Church of the Churchless

In defense of uncertainty

This month TIME essayist Charles Krauthammer wrote a piece called “In Defense of Certainty.” Well, I’m certain that Krauthammer is wrong. He thinks that it’s entirely appropriate to publicly advocate political views founded on religious belief.

Actually, it’s entirely inappropriate to do this. Last year I wrote about why religious values have no place in politics, arguing that “you can’t debate with someone who doesn’t have a defensible reason for why they believe what they do. You can’t debate with someone who responds to a reasoned argument with ‘Because the Bible says so’ or ‘Jesus condemns sinners.’”

Religious belief is a conversation stopper. That’s why it is so injurious to political discourse. People who are absolutely certain that they are right aren’t interested in listening. All they want to do is talk. Preach. Proselytize. Pontificate. Since they can’t offer rational reasons for their political positions—faith isn’t rational—the simple question “Why?” is viewed as an attack.

More accurately, questions which follow the religious believer’s answer to the initial “Why?” are considered to be unseemly. For example, I ask a True Believer “Why do you think that gays shouldn’t be able to marry?” I am told, “Because homosexuality is a sin.” And that supposedly settles the matter.

Now, from my point of view that response doesn’t end our conversation; it’s just the beginning. I want to ask follow-up questions. Lots of them. “What do you mean by sin?” “Who decides what is sinful?” “How can you be sure that what you think is a sin, really is?” There are all kinds of directions our conversation could go. Naturally I’d be asked questions too and would have to defend my own answers.

Krauthammer completely misses the point when he says, “Instead of arguing the merits of any issue, secularists are trying to win the argument by default on the grounds that the other side displays unhealthy certainty or, even worse, unhealthy religiosity.” No, it is just the opposite: the religious believers are the ones trying to win political arguments by default, not the secularists.

When someone tells me, “I’m certain,” and he really means it, that’s the end of our discussion. I’m not going to waste my time trying to engage him in an open debate when his mind isn’t open. If he believes that everything written in the Bible or some other holy book is true, and no matter what facts I bring up he quotes scripture to me, I’ll walk away from this one-sided conversation. He doesn’t want to talk with me; he wants to preach to me.

Krauthammer sings the praises of moral certainty. Yet moral certainty only is a virtue when there are good reasons for holding an ethical position. Blind, thoughtless, unquestioning moral certainty is more likely to be a vice than a virtue, because ethics requires a delicate sensitive touch—not a ham-fisted slam on the table and the cry “Believe!”

I’ve never belonged to a genuine fundamentalist religion, thank God. But over the decades I’ve associated with many people who have treated the utterances of a guru in a fundamentalist fashion. That is, they accepted as gospel what the guru said even when it didn’t make sense. Now, I’ve got no problem with this display of blind faith when the supposed gospel truth is purely spiritual with no political implications.

However, every time I read this passage in “Quest for Light,” a book containing extracts from letters written by an Indian guru, Charan Singh, I’m reminded of how simple-minded fundamentalism is as likely to be found in Eastern mysticism as in Western religion. The guru wrote:

Please remember that anything that is against Nature is always improper and inadvisable. Nature has created the two sexes for the continuation of the species and for the satisfaction of the sex instinct within proper limits. If we go against it, it means we are doing something unnatural of which the laws of Nature do not approve. Homosexuality is contrary to all laws of Nature and no decent society approves it. The act is humiliating and degenerating not only in the eyes of others, but also in the eyes of those who are involved…There are no habits which we cannot break if we have the will and determination to do so.

There are many untruths and irrational conclusions in that paragraph. It makes no sense. Yet because the guru said those words, many (if not most) of his disciples took them seriously. Their desire for spiritual certainty led them to accept without question statements that should have been met with an emphatic, “What?!” Every sentence in the quotation above begs for deep questioning. And then, in my opinion, rejection.

I understand the appeal of certainty. I’ve fallen into the trap of the True Believer myself. I once thought that questioning the pronouncements of a guru would be detrimental to my spiritual progress, no matter how ridiculous those statements were when viewed in the lights of reason, compassion, and scientific facts.

Now, I’ve concluded that uncertainty is an always-open door. Uncertainty allows us to escape from the confines of rigid beliefs that have no basis in reality.

I’ve come to believe in the power of don’t know. When in doubt, doubt.

God, can you hear me now?

It’s amazing how many people believe that God hears their prayers. Have they ever gotten a clear-cut, unambiguous, no-doubt-about-it confirmation message back from God? “Got your call. Will take request under consideration.”

After I buy something from Amazon I get an almost instant email response. That way I know that the order I sent off through the electronic maze of the Internet has reached the right place and my material desire soon will be delivered to my doorstep.

I’ve never gotten the same courtesy from God. Kind of makes me wonder if my calls are getting through. The “Can you hear me now?” Verizon Test Man reportedly represents a crew of 50 Verizon employees who drive 100,000 miles a year to test the reliability of their company’s cell phone network.

If I can go out on the deck of my rural Oregon home and talk to someone halfway around the world, it seems to me that God should be able to create a 24/7 two-way communication system between us and Him/Her/It. So what’s the problem?

It can’t be lack of knowledge. Isn’t God omniscient? It can’t be lack of coverage. Isn’t God omnipresent? It can’t be lack of resources. Isn’t God omnipotent? It can’t be lack of will to share divinity with suffering souls. Isn’t God omnibenevolent?

