My faith is both secular and eclectic, an outgrowth of much reading, some logic, rational thinking, personal experience, and meditation, rather than any formal religious practice or belief in God. This “Whitman Sampler” approach to faith and life isn’t all that uncommon in the secular world. We find things that work and hang on tooth and nail.

In trying times, be they terrorist attacks, school shootings or the personal challenge of dealing with disability, most people turn to religion for faith and hope. An article in Rehabilitation Psychology a couple of years ago stated that three quarters of all Americans base their approach to life on their religious faith. But what of the rest of us, the ones who subscribe to a more secular approach to life which doesn’t involve the worship of God?

Does not believing in God or religion preclude one from having faith? Does being an atheist mean one believes in nothing? Of course not.

If faith doesn’t come from belief in God, where does it come from? How can one develop and maintain it without divine guidance? These questions led me on an intellectual search, a spiritual exploration–resulting in the following ponderings of an infidel.

A Sampling
I got a variety of responses from disabled and nonreligious friends about the basis of their faith:

A quadriplegic lawyer who does advocacy work says his faith comes from the belief that his work can make a difference, perhaps not next week or next year, but certainly over the long haul, outlasting his existence on this earth.

A gardener claims that faith is flowers and tomatoes and the trees leafing out each spring; she claims whatever faith she carries comes from knowing that what she plants in spring will bloom months later, bearing both beauty and bounty.

A parent and teacher merely smiled and pointed to the children.

Faith is the engine that drives human endeavor. I must believe and have faith in today and tomorrow; otherwise, what’s the sense in living? I have to believe that for the most part, people are good and kind, rather than mean and evil.

Most who know me would cast a skeptical eye when the words positive or optimistic are attached to me. I’m not one of those irritatingly positive New Age people who is convinced that all you need is love.

Many things simply happen randomly. In the face of widespread famine, massive flooding, aneurysms, automobile accidents and surgeries gone bad, we continue to strive because apparently deep within our genetic programming lie coded messages compelling us to do what’s necessary in making the most of adverse situations. Otherwise, why not just eat the gun?

My faith is both secular and eclectic, an outgrowth of much reading, some logic, rational thinking, personal experience, and meditation, rather than any formal religious practice or belief in God. This “Whitman Sampler” approach to faith and life isn’t all that uncommon in the secular world. We find things that work and hang on tooth and nail. Some–people or methods–are more successful than others. Mine is based on the future, the present and the past.

The Future
Viktor Frankl was a physician and psychotherapist who was imprisoned in several Nazi concentration camps during World War II. Frankl’s legacy is his existential approach to both life and psychotherapy. Frankl’s logotherapy asserts that man’s primary mission is to find meaning in life. That meaning differs for each individual.

Frankl witnessed and experienced unspeakable atrocities in the camps. He lost everything–his wife, mother, father, brother. Yet he survived, in no small part due to his attitude and the belief that we–all of us–exist for unique and important purposes. He asserts that even if we lose everything material and corporeal, we always have choices regarding our attitude, our behaviors, our dignity, our morality. We carry a biological and psychological imperative to discover and pursue meaning in our personal lives. That is our prime directive. Our mission lies in the future, in tomorrow and the next day and the one after that. As Frankl says, “It is a peculiarity of man that he can only live by looking to the future.” Faith, like life, lies in the future.

Frankl challenges us, because in the process of finding personal meaning we must actualize values. He asserts that man’s mission is of a higher, more spiritual nature than merely gratification and satisfaction of drives and instincts or adapting to society or the environment. Thus, our search for and fulfillment of meaning becomes a spiritual quest. What we need, Frankl says, is a struggle and striving for a goal worthy of us. If determination and commitment to finding meaning and purpose in life worked for him while facing death at Auschwitz, it can certainly work for me dealing with paralysis in America.

