My Spiritual Witness of Humanism

Last night I was having an extended philosophical conversation with my wife and some good friends. They, like us, are "so-called intellectuals," although they're not Mormon. (Does that make them "real intellectuals?") Whenever we get together it immediately turns into a deep dive on politics, religion, current events, etc. This time was no exception.

We were discussing Fowler's Stages of Faith, which they are going to read on our recommendation (do I mention this book too much?), and I was trying to explain the idea around shared centers of value and power. I explained (hope I didn't mutilate the message too much) that a driving force behind our quest for purpose is the desire for validation of worth in the face of death. That it is the inevitability, incomprehensibility, and finality of our impending end that is in a constant battle with our desire to have intrinsic worth. Nobody wants to think of himself as a random lump of biomass, here one year and gone the next. (Not that we're not random biomasses, just that we don't like using that as our primary construct for existence.)

While I was explaining this--the idea that "fear of death" drives the quest for meaning, I was almost moved to tears by the Spirit. So, I guess that was True. Since it was in the context of religion as a human construct, it doesn't really jive with the other stuff I thought the Spirit told me was True, but I experienced what I experienced.