So there’s something going on here with God’s soul phone service that can’t be explained with simplistic metaphysics. Complex metaphysics, such as is contained in Clifford Pickover’s great book “The Paradox of God and the Science of Omniscience,” doesn’t offer up an answer either, but at least Pickover helps us understand some of the mystifying dimensions of the problem.

For example, if God is omniscient then the future is an open book to this being, or power. God knows what has happened, is happening, and will happen. However, if God is omnipotent then anything is possible. God can do whatever pleases the divine will. So God can’t know what is going to happen in the future if God has the power to change the future. Thus God can’t be both omniscient and omnipotent.

So maybe God doesn’t respond to calls because of some cosmic software design, like when Windows freezes due to program incompatibilities. There are a lot of “maybes” like this one floating around the theological skies, a lot of hot air metaphysical balloons that are interesting to look at but can’t carry us very far.

All I know is that the evidence is overwhelming in favor of the conclusion that communication with God is a one-way conversation. A countless number of prayers, mantras, and the like have been directed to God over thousands of years. The supposed responses are almost entirely unbelievable, lacking any sort of unequivocal proof that the being on the other end of the conversation is truly divine and not merely human.

Here’s my own theory as to why God doesn’t reply to us personally when spoken to: God isn’t a person. God is a power. A universal power. God is always “speaking.” It just isn’t in a language that we can understand. If we think we hear God talking to us, that isn’t God; it’s us.

When the human mind gets tired of its one-way God conversation, it conjures up an imaginary second party, much as my daughter used to speak to her stuffed animals: “How are you today, Sunshine?” “Just fine! Let’s play!” I could hear her in her room speaking in two different voices. Sadly, people who believe that they are talking with God don’t realize that they’re carrying on both ends of the conversation.

I’m sure that many people in the world would vehemently disagree with my last statement. Okay, so show me the proof that you’re conversing with the Lord Almighty. A display of omniscience would be pretty convincing. For example, after you talk with God publicly predict what winning lottery numbers will be picked in an upcoming drawing. Better yet, take all of your life’s savings and bet them on those numbers. Then you can enjoy your riches while you bask in your surefire worldwide renown as God’s friend, par excellence. Or, not.

What’s always made both good scientific and mystical sense to me is this approach: Go ahead and talk to God. Pray in many words or repeat a mantra of one word. No matter. Talk away. If you believe that God is outside of yourself, fine. If you believe that God is inside of yourself, fine. If you believe that God is neither inside or outside of yourself, fine. If you believe that you are God, also fine.

Just go on talking. It’s natural to want to reach out and touch someone, especially the One. Personally, I favor the simplest mantra speaking. One word of one syllable will do. There’s nothing wrong with just “God, God, God, God, God,” as the anonymous Christian author of The Cloud of Unknowing recommended. Or whatever other word strikes your fancy. And then…

Do nothing more. At least during the time of meditation when you’re doing your concentrated talking to God. Shut up. Except for that one word. That way, if you get a response, you’re pretty sure that it isn’t coming from yourself. Even a ventriloquist can’t make two voices come out of one mouth (and mind) if he or she is saying the same thing over and over.

When you talk to someone on a cell phone they will interrupt you while you’re speaking if there’s something they want to say. If you’re talking in the mouthpiece and the sound of another voice is emanating from the earpiece, then you can be pretty darn sure you’re not talking with yourself

“God, can you hear me now?” After saying this it’s better to listen to an honest silence than imagine a false reply.

Animal lovers don't eat meat

I usually don’t pay much attention to human interest stories, but the tale in our local newspaper of how Salem residents rallied to protect a mother duck and her brood of 10 ducklings moved me.

The duck nest was in a bush next to a downtown office building. Employees from nearby businesses kept the nest safe until the ducklings hatched, then they and other people protected the mother and newborns as they waddled their way across busy streets all the way to the Willamette River. One passerby even let himself be lowered headfirst into a storm drain to rescue two ducklings who had fallen in.

This tale of so many people taking the time and trouble to aid some ducks made me think, in a clichéd but sincere fashion, “It helps restore my faith in human nature.” It reminded me of my wife’s rescue of some city ducks a few years ago, though I have never questioned Laurel’s love of animals and dedication to making their lives better.

Such as by not eating them. We’re both proudly churchless and don’t believe that morality can, or should, be proscribed in any sort of “Ten Commandments” form. However, like almost everyone we don’t think that people should harm others. So the Golden Rule that is reflected in the teaching of every world religion, treat others as you would want to be treated yourself, seems to be an excellent universal ethical guide.

As vegetarians, we consider that the meaning of “others” includes animals. So the good people of Salem who helped the ducks get to Minto-Brown Island garner a hearty round of moral applause from us. We wonder, though, how many of these folks went home that day and ate meat for dinner while they told their family about how they had helped save the ducks.

As I wrote in my “Dozen desperate ducklings dodge death” post, “it was fitting that vegetarian Laurel saved the ducklings, because it would have been the height of hypocrisy for a meat-eater to feel self-righteous about helping them, when he or she would be eating other animals for dinner the very same day. Plain fact: anyone who isn't a vegetarian isn't an animal lover, no matter what they say. You don’t love animals by killing them.”

That last line sounded a bit harsh to me when I originally wrote it, and it strikes me the same way now. But I still have to agree with what I said, no matter if it offends some meat-eaters: You don’t love animals by killing them.

