A Day to Atone

I have a hard time defining myself as an atheist.  Because that requires a definitive and conclusive understanding that there is no god.  As one who follows the scientific method, I know I don't have the evidence to definitively state that there is no god.  But, whatever I can understand as evidence leads to me conclude that there is a very high probability that there is no god.

I suppose that is an academic point.  For all practical purposes, yes, I am an atheist.

Yet, that does not mean I don't value and cherish many of the lessons that religions offer.  There is plenty to be understood about the human condition, and a religious lens certainly provides valuable insights into some of them.  One of them is about the mistakes that we make.

We humans are prone to commit errors; hopefully, nothing really big.  But, we do make mistakes in plenty.  Every religion has its own way of easing believers.  Like Yom Kippur in Judaism.  

Yes, this post is because today is Yom Kippur.

The holiest of the high holy days, and is about repentance and atonement.  Even an atheist has plenty to think about in this context.

The following is a slightly edited version of the post from Yom Kippur 2018:
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“How many will pass away and how many will be born? Who will live and who will die?”

I had no idea of that couplet until I read this opinion piece in the NY Times.  It is a part of Yom Kippur prayers.  A day in which we remind ourselves that "No one makes it out alive."

There’s the obvious — the plastic surgery and the digital surgery and the obsession with achieving perfect quantities of tautness and plumpness and dewiness. But look through the death lens, and you’ll see our fixation on wellness and workouts in a new way. Look through the death lens, and Silicon Valley’s project to extend life indefinitely looks as foolish as Gilgamesh’s efforts to do the same. Look through the death lens, and Instagram and Twitter look like nothing more than numbing agents.

I am not Jewish. I am not religious either. Yet, my suspicion is that I think a lot more about my mortality and, therefore, what I want to do with my limited time, more than most religious do.  Such an atheist life should really not surprise anybody; as the Huguenot philosopher and historian, Pierre Bayle wrote, way back in 1682:

It is no stranger for an atheist to live virtuously than it is strange for a Christian to live criminally. We see the latter sort of monster all the time, so why should we think the former is impossible? 

Whether it is Ramadan, or Vaikunta Ekadasi; or any religious high holy day--and I don't really observe any of those days--those are all timely, regular, reminders that no one makes it out alive and, therefore, we better figure out our priorities before it is way late.

The author of that opinion piece quotes a Manhattan rabbi, Angela Buchdahl:

thinking about your death can bring you much closer to experiencing true joy. It “compels us to squeeze out every bit of life out of every day that we have”

That has been my experience too.  As I have blogged in plenty here, thinking about my mortality makes me appreciate the good people around me; the blue sky with puffy white clouds; the sparkling waters in the river and the ocean; the giggles of a child; ... it is an endless list of miracles.

Finally, even though I am far from religions, I sincerely appreciate the "atonement" that Yom Kippur reminds.  After all, both the religious and the irreligious err.  We humans make plenty of mistakes, big and small, which add up to a lot over the years that we live.

I apologize for all my misdeeds and to all those I have wronged.