Church of the Churchless

Talking with a churchless Christian

Last Tuesday I spent two pleasant hours talking with a Christian philosophy professor, Thomas Talbott. Tom teaches at Salem’s Willamette University. We were introduced by philosopher/artist/writer Patricia Herron, a friend who was instrumental in getting me thinking about this here Church of the Churchless back in August 2004.

Pat, Tom, Don (a friend of Toms) and I got into lots of deep stuff during our conversation at the south Salem Beanery. Though my neurons were flying on the caffeinated wings of a grande vanilla latte, I really didn’t need any artificial stimulation to stay focused on the fascinating topics that we covered. Here’s a sampling:

God is love—all love. Tom has written a book called “The Inescapable Love of God” whose title just about says it all. He believes in the doctrine of universalism, a.k.a. universal reconciliation. In the first chapter of his book Tom says, “Against the many religious doctrines that appeal to and cultivate our fear, I shall urge upon my reader this simple proposition: Contrary to what we might fear, the Creator and Father of our souls—the Lord of hosts and King of kings—is good.”

Hallelujah! The good news Tom brings is that everyone ultimately will be saved, Christian and non-Christian alike. When I asked him to confirm that this included my pagan soul, I liked his answer: “Sure. In fact, you might be closer to salvation than I am.” Now we’re talking. I could get behind a Christianity that lets you be saved without becoming a Christian.

Divinity starts on the high end of humanity. I told Tom that I liked the notion that God is all love, because I’ve always believed that a God who isn’t as good as a decent human being isn’t worth having faith in. I mean, it’d be taking a cosmic step backwards to worship a judgmental, punishing God who arbitrarily plays favorites, since lots of people here on earth manifest superior qualities.

I’d suspected that this view of mine wasn’t original (what view is?), and got that suspicion confirmed when I read the first 25 pages of “The Inescapable Love of God” (a free PDF sample). For Tom says the same thing on p. 8:

“I knew instinctively that I could never worship a God who is less merciful, less kind, less loving than my own parents, but that is just what I seemed to encounter in the mainstream of Western theology: a God who, though gracious (after a fashion) to some (the elect), refuses to will the good for others (the non-elect). And I could not imagine my parents refusing to will the good for anyone.”

Of course, it isn’t just Western religions that have an exclusionary policy concerning who gets to ride on the God train back to heaven. The Eastern mystical group that I’ve been associated with, Radha Soami Satsang Beas, believes that unless you’re initiated by a “perfect living master,” you’re doomed. Nonetheless, my poor doomed wife, whom I like to call my lovely infidel, isn’t losing any sleep over this. According to Tom, her peaceful slumber is absolutely warranted.

Why is God so well hidden? I told Tom that I liked his omnibenevolent conception of God. However, if God cares about us so much, why is God so hidden from both our physical and spiritual eyes? A good parent doesn’t stay in the bedroom all of the time with the door closed, leaving his or her children to fend for themselves. How can we have a close relationship with God when there’s nobody evident to relate to?

Tom had a short answer: “God doesn’t care if we know that he exists. He wants us to learn how to love each other, and all else that has been brought into existence by God. To love the Son is to love the Father. We all are Sons of the Father, not just Jesus.” Not bad. I don’t know if this really is true, but the basic notion intuitively appeals to me. If earthly existence is a sort of school, then God, the headmaster, isn’t concerned with how much we know about him, but rather with how well we learn the big lesson of life—love.

However, I replied that if God is love, then getting a great big infusion of God-realization into my soul seemingly would both (1) enable me to know the nature of God, and (2) teach me what love is all about. On the other hand (my Libra-ness keeps coming out) I also observed that any creative force which can form an entire universe in the big bang and keep it banging away for fourteen billion years, with many more billions yet to come, probably is a tad too powerful for my psyche to touch directly. Some insulation between us and God is necessary, which could explain God’s invisibility.

You’re a sinner! I got a flavor of good old traditional fire-and-brimstone Christianity after I shared an example of how I had strayed from one of the commandments of my own spiritual group. Without missing a beat Tom thundered out, “You’re a sinner!” With a smile, of course. I’m tempted to tell you what I said, but for literary reasons I want to let the denouement of this story wait a while, building up some dramatic tension before my confession is revealed (don’t get too excited; my sin is pretty tame by modern sinning standards).

