Insisting On Magic: An Argument for Romantic Agnosticism

And it’s magic if the music is groovy.

It makes you feel happy like an old-time movie.

I’ll tell you about the magic, and it’ll free your soul.

But it’s like trying to tell a stranger ’bout rock ’n’ roll

(from “Do You Believe In Magic” by The Lovin’ Spoonful)

Let’s talk for a moment about the idea of something beyond this earthly life; something beyond flesh and blood. We might be talking about an afterlife or a different dimension or a spiritual plain. Just something else. And it’s a “something else” which we might occasionally catch a glimpse of or feel a connection to, even as we go about our ordinary daily lives. I’m talking about a quality beyond our understanding.

Oh, come on. Humour me for a minute.

I’m going to zero in now on what I see as the very essence of this different dimension, this spiritual plain, this indefinable “whatever”. It’s this essence, this quality, which I believe we DO indeed catch a glimpse of from time to time. It is an essence, a quality, which certain folk might think of as “the supernatural” while other people might recognise it quite simply as God. Hippies who have enjoyed one too many tubes of Smarties might call it fairydust.

Setting aside for a moment its unfortunate connection with television magicians like Paul Daniels, we might call this thing “magic”.

Hence, we might talk about having had a magical experience – something above and beyond the ordinary.

Now, let’s be clear. This is not the magic of pulling rabbits out of a hat or making doves appear from your sleeve. That is conjuring and trickery and sleight of hand. Nor am I talking about the magic of Harry Potter, of wizards and the fantastic creations of an author’s imagination. No, I am talking about a “something else” which we might sometimes become aware of but which we simply cannot put into words, a feeling that THIS is not all there is, a feeling that perhaps there is meaning to this universe after all, a purpose to our lives, that we are right to believe in love and hope and redemption.

You see . . . .

I’m quite keen on the idea of a magical dimension.

But just for a moment, just for fun, let’s substitute the word “magic” for the word “God” and see how far we get.

If someone asks you: “Do you believe in God?” what are you supposed to say?

It seems to me that this is such an enormously complicated question that the three possible one-word answers which spring to mind:

(a) Yes

(b) Maybe

(c) No

are not terribly helpful.

Let’s put a little meat on the bones of those three for starters:

(a) Yes. I believe completely and whole-heartedly in a supernatural being who created everything. Therefore, I call myself a BELIEVER.

(b) Maybe. I sometimes think there might be a supernatural being who created everything. Other times I think we are entirely alone in the universe. But I just don’t know. Therefore, I call myself an AGNOSTIC.

(c) No. I most certainly do not believe in God in any shape or form. Therefore, I call myself an ATHEIST.

And still these answers are not terribly helpful.

Because for these answers to really mean something, you need to define your terms.

The words that trouble me in the question: “Do you believe in God?” are:

(a) “believe”

and

(b) “God”.

BELIEVE:

Let us accept that it is easy to believe in, say, popcorn. We can see popcorn. We can feel popcorn. If we take a piece and hold it up to our ear and then squeeze the piece between our fingers, we can hear the sound it makes. Pop it in your mouth and you can taste popcorn. Go to the cinema and you can buy popcorn. We know that it exists.

Many people will happily declare that they believe in God. And yet – if we compare God to popcorn for a moment – I think it’s fair to say we cannot see God or feel God or hear God or taste God. We cannot experience God at all, at least not in the same way that we experience popcorn. So what on earth do people mean when they say they BELIEVE in God? Clearly, it is about faith. And it is a faith based upon no scientific evidence whatsoever.

So then I have all sorts of questions about the depth of a believer’s belief. Do you believe in God just a little bit or quite a lot or completely and utterly? And even then, what does that mean? Tell me. Tell me. Do you believe completely in the Bible and all the amazing stories and all the miracles and the angels – or if you are not a Christian but a Muslim or a Jew or a Hindu or whatever, do you believe in all the amazing stories in your holy books or do you just take the bits that mean something to you and set aside the rest? Are there degrees of belief?

When you break it all down, belief is such a completely personal thing. The Bishop of Durham in the 1980s famously said he did not believe in the literal interpretation of the Virgin Birth – but he remained a Christian and he remained a bishop. So that suggests believers are able to tailor their faith to their own personal needs which gives us, for instance, millions of Christians believing millions of slightly (or sometimes entirely) different things.

GOD:

What is God? Who is God?

I’m reminded of the old anti-establishment joke – “I’ve seen God – and she’s black!”