I try not to be a holier-than-thou vegetarian. It doesn’t bother me to be with people eating meat and I don’t look down on people who eat meat. I loved meat myself until I was about twenty-one. At the time I was still eating fish. During a trip back to my mother’s house from college she served me a prawn. I remember looking at it curled up on my plate and thinking, “That animal once was alive, and now it’s not, because of me.” Since then, for thirty-six years, I haven’t eaten a bite of meat.

For that prawn made me realize that I was part of the demand for animal flesh that causes fish, cows, chickens, sheep, turkeys, ducks, pigs, and other creatures to be killed. Many people consider meat-eating to be one of the pleasures of life. Well, I don’t like the thought that my pleasure comes at the cost of someone else’s pain, whether that someone is a person or an animal.

Some years back I wrote an opinion piece for the Portland Oregonian, “Vegetarians, honk your horns,” about why protesting fast-food restaurants is a better cause for a moralistic crusade than is picketing adult shops. Granted, there are some victims in the porn industry, but the meat industry causes much more pain and suffering—both to the animals that are killed and the people who eat them.

If meat was a drug, it would be illegal. Or at least highly regulated. Almost every meat product would be marked with a sticker: “Caution, may greatly increase the risk of death from heart disease, cancer, and many other diseases.” And if the cautionary sticker included animals’ point of view, the list of negative effects would be longer: “Consumption of this product results in severe pain, panic, and distress to those killed in its making.”

I’m happy that 11 ducks were saved in Salem last Monday. I just hope that the people who saved them were moved to consider whether animal lovers can also be animal eaters. In my opinion, you’re one or the other. A dog or cat lover would never consider eating Fido or Fluffy. So how can someone who claims to be an animal lover eat animals?

Jesus wasn’t a Christian

Keith, a high school classmate, liked to say, “Jesus was a Jew.” That sounded shocking to me at the time. Yet it’s true. It’s also true that Jesus wasn’t a Christian. And Buddha wasn’t a Buddhist, Muhammad wasn’t a Muslim, Lao Tzu wasn’t a Taoist, Nanak wasn’t a Sikh.

The people I’ve mentioned were just that: people. As Deepak Chopra observes, they weren’t the dogmas and ideologies that have come to be associated with them. Those religions and organized philosophical systems came later.

Often we hear the phrase, “What would Jesus do?” Well, I’m willing to bet that if he were alive today he wouldn’t wear a custom screen-printed silicone wrist band that says, “What would Jesus do?” He might ask himself, “What should I do?” But since Jesus would be himself, there’d be no gap between his being and his doing.

So a good Christian who wants to emulate Jesus shouldn’t be asking what Jesus would do. He or she should be seeking the answer to the question, “What is Jesus’ being?” Now, I realize this isn’t as snappy a slogan as “What would Jesus do?” However, it’s a much better guide to living a genuine Christian life.

The same goes for Buddhists, Muslims, Taoists, Sikhs, and the followers of every other religion or spiritual path that has grown out of the inner realization of an exceptional human being. It’s the being of that person—Jesus, Buddha, Muhammad, Lao Tzu, Nanak—that is truly exceptional.

From being comes doing. If we don’t possess the consciousness of Jesus, we’ll never be able to really act like Jesus. So no matter what great spiritual personage we wish to emulate, our goal should be to mirror his or her inner being, not the outer doing.

Meister Eckhart was condemned as a heretic by the Catholic Church for saying that everyone can be the Son of God, not just Jesus. Mansur al Hallaj was tortured and killed by Muslim authorities for uttering the words ana'l –Haqq, “I am the Truth.” Buddhists, on the other hand, are urged to attain Buddha-nature.

Generally, though, organized religions actively discourage believers from believing that they can attain the same state of consciousness as the founder of the religion. Doing what the religion says to do is a great virtue, but being what the religion’s founder was is a nasty heresy (Buddhism, Taoism, and similar inwardly directed faiths excepted).

This is because it is assumed that there is an unbridgeable gap between the realization, enlightenment, revelation—whatever you want to call it—of the founder and ordinary people. Jesus may have been able to know the nature of God and the divine will; nobody else can.

Religions thus claim to have a corner on the market of spiritual wisdom. If you don’t get your godly truth from a holy book then you’re not in possession of the real thing. Even more, the only people who know how to interpret the words in those holy books are the priests, mullahs, gurus, and such—who claim that they are the link between a historic revelation and present-day spirituality.

Here at the Church of the Churchless we like to ask, “Who died and made you Pope?” (or whatever). And even if this question could be answered by the actual Pope, the follow-up would be, “Even though you’re Pope, what makes you infallible?” Before you were Pope, you were an ordinary Bishop. An instant after your ordination, supposedly you’re God’s right-hand man. Did your being change so dramatically and quickly, or was it just your power to do that changed?

I’m not much interested in what great souls like Jesus did outwardly. I’m interested in who they were inwardly.

I just went for a walk with our dog. Strolling along the Metolius River in central Oregon, thinking my thoughts, feeling my feelings, sensing my sensations, I wondered what Jesus or Lao Tzu would think, feel, and sense if they were here instead of me. And also I wondered, “What would I think, feel, and sense if I could share their state of consciousness? How would it be different from what I’m experiencing now?”