Tom spoke about a similar experience from his conservative Christian high school days. He says in his book that “at my high school, a good Christian was identified as someone who does not smoke, drink, dance (roller skating was ‘iffy’), play cards, or attend Hollywood movies.” However, after Tom became more heretical and independent he went to a John Wayne movie with a friend from another high school.

They enjoyed the movie. After it ended they were walking down the sidewalk when some of Tom’s Christian classmates approached from the other direction. “What are you up to?” the classmates said. Tom was tongue-tied, but his friend—unaware that going to a movie was a Christian no-no—blurted out, “Oh, we went to see a John Wayne movie.” Tom said that as soon as those words came out of his friend’s mouth he felt like everything inside of him shriveled up into a wad of shame.

Such is the power of a religious group. One moment you can be on your own doing something innocent that feels perfectly fine; the next moment group pressure, either inwardly or outwardly imposed, can leave you feeling like a horrible sinner. One action; two ways of looking at it.

I threw out for discussion my Desert Island Theory of Morality. The theory isn’t fully formed yet, since I made up most of it on the spot there at the coffee house. But it’s something I have thought about now and then—such as when I fantasize Angelina Jolie appearing on my doorstep, dressed in as little as my fantasy will allow.

I say “will allow,” because fantasies are situated in some sort of context. For example, Angelina and I are somewhere; I’m somebody—married or not married, much as I am now or wildly different. Now, my Desert Island Theory of Morality comes into play in this fashion: I imagine that I’m on a deserted island similar to that of the “Lost” TV series. I’m disconnected from every aspect of my current worldly life. And there’s no chance that I’ll ever be reconnected to that life again.

I’m starting fresh. No religious group to belong to. No family to be a part of. No job to work at. No friends to associate with. I’ve already got the necessities of life on the island, such as food, water, and shelter, but anything else above and beyond that will have to wash up on its shores.

Such as one day, praise God!, Angelina Jolie. And the same merciful power that brought her to me has instilled in her a passionate desire for a 56 year-old graying man. Double praise God!! The moral question becomes: what to do? What is right when you’re absolutely on your own (well, aside from Angelina), free to make your own moral decisions without having to worry about what other people think or how they will react to what you decide to do?

This is an interesting question. It’s too involved to explore in any detail here. I’ll simply observe that much of morality involves a concern with how our actions affect other people. Such is absolutely appropriate. I believe in marital fidelity. Almost always infidelity, when it’s discovered, causes pain to the offended spouse. One person’s pleasure shouldn’t be bought with another person’s pain.

But Tom’s anecdote about going to a movie points to the craziness of feeling guilty for doing something that should be guilt free. Often the only reason we feel guilty is because we’ve been illogically taught to feel that way. Religious and other social institutions have a vested interest in keeping firm control of their members. For if people feel free to follow their own well-calibrated moral compass, they also may feel free to leave the confines of the group that has established boundaries thou shalt not cross.

I’ve been a vegetarian for about thirty-six years. It would take a lot to get me to eat an animal. If that desert island had fruits and vegetables to keep me alive, a refrigerated container full of filet mignon and a French chef could wash up on the beach and I wouldn’t have the slightest interest in it. Really. I believe that the more our morality can be inwardly grounded rather than outwardly proscribed, as my vegetarianism is, the better.

Anyway, it was a delight to talk with Tom, Don, and Patricia. Near the end of our conversation, when I asked Tom if, given all his heretical views, he still considered himself to be a Christian, I liked how there was a slight stammer as he said, “Um, ah, yes, I am.” I could be wrong, but he seemed to be mentally defining Christianity in his mind (as a college professor should), deciding whether what he believes could reasonably be called Christian.

Tom is a churchless Christian, the best kind.

John Roberts’ religious faith matters

Since the Bush administration has no problem with religion being part and parcel of public policy, it’s strange that Republicans don’t want John Roberts to be questioned about his Roman Catholic faith during his confirmation hearings.

Hey, you can’t have it both ways. If the right-wing wants politicians and judges to be free to express their personal religious beliefs in the course of their official duties, then those beliefs should be considered when assessing their competence to perform those duties.

