism over Christianity or other faiths. Such an act would have been grossly insincere or hypocritical, especially given his promise to God to write Bernadette’s story if he could escape from Nazi persecution to the United States. Free from any such sectarian consciousness, he was able to write a story that honors the beautiful parts of religion while leaving out the deadweight.
In part 4 of this series (which I split into another post to keep this present one from being too long!) we’ll look at another story that to me delivers genuine spirituality from an unexpected source: Carl Sagan’s 1985 science fiction novel, Contact. And in another upcoming series we’ll also compare three accounts of “mystical union,” one fictional and one autobiographical.
Until then, let me know what you think.
A sentiment that is alive and well today. Elon Musk, for example, wants to colonize Mars because, “If there’s something terrible that happens on Earth, either made by humans or natural, we want to have, like, life insurance for life as a whole.”
Maybe the night sky will be more wondrous than the view from Earth, but after being on a spaceship for possibly years where the only view is the unchanging night sky without any atmospheric obstructions, I imagine that the novelty will have already worn off. And we’ve already demonstrated quite convincingly on earth that most people prefer to pollute the night with artificial light.
I’m borrowing some terminology here from Galen Watt’s article, “What does it mean to be spiritual?” https://theconversation.com/what-does-it-mean-to-be-spiritual-87236, accessed 20 June 2024.
I appreciated the words of quote Rabbi Ted Falcon when he spoke the dedication of the temple in the spiritual community where I live. “The Jewish people,” he said in a segment starting at 1:00:04, “are chosen for the way of Torah…Christians are chosen for the way of Jesus, and the Muslims are God’s chosen people for the way of the Koran. Each and every people chosen for the brilliance, the treasures, of their own teachings so we can cross-fertilize our planetary existence and learn from each other rather than compete…and appreciate that this jewel has so many facets.” Rabbi Falcon is one of the three interfaith amigos along with Imam Jamal Rahman (who also spoke at the dedication) and Pastor Don Mackenzie (who could not attend by was represented by Pastor Lois Lowe, who spoke in his place).