I’m convinced that the only real Christian is someone who tries to become Jesus, just as the only real Buddhist is someone to tries to become Buddha. It is a lot easier to change what we do than who we are. But genuine spirituality flows from being, not from doing.

Outside an art gallery in Lahaina, Maui I once saw a sign that said something like, “Our goal shouldn’t be to do different things, but to see the same things differently.” Good advice.

I announce my impending satori

Over on my other weblog, HinesSight, I’ve announced the inevitability of my impending satori (which may even have already arrived) along with the homey koans by which enlightenment will be achieved. I’ll be sure to let you know when it is appropriate to send me a “Congratulations on your Satori!” card. You might want to start looking in your Hallmark store so you have one on hand.

Cults, religions, and science

Ever since Rajni asked me about cults—specifically, if I think a certain spiritual group is a cult—I’ve been pondering what “cult” means to me. Here’s my response to Rajni’s question.
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Rajni, you asked what my thoughts are of RS (Radha Soami Satsang Beas) being a cult. It’s taken me a few days to reply, partly because it’s taken me this long to get my mind around the concept of “cult.” Like lots of people, I use this word loosely and pejoratively to refer to a group of fervent believers that I don’t agree with.

For example, I might say “It’s disturbing how many people belong to the cult of global warming-deniers,” or “Creationism is a cult that ignores the reality of evolution.” Naturally I don’t consider that my own beliefs, no matter how strange they might appear to others, are cultish. For obviously I believe in my beliefs.

This is in accord with how the Wikipedia “cult” article starts off: “In religion and sociology, a cult is a group of people (often a new religious movement) devoted to beliefs and goals which may be contradictory to those held by the majority of society.” Since in my own mind I’m the majority that rules (when I’m of a single mind, at least), if some group looks like a cult to me, it is.

Such might sound unduly subjective. But I’m speaking from a single individual’s personal point of view. Certainly there are quasi-objective criteria that serve to distinguish a dangerous group of people from a benign group of people, as listed near the bottom of this “What is a cult?” page. Steven Hassan, a noted cult researcher, covers much the same ground in his Freedom of Mind Center FAQs.

Some groups are easy to identify as dangerous cults. The members of Jonestown who were forced to drink cyanide-laced punch obviously were in such a cult. So were the Branch Davidians who died at Waco. However, once we get away from the extremes, it becomes difficult to decide what groups get tarred with the epithet “cult” (for this term almost always is used negatively) and what groups aren’t.

I like to think of cults, religions, and science as forming a continuum. Each has a way of dealing with reality and trying to understand how the world works. Science—where I personally feel most comfortable—focuses on facts: demonstrable truths for which there is clear and convincing evidence. Religions emphasize beliefs: faith in hypothesized truths that can’t be confirmed as facts because they lie outside of the realm of normal human experience.

Cults, using the term in the extreme sense, apply physical or psychological coercion in an attempt to make their members conform to certain religious beliefs. Since “psychological” encompasses almost everything that goes on in a religion (preaching, praying, proselytizing, promulgating do’s and don’ts, etc.), I think that every religion has decidedly cultish attributes.

It is just that, as the Wikipedia article says, once a spiritual group reaches a certain size it ceases to be looked upon as a cult, having become a recognized religion. For example, at first Christianity was considered to be a cult by the Roman authorities; then it became the official Roman religion. What changed? Its political and cultural power, not its beliefs.

There are good reasons to call the Catholic Church a cult (as this web site argues). However, when a billion people belong to a group, its got the power to be considered a religion--no matter how cult like is its marginalization of women, abuse of children, authoritarian organizational structure, and claim to salvational exclusivity.

Turning, then, to the question of whether RS, or RSSB, is a “cult,” I’d say, “From one perspective, sure it is.” For RSSB is a decidedly minority religion, and thus possesses two cultish characteristics: it is a religion, and even more, it is a minority religion.

Now, I realize that I’m straying from the Steven Hassan definition of cult—which emphasizes the coerciveness of a religious group—but keep in mind that I consider all religions coercive, because they necessarily have to enforce the belief of members in supposed facts that can’t be confirmed. Science doesn’t do this. Skepticism is a scientific virtue. For religion, skepticism is a failure of faith.

I’ve enjoyed reading the comments to the post where I shared your message. You can see that people knowledgeable about RSSB have quite different attitudes about whether this group is a cult. One former member claims on Steven Hassan’s web site that RSSB definitely is. It’s all in the eye of the beholder, once we get away from blatant physical or psychological coercion. Some people consider the display of a donation box to be a coercive attempt to get money from disciples; others view the “seva box” in an utterly benign light.

So I keep coming back to the individual subjective answer to the question, “Is RSSB (or any other religious group) a cult?” Usually there won’t be a general consensus, unless we’re dealing with an extreme Jonestown or Branch Davidian sort of situation. What I find most interesting is to ask myself—as you might ask yourself—“What leads me to ask the question?”

You listed several characteristics of RSSB that led you to say, “These things would ordinarily be indicative of a cult, or at least resemble one.” I’d suggest that it really isn’t important whether I agree with you or whether anyone else agrees with you. What is important is that these characteristics (and there may be others) rub you the wrong way. They don’t feel right to you.

I believe that I know how you feel, because our minds seem to work in a similar fashion. You said that you’re not looking for a religion. Neither am I. I “signed up” for RSSB some thirty-five years ago precisely because I wanted to be a member of a non-religious spiritual group. Now, either RSSB has changed or I’ve changed. A third alternative is that both RSSB and I have changed: RSSB in the direction of becoming more religion-like, and me in the direction of liking religion even less.