In Roberts’ case, he’s a devout member of a religion that doesn’t let an elected official (such as John Kerry) take communion if he or she supports abortion rights. It wouldn’t be surprising if a Catholic was more concerned about keeping his immortal soul out of hell-fire than with judging a case involving abortion on purely secular legal criteria.

So, yes, it is absolutely appropriate that Senators question Roberts about how strong his allegiance is to Catholic dogma. I’ve argued before that religious values have no place in politics. No place on the Supreme Court either.

If there’s a good chance that Roberts will judge a case on the basis of his Catholicism rather than the Constitution, he shouldn’t be confirmed.

The United States is pressing Iraq to keep Islam from dominating that nation’s constitution. I just wish the Bush administration was equally concerned about keeping the United States constitution free of Christianity.

We all believe in jihad

It isn’t just Muslim extremists who believe in jihad. Almost without exception, every person does. Rooting out jihadists, or mujahideen, is impossible. There’d be nobody left on earth if this were to happen.

For the root meaning of jihad is “to strive” or “to make an effort.” In the Islamic world this striving takes on certain characteristics, while elsewhere the striving manifests differently. Always jihad flows from the same psychological condition, though: a belief that individual effort can make the world a better place.

Before I get inundated with angry emails and comments calling me a moral relativist offering up excuses for Al Qaeda terrorism, I need to stress the obvious: people act on this ubiquitous propensity to jihad in many ways. Some are violent, some are peaceful. Some are destructive, some are productive.

Morality is all about channeling human striving in desired directions. A moral person is someone who desires to desire in “good” ways. Defining what good means is the big controversial question. But I think there’s general agreement that whatever “good” is, it’s something that has to be striven for. In other words, jihad is necessary to be good.

Jihad can be directed either inwardly or outwardly, though, as the Sufi mystic Rumi taught. The inward jihadist tries to change his or her own self; the outward jihadist tries to change the world.

A few days ago I was driving along in our Toyota Prius and pulled up behind a convertible Mini Cooper at a stop light. I’d never seen a convertible Mini before. Its top was down on a sunny day. Instantly a jihadist impulse washed over me: “I need that car. If I had a convertible Mini Cooper my life would be complete. The only thing standing between me and heaven on earth is not owing a convertible Mini.”

Now, I’m not willing to die for a car. That wouldn’t make any sense even if I could somehow get a Mini by dying. What good would it do me to have the car after I’m dead? Yet all the time we hear people saying things like “I’d die for a piece of chocolate right now.”

Many Muslim jihadists do just that: die for something they consider is worth striving for. That something isn’t just an otherworldly belief, individual salvation in paradise, but also a this-worldly belief: that martyrdom will help to spread Islam in accord with the will of Allah. So they are just taking to extremes the normal human propensity to strive for what isn’t yet in our possession, whether this be a piece of chocolate, a new car, or god’s kingdom on earth.

This morning I was reading an interesting essay by Daniel Araya, “Integral Religion: Uniting Eros and Logos,” that kicked off these thoughts about jihad. Following Ken Wilber’s basic distinction between Ascent (Many to the One) and Descent (One to the Many), Araya says that “Eastern religion, following the course of Ascent, seeks to unite humanity’s consciousness with God; while Western religion, following the course of Descent, serves God’s manifest unfolding.”

Philosophically, I’m an Ascender. Yet there’s a considerable gap between the ideal philosophy that I espouse and the real life that I’m living. So in a lot of ways I’m a Descender. Ascent is the path of inward jihad; Descent is the path of outward jihad.

If you believe that it’s your responsibility to help the world evolve or unfold so that it better reflects God’s will, then you’re a religious outward jihadist. If you believe that it’s your responsibility to help the world evolve or unfold so that it better reflects your will, then you’re a secular outward jihadist. Either way, you’re expecting that something outside of you needs to change, not what is inside of you. Or more accurately, what is you.

By contrast, Ascenders believe that the timeless, formless, limitless One (God) is right here, right now. Nothing separates us from what we’re lacking. The ultimate fulfillment of enlightenment, satori, nirvana, samadhi—whatever you want to call it—is a state of inward consciousness, not a state of outward manifestation.

Further, there really isn’t any striving, jihad, needed to return to the One. It’s a matter of letting go, of relaxing, of surrendering, of embracing the wu-wei of non-action rather than the tight-lipped, fists-clenched, gotta-try-harder attitude that makes the world go ‘round. And ‘round, and ‘round, and ‘round. Where it stops or if it stops nobody knows, but for most people hope springs eternal that the ceaseless motion of earthly events will eventually lead to the steady state of a Promised Land.