Similarly, tales in mythology and literature speak of life missions and of faith. None speak as truly and clearly to me than those of the quest, whether in search of the Holy Grail, Gawain’s encounters with the Green Knight or Don Quixote’s tilting at windmills. The stories are pretty similar: some lonely and noble dude (or dudette–this could be you, me or any other sorry sap) fighting pretty nasty odds in search of a righteous and happy life. What’s important, as anyone who’s dipped a toe into the New Age waters will tell you, is how you get there, rather than what the Grail looks like (metaphysical certitude; devotion to peace; a life of service; total independence; or a spouse, two kids and a house in the ‘burbs). Faith allows us to believe the future is bigger than it actually is. The journey and your behavior on it matter much more than the destination. Like the journey, faith lies in the future.

The Present
Twelve-step programs offer me a platform and system from which to build faith. Most 12-step programs deal with addictive behaviors (alcohol, drugs, relationships, abuse, gambling) and are for the most part firmly grounded in the present. Step one speaks of turning life over to a higher power–as we perceive it. To me, this higher power is something other than God. The mantra–“one day at a time”–focuses on right now, as opposed to tomorrow, next month, or when the kids are out of the house. These programs offer some semblance of awareness of what we have, which is no more than this day, and just what we can control, which is damn little. One day at a time holds the daily opportunity of regaining faith–each day being a new beginning.

Meditation also deals with the present. I’ve toyed off and on for years with various self-taught methods of meditation, longing for the low-key, low-stress, relaxed demeanor of those New Age types. I was never quite sure what I was doing or what I was after. But the key, I’m finding, is the concept of being and staying in the moment. It’s not that the pace of my life has slowed down, or that I have fewer hassles, or less stress; it’s that so few of my problems are in the immediatepresent, which is all I have. Knowing that each moment is all there is to deal with gives me faith that I can do it.

Disability has taught me that life and much of what’s in it can be quite transitory. That ephemerality makes it imperative that I maintain awareness of the possibilities in front of me, for each day holds opportunity to gain, renew, and even regain faith. Staying present keeps me from spending endless time in the future thinking of all that could happen, or remembering the past and all that was or might have been.

Twelve-step programs and meditation give me faith that what’s in front of me–the present moment–is manageable.

The Past
Logic and rational thinking also play a part in my faith, and much of that comes from the great books and the great teachers. I see a great deal of similarity in what’s written in the Koran, the Torah and the Bible. I think the great religious teachers–Christ, Buddha, Mohammed and others–were in agreement about many things, including the virtues of honesty, treating others fairly, practicing gratitude and generosity, improving self-behavior, and being of some service to others. Knowing this fosters a belief that a life lived with appreciable “moral style points” most probably will be both comfortable and enjoyable.

My faith is also drawn on past experience, which has taught me that things are never as bad as I initially think them to be. Logic and rational thought drive me to seek facts–whether about health and spinal cord injury or employment or finding purpose in life; all of them tell me that the odds are in my favor.

Logic and rational thinking prevent me from believing I’m doomed to live some unbearable existence. They point me to positives such as love and optimism, and away from hate, envy and negativity. They remind me that being happy makes more sense than being angry, depressed or bitter, and they sometimes scream to me that these are choices within my power. Logic and rational thinking force me to assess just how much I have to be grateful for, which is a great deal. Ultimately, being optimistic is the most logical and rational choice, for as Winston Churchill said, “it does not seem to be much use being anything else.” To relinquish faith in the future is to relinquish all will to live, and that concept is unthinkable and unacceptable.

My life has been a minefield of questionable behavior, shaky decisions and missed opportunities (whose hasn’t?). That I’m here and coping tells me that I can continue to do so and use past experiences to deal with present and future challenges. To me, that’s faith.

One definition of faith offered by my trusty American Heritage Dictionary is: “a confident belief in the truth, value or trustworthiness of a person, idea or thing.”

For me, the thing is the present.

The idea has to do with harming as few as possible and helping some others in the process. The Golden Rule comes to mind.

The person is twofold: first, however poorly executed, the belief in and commitment to becoming my own best self; second, belief in the goodness of other people–and for this I need look no further than the outpouring of support after my accident and watching the rescue efforts following the World Trade Center disaster.

And for me, all of this is built on smiles. I agree with Reinhold Niebuhr: “Humor is a prelude to faith, and laughter is the beginning of prayer.”