As you said in your message to me, much of what concerns you about RSSB isn’t cultish but religionish. I mostly agree with Randy’s comment where he argues against considering RSSB a cult in the usual sense of the word. I think that RSSB is better called a religion—but just as “cult” is a pejorative term to religiously-minded people, so is “religion” a negative term to my scientifically-inclined mind. And, so it seems, to yours.

You spoke more of what you aren’t looking for in a spiritual path, than of what you are. Reading between the lines of your message, I suspect that you’re attracted to a genuine spiritual science. I could be projecting onto you my own predilection, of course. Regardless, RSSB is also called “The Science of the Soul.” That’s the subtitle on the RSSB web site.

What continues to attract me to RSSB is the scientific nature of its meditation practice. When you strip away the superficial religious/cultish trappings of RSSB, you’re left with a mystical core focused on the direct experience of higher states of consciousness. This diagram does a good job of summarizing the hypothesis, or theory, which the Science of the Soul meditator attempts to confirm: that consciousness can be raised, like a rocket leaving the confines of material reality, to more elevated realms of existence.

What continues to distance me from RSSB is the religious nature of most of its spoken and written communications: discourses, newsletters, books, directives from the Dera, and such. Now, I realize that what I call “religious” most other people associated with this group would call “scientific.” That is, they consider that firm faith in the Master and the RSSB teachings is necessary before success in the experiment of meditation can be achieved.

I look upon such faith as religious in nature, so I disagree with this perspective. Such disagreement would be par for the course in a truly scientific group, where unproven hypotheses are openly debated and the results of alternative experiments discussed. But in a religion, dissent isn’t encouraged (unless you’re a Unitarian).

Well, I’ve used a lot of words in an attempt to answer your simple question. I don’t feel like I’ve expressed myself very clearly. However, the subject you raised defies an easy answer.

Glancing at a printout of your message lying next to my computer, I just noticed that you said, “I’m not coming to you for answers, just your thoughts.” Whew. I feel better. I’ve given you plenty of thoughts. But no answers. That’s the way it is here at the Church of the Churchless.

Warm greetings, Brian

Wise beyond her years

Yesterday I got an email from a nineteen year old girl, Rajni, who had found this weblog. Her message made my day.

Not just because she was complimentary about the Church of the Churchless—I also felt good that there are young people in this country (and elsewhere) who are wise beyond their years regarding the difference between genuine spirituality and spurious religion. And I liked how she expresses herself.

When I read Rajni’s message to my wife, Laurel said “She sounds just like me!” Yes, I agree. Rajni raised questions about some of the same aspects of the spiritual group (Radha Soami Satsang Beas) that I’ve been associated with for a long time which also make Laurel say “Whaaaaaaaat?”

I asked Rajni if I could post her message, and she replied with a “Sure.” I’ve edited it mildly to take out a few personal references and change her all-caps emphasis style to italics. I’ve left in her emoticons and acronyms, though I’m not a user of them myself. (Note: if emoticons are a foreign language to you, as they largely are to me, this site has a handy translator/search feature).

Thanks, Rajni, for sharing your thoughts. Whatever spiritual path you end up pursuing, I’ve got no doubt about this: you won’t traverse it blindly, but with an open and inquiring mind. So should we all. Rajni writes about a particular religious, or quasi-religious, group. However, she also conveys a universal message about all religions and spiritual groups. I'd summarize this truism as, savor the wheat but discard the chaff.
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Hi Mr. Hines!! :) I stumbled across your site via Google when I entered in the phrase, "radha soami cult." Haha, I'll explain.

My parents have been satsangis for as long as I can remember. Just over the weekend, we went to a bhandara [spiritual gathering]. I'm not old enough to be initiated yet, have quite a few years to go, but I have sat in on the meetings numerous times and have gone down to Fayetteville every time Master has come down. As I'm growing older, I find myself becoming highly critical of most major organized religions.

Unfortunately for me, my parents are into practically all of them, taking me to temples, gurdwaras, churches, etc. I honestly feel as if organized religions are cop-outs for real spirituality and that too many people use it to condone their negativity. So I feel as though, if I were to be affiliated with any kind of “religion,” it would probably be Radha Soami (RS), as it isn't a religion per se. But my only problem is that, sometimes, I feel as though it's some kind of cult:

-- You have a living guru, who is supposed to be “perfect” and God incarnate. I have trouble accepting the fact that God, who is to be completely supreme, would inhabit an ordinary man's body. I think of God as a force, not a person. And you call him Master. I know that's just a formality, a salutation, buuut . . . like you said in one of your posts, shouldn't he be most humble of all?

--You are the “chosen ones.” (Gah. Possibly the most repeated line ever in any holy scripture.)

--There's repetition [of a mantra] involved (although I won't know the names until/if I get initiated).