As Daniel Araya writes, “God reveals Himself to the Jews (and later to the Christians and Muslims) through His actions in the course of history.” Thus Judaism looks forward to the establishment of God’s kingdom on earth, Christianity seeks to prepare the way for the second coming, and Islam is engaged in its own jihad of a “divine campaign for justice in the world of creation.”

For the Western religions, the kingdom of God is coming, not already here. For the Eastern religions, the kingdom of God is eternally present as the essence of our very being. By and large, for the Eastern mystics the focus of jihad, striving, is inward. There isn’t any need to struggle to change the world. What needs to change is the belief that struggle is how spiritual change occurs. So far as I know, there isn’t anything comparable to “Onward, Christian Soldiers” in Buddhism, Taoism, or Hinduism. But with a little bit of editing, that song would fit right in with Jewish and Muslim beliefs.

Jihad is a universal state of mind. If we think that there are “evil-doers” in Al Qaeda who are completely different from you and me, we’re mistaken. An issue of New Scientist (which is published in England) arrived in my mailbox today after I had started writing this post. A teaser on the front cover caught my eye, “What makes a suicide bomber”

Turning to the article, “The ordinary bombers,” I read:

“Most suicide bombers anywhere in the world appear to be normal. Study after study has shown that suicide terrorists are better off than average for their community and better educated. They are also rarely suicidal in the pathological sense…They don’t have to be Islamic extremists either, or even radicalized by faith.

...The immediate reaction to suicide bombers is to label them as animals, or inherently evil. But this will not do. Blowing themselves up in a crowd is often the first evil thing these people have done. And they are not animals. The most difficult thing of all is to recognise that suicide bombers are, alas, all too human.”

What happens is that Islamic jihadists who blow themselves up have made a commitment to a group that exploits their sympathy for the group’s cause. The article notes that normal, rational people can be persuaded to do horrible things if the right conditioning is applied. This is one reason why I say that it is so important to be loyal to yourself, not a group.

Virtually all of us are prone to jihad, because we believe that changing the world outside of us is more important than changing the world inside of us. It’s just a matter of degree where we fall on the Jihad Continuum. Suicide bombers are on the far end of the jihad bell curve; a sadhu living sequestered in a cave is on the far opposite end.

Here I’m not considering the means being used in an attempt to change the outer world, just the intensity of the striving. Means are vitally important, obviously—changing minds with books is hugely preferred to bombs—but desire is what starts off a jihad of any sort, as the Buddha taught.

There’s only one way to jump off the jihad train: do what has to be done spontaneously, naturally, effortlessly. It’s much easier said than done. Yet saying to oneself that it’s essential to strive not to strive is a first step toward not taking any more jihadist steps.

Universism, a kindred unfaith

A few weeks ago I became a Universist. I didn’t have to give up my churchless faith to do so, for Universism is a marvelously kindred philosophy. The Universists just are a lot more organized than the Church of the Churchless ever will be and have a much cooler web site.

They actually sign people up who are willing to affirm that they fit the definition of a Universist. I figured, “What the heck?” and proclaimed my allegiance to Universism (pronounced “universe-ism”). I’d already joined the Unitarian Jihad, so signing on to another uni-philosophy seemed right in line with the trajectory of my spiritual evolution—which some would say is heading straight for hell.

Well, I’ll have some interesting company there. Such as John Armstrong, assistant director of the Universist movement. Last Tuesday I listened to a radio interview with Armstrong on the arch-conservative national Lars Larson show. The Universists had sent me an email about the show, saying that Armstrong’s interview had been moved up a day because of Bush’s impending announcement of his Supreme Court nomination.

I liked Armstrong’s style a lot. As I often not-so-humbly say about someone, “He made a lot of sense, since he sounded an awful lot like me.” Except, Armstrong was more calm and collected than I suspect I would be if I ever conversed with the hugely annoying Lars Larson. And Armstrong had a rich supply of quotes on hand about the Deistic beliefs of this country’s founding fathers, a subject I know little about.

