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by Zach Alexander

"We’re walking a fine line here, trying to appropriate practices associated with religions without buying into their discredited metaphysics or otherwise losing our secular bearings.

"There is a god—his love surrounds us," a woman sings, standing up from a silent assembly of hundreds.

"There is no god—our love surrounds us," she continues, and sits back down to resume meditating.

Much is contained in this moment, which took place at a recent gathering of Quakers in New England—the draw of contemplative practices, even for the agnostic or godless; the ambivalence about supernaturalism within liberal religions; and the need for secular communities where people support and care for each other, like they do in the best churches.

All three motivated me to start an enterprise called the Humanist Contemplative Group, inspired by a similar group started by D.T. Strain, former president of the Humanists of Houston. The idea is to bring more people into the Humanist community and to serve existing members in new ways, by creating a space that's a little deeper, more personal and less academic than most Humanist events. In Cambridge we're accomplishing this by meeting twice a month to meditate, making space before and after to share what we're experiencing, both in the silence and in the rest of our lives.

Since June, we've met about twice a month on Saturday mornings at the Harvard Science Center. After introductions and personal check-ins, we meditate for about half an hour, and then talk about what the experience was like, and what we think about it.

The format is intentionally eclectic—it's in the spirit of Humanism to experiment with different approaches, and examine them all critically. One common way of classifying meditative practices is along a spectrum from "mindfulness" to "concentrative," depending on the use of attention. Mindfulness meditations involve awareness of one's perceptual field, noticing sensations, thoughts and emotions as they arise, without stopping to analyze or dwell on them. Concentrative meditations involve directing one's focus to a particular object, such as one's breath. So far we've tried meditations along this spectrum, including awareness of breath, mindfulness of bodily and internal sensations, walking meditation, compassion or loving-kindness meditation, and a secularized form of Quaker meditation. Other activities are under consideration, including sitting with other contemplative groups.

We're walking a fine line here, trying to appropriate practices associated with religions without buying into their discredited metaphysics or otherwise losing our secular bearings. We welcome debate about how to separate the wheat from the chaff—what we should and shouldn't make use of as Humanists. Equally up for discussion should be the potential risks of meditation, especially long stretches undergone by novices, as detailed by the writer Mary Garden in The Humanist in 2007.

So why meditate to begin with? Because people who meditate report many positive effects—like greater calm and emotional balance, greater mental clarity and focus, and a greater capacity for compassion.

To speak personally, I started meditating at 18 at Gordon College, a Christian liberal arts school near Boston. I was very confused that year, because for the first time I was able to think critically about the fundamentalism I was brought up with, and the doomsday cult my family's church became in my teens (really). A key turning point came when I picked up Lawrence LeShan's classic (if somewhat dated) How to Meditate at a church rummage sale. Compared to the theological abstractions I was still being inundated with, the experience of meditating seemed so much more substantial and this-worldly. The more I meditated, the more mental clarity and emotional stability I felt—and the more my confidence grew about rejecting religion.

So much for testimony—the scientific evidence is more ambiguous, in part because there is a wide variety of mental exercises falling under the same term. But studies do suggest several positive benefits.

Much research indicates that meditation mitigates stress and anxiety. For example, one study in 2007 by University of Oregon and Chinese researchers found that after only 20 minutes of mindfulness-related meditation for five days, participants showed less anxiety, depression, and anger than a control group that received relaxation training. A study by Sara Lazar of Harvard Medical School gave subjects an attention-related test in the afternoon when people tend to get sleepy; meditating for 40 minutes prior to the test was found to significantly increase performance. Some recent research suggests that compassion-based meditation may increase activity in regions of the brain related to empathy.

Evidence like this is merely suggestive; the jury is still out on what kinds of practices produce exactly which effects. But these kinds of results—less stress, greater attention, greater compassion—should interest anyone concerned with human happiness and fulfillment.

Humanists in particular should support forming contemplative communities for the following reason: despite the reasons to meditate, and the many who wish to do it, there are few secular opportunities to practice.

Today, an atheist looking for a contemplative community might first look into local Buddhist sanghas. Some traditions, notably Zen and Vipassana, are light enough on dogma to be appealing to some Humanists. Some Buddhists are working to make Buddhism even more secular, such as Stephen Batchelor, author of Buddhism without Beliefs. But in the meantime, for many, even the mildest trappings of religion remind them of everything about religion they oppose. In Sam Harris's words, "the wisdom of Buddhism is currently trapped within the religion of Buddhism."

On the Western side, atheists are welcome to join the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers) in many parts of the country. Quakers resemble Buddhists in certain ways, and meet to practice a unique form of group meditation called "meeting for worship." I became a Quaker in college while still a Christian, and throughout my journey to atheism, no one has ever tried to make me feel unwelcome (not counting blog wars—which even the otherwise peaceful Quakers aren't immune to).

But again, for many, being welcome isn't enough if we still have to listen to supernatural nonsense and treat it with more respect than it deserves. In the meeting where the above impromptu song was sung, for example, several people voiced support for the godless, but others defended traditional theism—one even claiming that genocide is part of a divine plan we mere mortals cannot comprehend. Only the most long-suffering nontheists can be expected to stay in a community where execrable notions like this are acceptable.

In short, consider an analogy. Imagine most of the gyms in the world were religious—crosses or Shivas adorning the walls, personal trainers sprinkling their advice with Qur'anic verses. Wouldn't it be imperative to support the creation of normal, secular gyms, where people could exercise in peace? That's what we're trying to do.

And beyond the exercises themselves, what makes me excited about this group is the kind of community it's becoming. People are enthusiastic about it, and about getting to know each other in a deeper way. Despite everything wrong with religion, one thing many churches get right is meeting the need most people have for authentic, accepting community. Perhaps knowing we have no god who loves us makes it even more pressing.