--At the bhandara yesterday, one of the speakers was talking about liberation. She mentioned that as long as you were initiated, you would definitely, at the very least, be born again and be liberated eventually. It troubles me that the only way to be liberated would be to go through RS. That's what all other religions say about themselves, and I was banking on RS to be not like a religion. Equal opportunity, people! (::bangs fist on table::)

These things would ordinarily be indicative of a cult, or at least resemble one. I'm definitely not trying to prove that it is; in fact, I am just looking for ways to see that it's not, because I'm practically desperate to find a faith and stand firmly with it. I mean, of course I see the ways in how it isn't, but there are just too many of those other factors that keep nagging me. And just other random things, like how Master Charan Singh favors creationism over evolution. That left a very bitter taste in my mouth, lol. And couldn't the [inner sacred] Sound just be tinnitus or something? (Okay, now I'm starting to feel almost sacrilegious here. :X)

So, I was just wondering on what your thoughts are of RS being a cult. I've asked my mother about it, but that didn't help me much as she's entirely convinced that this is The Path and, moreover, Definitely Not a Cult. I think my father just has a, “You're only nineteen, go to the movies with your friends,” approach. You seem to be a lot more objective in your posts, so I was just wondering what your opinion was on the subject. I realize that spirituality is a very “intra” thing, and I'm not coming to you for answers, just your thoughts. Maybe they could help me see things in a different light and all that jazz.

On a lighter note, Church of the Churchless is so bookmarked. :) I love it. I could only read a few posts before I rushed off to e-mail you, lol. It's enlightening, it's funny, it's real, it's a thousand other lovely adjectives and I'm so glad I found you! Three cheers to you. :)

Thanks for your time,
Rajni

PS - I totally relate to your “God’s here, but I’ve got to go” post! In Fayetteville, while Master was talking, I was seriously about to burst. I just got up and went to the bathroom, though, thankfully without a hitch. Whew.

Did I see God in first class?

I may have seen God in first class. The first class section of an Alaska Airlines flight from San Francisco to Palm Springs, to be exact. Or, maybe I didn’t.

In the early ‘90s I was traveling from Portland to attend a “bhandara," or spiritual gathering, of Radha Soami Satsang Beas (RSSB) devotees in Palm Springs. After changing planes in San Francisco I found myself in a right side aisle seat in the coach row directly behind first class, idly watching other passengers board.

A middle-aged Indian gentleman caught my eye. Bearded, he was wearing a white turban and blue jeans. His first class seat was across the aisle and one row up from mine. Before sitting down he glanced around the rear of the plane and our eyes briefly met. Then he took his seat and I returned to perusing a magazine. Nothing special seemed to have happened.

But it had, to quite a few other people sitting near me. For they were Bay Area RSSB members who also were heading to Palm Springs for the bhandara where the satguru (true guru) was to speak. And that Indian gentleman sitting a few feet away from me was the satguru—Master Gurinder Singh.

I began to hear whispers. “That’s him.” “The master is sitting in first class.” “I don’t believe it.” I hadn’t recognized Gurinder Singh, even though I’d seen him before at a bhandara in Vancouver, B.C. Fervent RSSB devotees consider the satguru to be God in human form, much as Jesus is regarded by devout Christians.

The difference being, Jesus is dead and Gurinder Singh was sitting alive and well in an Alaska Airlines first class seat. Imagine that a Christian gets on a plane and sees Jesus seated a few rows ahead of him and you’ll have a pretty good idea of the atmosphere on the flight to Palm Springs—among the RSSB disciples, at least.

I got mildly caught up in the excitement. However, even back then, when I was much more involved—psychologically and otherwise—with RSSB than I am now, I didn’t consider that seeing the satguru was a big deal. And until I made the connection between “Indian man wearing a turban” and “Master Gurinder Singh,” seeing him wasn’t even a small deal.

For I didn’t feel a hint of anything special until the disciples around me started up the “It’s him!” whispering campaign. Wouldn’t you think that if a person truly is God in human form, such would be obvious? Not just to those who already believe in the person’s divinity, but to everyone—believer and unbeliever alike. Jesus, of course, suffered the same lack of recognition. If his purported godliness had been transparently apparent, impossible to deny, by the time he died Jesus would have had a lot more than a handful of followers.

Psychedelic researchers speak of the importance of set and setting in determining the nature of a LSD (or similar drug) experience. “Set” includes the personality of the individual; “setting” includes cultural views about what is real. If someone with a devotional frame of mind joins a group like RSSB that affirms the divinity of a guru, then this person may very well see God sitting in first class. I, on the other hand, just saw an Indian man.

My wife, Laurel, joined me in Palm Springs a few days later. She was more interested in shopping and sunshine than attending the bhandara, but I did talk her into going to two RSSB meetings. At one of them she got to sit in the front row, just a few feet away from the stage where Gurinder Singh spoke and answered questions—a highly favored spot to devotionally-minded disciples.

Afterwards Laurel said to me, “He just seemed like a regular person.” I couldn’t argue with her. I believed then, and still do, that Master Gurinder Singh is uncommonly intelligent, insightful, well-spoken, charismatic, and inspiring. But I had no reason then, nor any now, to assert that he is God in human form. I’ve stopped being concerned with the level of divinity someone else possesses, and now am almost exclusively focused on getting in touch with my own hypothesized higher self.

I understand the allure of what Hindus call bhakti marg, salvation through love and devotion. Though much more inclined to the spiritual path of jnana (knowledge through meditation), I’ve got my bhakti tendencies and have been known to shed a tear at the thought or sight of a guru. But that was then. I believe that I’m wiser now.

Wiser, because I’ve concluded that if I have to think or emote my way to reality, this isn’t a reality worth having. When I let loose of an object, gravity takes it to the ground regardless of whether I’m thinking “Gravity is great” or feeling “I love gravity so much!” Gravity, like all the other laws of nature, just does what it does—automatically.