You can peruse these quotes at Deism.org, a related Universist web site that Armstrong was able to plug shamelessly throughout the interview. I do have to give Lars Larson credit for having Armstrong on his show (this was a repeat appearance), for Larson and most of his regular listeners are devout fundamentalist Christians.

Armstrong persuasively argued that George Washingon, John Adams, and Thomas Jefferson, among others, were Deists, not believers in Jesus. The Universists say that Deism is “belief in God as revealed by nature and reason combined with a disbelief in scripture, prophets, superstition and church authority.” The founding father quotes they’ve assembled certainly seem to support Armstrong’s assertion, which didn’t go over well with Larson (to my great delight).

I can’t recall the exact Jefferson quote Armstrong read on the show, but I think it may have been this one: "One day the dawn of reason and freedom of thought in the United States will tear down the artificial scaffolding of Christianity. And the day will come when the mystical generation of Jesus, by the Supreme Being as His father, in the womb of a virgin will be classed with the fable of the generation of Minerva in the brain of Jupiter."

Armstrong skillfully pointed out that the Universist skepticism about organized religion is exactly in line with the virtues of freedom and independence that this country was founded on. “Don’t tread on me.” “Give me liberty or give me death.” He said that Russia became free (or, at least, freer) when its people rose up against the power of the state dictating every aspect of their lives.

Yet now the United States government is trying to force religion, in the guise of Christianity, down citizens’ throats. This is un-American, Armstrong said. The United States Constitution doesn’t mention religion at all, except to say that it must be kept out of public affairs.

Larson didn’t have much of a response, other than to bring up the pitifully weak argument that I’ve heard him use before: “But the last words of the Constitution say, ‘In the year of our Lord…’”

Good God! God damn closed-minded conservative talk show hosts! My use of the name of God just now doesn’t mean that I’m a Christian; it’s just a way of speaking. The same is true with “In the year of the Lord,” Armstrong said.

The Universist FAQs are worth perusing if you want to know more about this intriguing movement. I applaud Armstrong and his fellow Universists for their efforts to make personal reason and experience the foundation of a spiritual (or non-spiritual) world view.

Still, I sympathize with John Horgan. He wrote in his “Keeping the Faith in My Doubt” essay that he wouldn’t be joining the Universists or any other areligious group:

“First of all, I’m just not a joiner, more out of laziness than anything else; I avoid commitments that might jeopardize my sports- or sitcom-watching time. An organization for freethinkers--one of the Universists self-definitions--also strikes me as oxymoronic, like an anarchist government. Isn’t the point of being a free-thinker eschewing categories like Satanist, Scientologist or Universist?”

Yes, it is. Horgan concludes that each unbeliever could form his own personal “ism” with its own name. He says, “Since Universism is taken, I’ll call mine ‘Horganism.’ You can revile it, admire it, or ignore it, but you can’t join it.”

Amen to that.

Comment housekeeping

A frequent commenter on Church of the Churchless posts asked me to delete his comments, which I’ve done. So the thread of a series of comments now may be a bit difficult to make sense of, since sometimes other people commented on a deleted comment.

I’ve taken the liberty of editing comments that started off with a mention of the commenter’s name, as in “Dear _____” or “______, you said.” I figured that it would be less confusing to leave out the name since the comment being referred to no longer can be read. However, occasionally this left the impression of a comment on a comment floating in commentless air. Oh, well. No big deal.

While on the subject of comments, I love it when someone shares an opinion on this Church of the Churchless blog. I avidly read every comment and email sent to me regardless of whether I agree with what was said. Feedback, whether positive or negative, connects us with others.

I frequently think of a quote attributed to C.S. Lewis in the movie “Shadowlands.” We read to know that we are not alone. Yes, but now the Internet allows us to read—and then write to the person who wrote what we just read. Who then may choose to write to us about our reading of his or her writing. And so on, lessening aloneness.

However, the Internet also can foster separation. People can communicate anonymously, sharing their thoughts with other nameless and faceless recipients. It is easy to forget that a real live person is using a keyboard to type in those ideas, and a real live person is reading them on a computer screen. This can lead to things being said remotely in cyberspace that wouldn’t be said face-to-face in a physical space.

