That-Which-Shall-Not-Be-Named

Can an Atheist have a spiritual experience?

Photo by Aamir Suhail on Unsplash

One of my dearest, oldest friends is an Atheist. I mean, the hard-core-no-God-it’s-all-random-subatomic-particles kind of Atheist. She is so atheist that whenever she travels, she finds the Bible or Book of Mormon in the hotel room and painstakingly glues it shut.

As you can imagine, we have some excellent conversations.

One recent, late-night discussion focused the words used to describe whatever-it-is-that-is-us-but-not-us, the Ineffable, the Divine, the Sacred. My friend was adamant that no word could ever adequately describe that-which-is. I agreed. Language is a poor tool when it comes to the Sublime. That’s why YHVH is unpronounceable and the Daode Jing states on line 2, “The Dao that can be named is not the true Dao.” Any attempt to limit the Limitless is bound to fail. But, if we want to talk about spiritual things, we have to use words. And we were talking about spiritual things.

“So, what do you call That-Which-Shall-Not-Be-Named?” I prodded.

She insisted that she had no need to either name her understanding, nor describe it.

“Fine.” I said. “But you have an understanding of it. What is your understanding?”

Reluctantly, she began to describe an experience she had 30 years earlier which paralleled the experiences that all the mystics from every tradition ever described. She explained that some energy or presence swept over her and that at some point during this experience of profound bliss and unity, she “knew” everything. “I don’t remember what I knew, but I have never forgotten that experience,” she whispered with a tone of reverence. “To this day, I wonder what it was.”

I was stunned. My ultra-Atheist friend had a mystical experience? And she never told me about it before? After all these years, this was the opening! “What do you think it was?” I asked, trying to conceal my excitement.

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to talk about it.” Shut down.

“OK….So, how ‘bout that Super Bowl?”

“Damn it,” she barked. “Why do you always do this to me?”

“Sorry,” I said, but not really sorry. “It’s just my nature.”

What my friend experienced is what I call “The Gift.” Christians would use the word Grace, Zen Buddhists Satori or “Sudden Awakening.” It’s a rare glimpse into the All-That-Is. And it’s precious. You can’t chase it (though you can prepare the ground for it), and you can’t plan it. It just happens when it happens. When it does, it can change your life.

But, of course, as an avowed I-will-die-before-I-admit-there’s-something-else Atheist, she refused to acknowledge that what she received was a spiritual vision. Like many who have received such a gift, she had simply filed it away under the “That Was Weird” category. She maintained that she is “not spiritual,” had no need to delve further, and was perfectly content to simply say, “It happened.” There was nothing more to know. Book closed.

But I suspected there was something beneath her refusal to name the experience as spiritual. It almost seemed that if she were to admit that she received a glimpse of Divinity, she would have to acknowledge that Divinity exists. And that would throw her Bible-gluing project out the window. It would force her to re-evaluate her beliefs. God forbid.

It almost seemed that if she were to admit that she received a glimpse of Divinity, she would have to acknowledge that Divinity exists.

I understand Atheism. Though I use lots of different names for the Unnameable, including the G-word, I am actually non-theistic, too. I may be wrong, but I don’t believe there is some personified deity behind the scenes pulling all the levers. However, because of my experience, I do, without question, believe that there is something else – something-us-but-not-us, ineffable, unnameable, and deeply mysterious. And we can experience it. I have had that glimpse into the Mystery, and it not only blew my mind and changed my life, but is the very basis of Radical Spirituality. It opened the glued-shut book for me.

The foundation of religion is the mystical experience of whomever that religion considers its founder, whether Abraham, Jesus, The Prophet Mohammed (PBUH), The Buddha, or the other great mystic sages of times past. We call it Revelation, Awakening, or Enlightenment. These folks saw something, heard something, or experienced something that gave rise to a profound understanding of whatever-is-not-is. They gave it names because they had to, and then a religion or doctrine grew up around it. We could say these seers and mystics were all delusional, as my friend would, but I always believed there had to be something to what they experienced.

When, by chance, I was gifted with a glimpse of the eternal, there wasn’t a single doubt in my mind about what it was. It was the greatest “Aha Moment” of my life. It was matched only by childbirth: giving birth to my son was looking right into the face of God-ing. From the way my friend described her experience, it was just as mind-blowing. She didn’t have a context for it, so she dismissed it. But it rocked her world and still does. She just won’t admit it, and doesn’t want to call it a “mystical” or “spiritual” experience of Divinity-by-any-name, even though that’s what it was.

It doesn’t matter what we call whatever happens or appears in those moments, but the truth is something significant and mysterious happens. Even if we refuse to name it, if we are going to follow any kind of spiritual path, we need to acknowledge that there is something that is us-and-not-us and we can have some kind of direct experience of it.

That’s the entire foundation of spirituality. Its the pull towards Mystery, That Which-Cannot-Be-Named. Its a desire to know what that something is, to experience it. Otherwise, we call it Philosophy or Ethics or random-quantum-rational-scientific-materialism, and we can explain it away as neurons firing, psychosis, or the release of DMT. We don’t have to concern ourselves with the something.

But the something (or maybe the no-thing) is the point.

By the end of the conversation, my friend was still refusing to call her experience “spiritual” or to give the sacred a name. All good. But instead of slamming the book closed on it, she loosened some of the glued pages. She did admit that she still had a little niggling desire to know what happened that day. I suggested she stick with that curiosity. Stay in the mystery. She may never know what it was, name it, or admit to being “spiritual,” but at least the book is open. It might be an interesting read.