If there is a spiritual dimension to reality, it makes sense to me that higher laws of the cosmos also will operate naturally and spontaneously. When my inner vision is clear, I’ll experience them without effort, just as I open my eyes in the morning and effortlessly see a world guided by physical laws.

As I quoted Philip K. Dick in the course of describing the Church of the Churchless symbol, “Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.” This probably is my favorite spiritual one-liner. In my opinion that single sentence, when properly understood, contains the entire essence of volumes of profound mystical literature that fills my bookcases.

If I have to believe in God in order to experience God, then that experience is of my own belief, not of God.

I’d be overjoyed to see God in human form. Heck, in any form. A formless form would be fine also. But I want this seeing to be unmistakable, crystal clear, impossible to be doubted. I don’t want to substitute imagination for the real thing.

Maybe I saw God in first class. Maybe. Maybe isn’t good enough. I want to be sure that God is more than, as the song goes, “just a slob like one of us.” Show me. Then I’ll believe, not before.

Secret of the universe

Wow! Today I discovered that, according to Google, I’m really close to the #1 “secret of universe.” At the moment (Google is whimsical in its rankings), I’ve got the #2 secret.

Which is: Whatever is going to happen is what has to happen
(Sorry to disappoint you if you were hoping for something else.)

Take a look at #1 if you want a more profound answer. I really enjoyed “Secret Worlds: The Universe Within” (and also, without). With my slow Internet connection it took me a while to download the top-ranked secret, but it was worth it.

I only wish the big picture hadn’t stopped at the relatively picayune distance of ten million light years from the Milky Way. There’s a lot more universe beyond.

Happy exploring—both without and within.

Be loyal to yourself, not a group

Most people look upon loyalty as a virtue. We value loyal friends, loyal citizens, loyal workers. But when is loyalty a vice? I’ve been thinking about this question ever since I came across a paper by philosopher Laurie Calhoun, “A Critique of Group Loyalty.”

I’m a pretty loyal person. I don’t drop loyalties on a whim. I’ve been getting my hair cut by the same woman, Betsy of Hair Headquarters, for 28 years. My first marriage lasted for 18 years and now I’ve been married to Laurel for 15 years. I’ve had a Casio watch on my wrist for as long as I can remember.

And I’ve been faithfully attending meetings (a.k.a. “satsangs”) of the same spiritual group, Radha Soami Satsang Beas (RSSB), for 35 years. I take commitments seriously, especially spiritual commitments. When I became a member of RSSB I took a vow to meditate two and a half hours a day (yes, really), be a vegetarian, not imbibe alcohol or drugs, and, rather vaguely, “live a clean and moral life.”

Religious groups or churches usually expect that members will adhere to some sort of standards. Even Unitarians, though theirs is basically an appealing “respect all standards” standard. If there wasn’t any way to distinguish “believers” from “non-believers,” you wouldn’t have a defined spiritual system.

However, belief and non-belief isn’t a strict dichotomy. There are shades of gray. You can kind of believe in something, just as you can kind of share a group’s beliefs. People often continue belonging outwardly to a “church” (using that term to mean any kind of religious organization) after they’ve stopped belonging inwardly.

In a recent issue of The New Yorker Archbishop Charles Chaput, of Denver, was quoted as saying, “We’re at a time for the Church in our country when some Catholics—too many—are discovering that they’ve gradually become non-Catholics who happen to go to Mass.”

The same is true of every other church. Just because you’re sitting with a group listening to a sermon doesn’t mean that you agree with what is being preached. So, why do you stay? Often, because you feel that you should be loyal to the group. So, why should you be loyal?

Laurie Calhoun says, “In spite of the positive connotation of ‘loyalty,’ the concept is itself morally neutral, and remaining loyal to a group whose values one does not share is irrational.” She adds, “Loyalty involves a commitment to go along with one’s group, even when the group’s action is something that, left to one’s own devices, one would not have thought to do. In other words, loyalty is supposed to provide an extra reason to do what one would not otherwise do.”

Group loyalty is different from individual loyalty. When I gave examples of how I’ve been loyal, only my membership in RSSB involves a group loyalty of the sort Calhoun is speaking about.

For example, I keep getting my hair cut by Betsy because I want to. If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t. There’s no group putting pressure on me, either outwardly or inwardly. Every time I call Betsy up and make an appointment, my hair-cutting action is totally consistent with my hair-cutting belief. I believe that Betsy is a good haircutter and I have her cut my hair.

When it comes to questions of ethics or morality, though, I have to decide whether I choose to answer these questions myself or to accept the answer of an outside authority. Calhoun says, “An ethics by authority responds to the fundamental principle of moral philosophy—‘What should I do?’—with a simple, univocal answer: ‘Do what you are told to do.’ The voice of some institutional (e.g., familial, religious, governmental, educational) authority is accepted as a moral authority.”

The problem with this approach, she says, is that we never have truly solid grounds for believing that another human being is a moral sage. Many people accept that someone else (such as the Pope, or a guru) is better attuned to the “word of God” than they are themselves. So they submit to what this person says to do morally rather than to what they would consider is right, if left to their own devices.

In other words, loyalty to a group ethic is valued more highly than loyalty to one’s own sense of right and wrong. A religious group almost always has its moral compass pointed at supposedly unquestionable ethical standards; if a member’s personal morality turns in a different direction, how can this conflict be resolved?