On my other weblog, last month I wrote about the National Spelling Bee, free-associating into an anecdote about seeing William Simon on C-Span. Simon is a conservative who ran for governor of California in 2002. I said:

“Simon was giving some sort of Heritage Foundation talk, judging by the banner hanging behind his podium. He was blathering on, as is his wont, about how the United States is a Christian nation, with 90% of our citizens believing in Jesus. Simon said that religion (Christianity, obviously) should be taught in schools because it is so obviously part of our culture.

A Pakistani audience member rose and told Simon that he couldn’t believe in Christ, but that the Koran contained many references to Jesus and Mary. He wondered what sort of place he had in America, given Simon’s remarks.

It was interesting to see how William Simon changed his tune when faced with a real live non-Christian standing before him, rather than with merely his own abstract political/theological notions. Here he was, having to answer an obviously intelligent, concerned, caring person who didn’t believe how he did.

Simon said that everybody had a right to their own faith or lack of faith, but that 90% of Americans believed in a higher power. A few minutes before it was ‘in Jesus;’ now it was ‘in a higher power.’”

What I could see happening, as Simon had to look into the eyes of the Pakistani and speak to him directly, was a softening of his previous harshness toward non-Christians. I’m not saying that Simon had changed his opinions at all, but the manner in which he expressed them became more respectful. Speaking person to person is different than speaking to a featureless crowd.

When I write something that is going to appear on the Internet, I try to visualize my intended readership sitting right in front of me, whether this be a single person or—in my grandiosity—all of humanity.

If I feel strongly about a subject it’s all too easy to forget that other people hold a differing opinion that seems equally valid to them. Visualizing an audience comprised of both agreers and disagreers helps to remind me that whatever I wouldn’t say to someone face to face, I shouldn’t broadcast in cyberspace (even though I surely do this at times).

“Speak unto others as you would have others speak unto you.” That sums it up pretty well for me. Almost always Church of the Churchless commenters are in tune with this adage. Passion doesn’t preclude courtesy. Speaking strongly isn’t at odds with speaking respectfully.

If you want to see an example of truly unbridled, no holds barred, hit-em-where-it-hurts cyberdebating, take a look at the many comments on my HinesSight post about the most beautiful woman in the world. That’s a subject that stirs real passion.

More criticism of Radha Soami Satsang Beas

A few days ago I got an email from a long-time member of Radha Soami Satsang Beas (RSSB), the spiritual group that I’ve been affiliated with since 1971. This person was stimulated to write after reading a comment posted to my “Why I embrace unorganized religion” post.

You’ll see that my correspondent begins by quoting an excerpt from that comment and then heads off from there. Now, I don’t want this Church of the Churchless blog to become overly focused on criticism of a single small religious organization.

But the reality is that my current preference for churchlessness is an evolution from my previous attachment to a church—the “Church” of RSSB. So my personal experience with organized religion stems from this source, as does the experience of my correspondent and quite a few others who visit the Church of the Churchless.

If I had remained a Catholic, I’d be focusing on the rigidity, narrow-mindedness, and self-righteousness of Catholicism right now, because this would be the religion that I knew best. Instead, I’m making the same criticisms of RSSB, because that is the religion I’m most familiar with.

My point is that what’s written below speaks of the failings of RSSB and its members. Yet these failings are present in all organized religions, as is pointed out by the author.

With my correspondent’s permission I edited the original message, taking out some overly personal content and making a few grammatical changes. So much evident thoughtful passion went into the writing of the message, I felt that it deserved a wider audience than just me.

Here it is:
-------------------------------------------
Netemara said: The dealings you have with the higher ups in RSSB are because you had dealings with them of a dishonest or whatever type in past life and you are here reaping it and are not being grateful. Shame on you Brian. It's all there for you to see when you are ready to see it. It is as plain as the nose on your face.

Shame on you? Good grief.

It always bothered me that satsangis [RSSB initiates] often tended to sum up morality as basically:
--don’t have sex with anybody but your spouse
--karma is simply “whatever is done to you, you did to others”
--ahimsa is just about being a vegetarian and not killing spiders

There’s no interest in studying what ahimsa truly is, or any of the other yamas or niyamas. But then satsangis don’t need to study the subtle aspects of eastern (or western) philosophy, ethics, and morality because we are above all that. Just do your meditation and all the virtues will appear.