Clearly, God means millions of different things to millions of different people. Definitions of God would make a book in themselves.

There exists a T-shirt with the message:

“I HAVE FOUND JESUS!”

(and then in smaller letters underneath)

“he was down the back of the sofa all the time!”

I love this because, for me, it strikes just the right chord. It is funny and yet profound. And if God isn’t both funny and profound then what the heck is he?

You see: the question “Do you believe in God?” really is a tricky one.

The wonderful American singer/songwriter Iris de Ment has it:

Everybody’s wonderin’ what and where they all came from.

Everybody’s worryin’ ’bout where they’re gonna go when the whole thing’s done.

But no one knows for certain and so it’s all the same to me.

I think I’ll just let the mystery be.

Some say once you’re gone you’re gone forever, and some say you’re gonna come back.

Some say you rest in the arms of the Saviour if in sinful ways you lack.

Some say that they’re comin’ back in a garden, bunch of carrots and little sweet peas.

I think I’ll just let the mystery be.

I think I’m with Iris on this one. I think I’ll just let the mystery be.

After all, God (and not just the Christian God, but any God) is clearly an awfully complicated fella (or indeed woman, or thing) to get one’s head around. Magic somehow seems a lot simpler. It also has the cheeky advantage of not necessarily excluding the possibility of God.

So, yeah, I’ll continue to be puzzled yet intrigued; confused yet fascinated.

But I think also I’ll continue to believe in something . . . . a magical dimension of some kind that none of us have the brains to appreciate right now, a magical dimension which not only enriches our earthly lives, but gives us a little hope of something more.

If I really have to give myself a label then I’ll call myself a romantic agnostic – (a) because I insist on a little romance in my life, and (b) because I prefer to keep the door ajar to the possibility of the seemingly impossible.

Trouble is. Trying to share your own visions of a god or simply of “something else beyond all of this” or of what I like to call “magic”, for heaven’s sake, is – as The Lovin’ Spoonful so rightly said – like trying to tell a stranger ’bout rock ’n’ roll.

Now, I’ve read Richard Dawkins’ The God Delusion from cover to cover. It is a book in which Dawkins comprehensively tramples all over God and any notions of supernatural dimensions. Dawkins is revered as one of our greatest intellectuals and this book is undoubtedly extremely clever, witty, tremendously well researched, and incredibly powerful in driving home its arguments. It’s a damn good read. And, frankly, I would have to agree with almost everything the man says. There simply is no scientific evidence for any kind of a god or any kind of an afterlife or any kind of miracles.

But, impressive though Dawkins is, we still cannot say with any certainty that he is right.

When all is said and done, Professor Dawkins is just a human being like the rest of us, and although he gives the impression that he knows everything, it is unlikely that he does.

As I’ve already said, I happily go along with the vast majority of his arguments, but . . .

(Now, many who have read The God Delusion will cry: “How can there be any ‘buts’ after reading this extraordinary book?”)

I say only this. Set aside all the ideas about God and religion that man has toyed with since the dawn of humanity. But who is to say, even if every civilisation has got it hopelessly wrong for thousands of years, that there isn’t actually something else out there?

One of the really sad things about The God Delusion is that the arguments employed by Dawkins to rubbish God could just as easily be used to rubbish Love. After all, is there any scientific evidence to prove the existence of Love? Or is it merely something which many human beings choose to have faith in? Love can easily be dismissed (like religious belief) as the result of a chemical imbalance in the brain. If you don’t mind, I will choose a more romantic approach.

I know love is real, I keep an open mind about some kind of a god, I keep an open mind about angels and ghosts and an afterlife, and I most definitely DO believe in magic.

And this magic is not just to be found in the big stuff.

Some of us tend to think that magic can be found only in a round-the-world cruise or in winning the lottery, or in Christmas in Vermont or a romantic weekend in Paris, or in skydiving or in swimming with dolphins – and maybe magic can be found in these things. But what we so often fail to see is that magic can also be found in much more commonplace things: a chat with a friend, a drink down the local, a walk in the country, a beans-on-toast tea with your son.

Even these simple things can give us a glimpse of something beyond this earthly life. Even these simple things, therefore, can be imbued with what I call magic.

Yes. I think I shall call myself a romantic agnostic.

I really don’t believe this is intellectually lazy of me; surely it is more to do with being intellectually honest and emotionally open, leaving yourself receptive to at least the possibility of a spiritual dimension far beyond our feeble comprehension.