Calhoun has a simple answer: “The rational approach to conflicts between one’s own moral conscience and one’s group is to defer ultimately to one authority alone, namely, one’s own conscience.” As an academic, Calhoun likes to use words like “rational.” But the approach she suggests has a strong intuitive appeal also. Basically it comes down to follow your heart, because you’ll go off course if you do anything else.

In her paper Calhoun lays out the logical reasons for following one’s conscience when a person’s intuition about a policy conflicts with the prevailing opinion of his or her group. If you go along with the group, then whether the group is right or wrong (assuming there really is a “right” and “wrong” when it comes to moral issues), you fail.

You fail because if you go along with the group, whether it is right or wrong, you aren’t acting with moral and intellectual integrity. Basically, your loyalty to the group is stronger than your loyalty to the truth—the truth of your own conscience. Because you don’t want to incur the consequences of going against the group (ostracism, condemnation, etc.), your outward actions betray your inward inclinations. Even if you’re doing the right thing, you’re doing it for the wrong reasons, and motive is all-important in morality.

Calhoun says, “When should we dissent from the policies of our groups? Precisely and only when they conflict with our deepest convictions and values. If a policy is sound, then we should support it. If it is not, then we should not support it… A group is not good simply because it is a group…Although religions may appease the human need for security, they become irrational when they begin to erode people’s fundamental values.”

And she ends with this statement:

“We have found that the prioritization of loyalty over one’s fundamental convictions and values is, at best, irrational and self-delusive and, at worst, dangerous. To describe a human being as ‘loyal’ is not to pay him a compliment.”

After many years of unquestioning group loyalty I’m now trying to do my best to determine, in acts either great or small, what my own conscience tells me to do. For if I’m not acting true to myself, its not worth doing.

The loving “I” of God

Here are two excerpts from Mikhail Naimy’s “The Book of Mirdad” that I enjoyed reading today. The first passage speaks about the Supreme Consciousness that many call “God,” but Naimy says is better called “I”—His only Word (pardon the masculine reference to God; it’s Naimy’s use, not mine).

The second comes from a chapter on prayer where Naimy, in the person of Mirdad, starts off with: “You pray in vain when you address yourselves to any other gods but your very selves.” He refers us back to the Creative Word, the Supreme Consciousness, “I.”

Meister Eckhart says that God’s “I” is the same as our “I.” Beautiful. The eye with which I see God is exactly the same eye with which God sees me. My eye and God’s eye are one eye, one seeing, one knowledge and one love.

Here’s how Naimy puts it:

“Though each of you be centred in his I, yet are you all encentred in one I, even the single I of God.

God’s I, O monks, is God’s eternal, only word. In it is God—The Consciousness Supreme—made manifest. Without it He would be a silence absolute. By it is the Creator self-created. By it is the Formless One made to take on a multiplicity of forms through which the creatures shall pass again to formlessness.

To feel Himself; to think Himself; to speak Himself God need not utter more than I. Therefore is I His only word. Therefore is it THE WORD.”

And…

“Remember that the key to Life is the Creative Word. The key to the Creative Word is Love. The key to Love is Understanding. Fill up your hearts with these and spare your tongues the pain of many words, and save your minds the weight of many prayers, and free your hearts from bondage to all gods who would enslave you with a gift; who would caress you with one hand only to smite you with the other; who are content and kindly when you praise them, but wrathful and revengeful when reproached; who would not hear you save you call, and would not give you save you beg; and having given you, too oft regret the giving; whose incense is your tear; whose glory is your shame.

Aye, free your hearts of all those gods that you find in them the Only God who, having filled you with Himself, would have you ever full.”

I. That’s God. I. That’s me and you. Filled with “I,” we’re full of God.

The trick is, I think, being filled just with “I,” pure consciousness, and nothing else.

That’s why nothing is the way to God.

No religion in National Spelling Bee

Over on HinesSight I mused today about how the three finalists in the National Spelling Bee competition, who apparently were all ethnic Indians, didn’t display any sign of religion on the stage. There was no “Praise Vishnu!” or “I owe it all to Shiva,” thank God.

More and more it’s seeming to me that religiosity has virtually nothing to do with life. Real life. Religion won’t help you become a spelling champion. Diligent study will. A supportive family will. High intelligence will. The competitors I saw on ESPN enjoyed the benefits of each.

What got them to the spelling bee finals, and will support them for the rest of their lives, isn’t religion, because religion as practiced by virtually everyone isn’t really real. Religions are collections of abstract ideas, imaginings, and beliefs. Real life is totally different.

People will say, “I love my religion.” What they mean is, “I love getting together with like-minded people,” “I love helping others,” “I love sitting quietly and listening to someone talk about spirituality,” “I love feeling connected to something beyond myself.”

All of these loves are founded in something concrete, not ethereal. It’s the earthy solidity that people adore in a religion, not the wispy loftiness. Take away high-minded dogma, theology, and metaphysics, and people would still be attracted to a religion if it provided them with down-to-earth support.

So, why embrace a religion? Why not go directly to what you need rather than take a detour?

If you go to church just for the coffee hour, maybe you should skip the service and simply drink some java with friends on Sunday. It’s good to ponder, “What do I really want from my religion?” and “Are there better ways to get it than what I’m doing now?”