If you are a vegetarian, you won’t incur bad karma; bad things won’t happen to you. Never mind that you destroy people mentally, emotionally, physically, or financially. Never mind that you are deeply disturbed, because if you’re a vegetarian and won’t even kill a bug, you’re swell!. The rest is just karmic adjustment ‘til you’re outtahere.

I wish I could invent a Crapometer. Or how about a Dogmameter? You know, something that goes ding, ding, ding, flashes bright lights, and has a dial that indicates how much crap or dogma is being dispensed. However, sigh, I suppose it would probably ding incessantly for everyone and we would all have to remain in silence forever.

Jungian psychology points out that institutions (religious, government, medical, you name it) eventually become obstacles to the very purposes for which they were created. They take on a life of their own and survival becomes the first priority. Anyone who questions the institution is a threat, and those who depend on the institution for their livelihood, power, or self-image are likewise threatened and take appropriate action.

In the end, perhaps the institution becomes the crucible (or part of it) in which self-realization is forged as one encounters the limitations and flaws of the institution and those in it, including oneself. The more adherents behave in deluded and unenlightened ways, the more opportunities one has for self-inquiry, self-awareness, enlightenment, developing humility, and all that.

Originally, I would not have said that Sant Mat, the institution, is a cult. But of course it is—having characteristics of both the benign and malignant type of cult. That’s what most institutions become. This is what ordinary folks do with their beliefs, create cults.

Even “Treasure Beyond Measure” describes Charan Singh’s challenges with those who thought they were running the Dera. I would nominate Charan Singh for sainthood just for being able to graciously deal with thousands of deluded satsangis behaving as they do. On the audio tapes, he certainly seemed to be trying to end the superstitions, dogmatic interpretations, rumors, and abuses of the teachings.

Over the years I have observed that there are a number of aware, insightful, broadminded, and/or independent satsangis who never attend satsang meetings at all. There are some that I have known or know of who come out of the woodwork only for bhandaras and Baba Ji’s visits or to go to the Dera – and have not attended satsang for years, even decades.

And, the deluded whisper that the reason these folks don’t attend satsang is they are “not right with the path.” Unless, of course, they have connections with the in-crowd. Then, hey, everything’s cool. Otherwise, the current dogma stands: “good devoted satsangis” attend satsang and serve and never question the Master’s organization.

Rather than becoming self-realized and God-realized, I believe I have observed what is probably called regression in some long-time satsangis. I also think aspects of the teachings support people with that tendency and/or those who haven’t adapted to life very well. They find reasons in Sant Mat to justify their negative attitudes toward others and the world, avoidance of responsibilities, antisocial behaviors, and so on. Of course this might apply to any religion. That may not be what the masters intended, but it is definitely how some folks interpret parts of the teachings.

Netemara said that spiritual growth is a myth. Well, now, isn’t that convenient? We are not going to become self-realized or God-realized. We just want to get outtahere and escape from physical existence. I am weary of satsangis saying that they don’t want to have to come back for another lifetime. It seems that they just want to leave this plane of reality because they don’t like what is manifesting in their lives and have hostility toward people and the world in general.

Now we can have a bumper sticker to rival the Christians: “We are not perfect, just saved.” I guess our exit will be a little less messy than the Christian rapture, though. One at a time instead of en masse.

How can you make spiritual progress without the foundation of ethics, morality, self-inquiry, and looking on all other beings with love and compassion? Is that not the foundation upon which meditation is based? Isn’t that Sant Mat 101? Both Master Charan Singh and Master Gurinder Singh said that what you see is what you get; if you haven’t attained any self- or God-realization, death won’t magically transform you.

Someone commented on your blog that satsangis don’t shun or ostracize others. Well, I’m sorry to be the one to break the news, but, yes, they do. Of course some people are made to feel shunned or ostracized in Sant Mat. I have experienced it; I am aware of it being done to others for different reasons.

In Netemara’s world, it appears this would be tit-for-tat. Na na na na na na. However, the way I see it, the shunning and judgment more likely is going on because someone violates the party line, group or individual delusions, control issues, personal issues, and/or shadows that others are uncomfortable with, or are trying to suppress or avoid. Folks are feeling a tad threatened. Shouldn’t we want to look at this and have clear insight into human behavior? Well, no, I’m told. Such questions shouldn’t be asked.

If I should attempt to discuss the insights of other paths, religions, philosophies, Jungian or Buddhist psychology, you name it, I am treated like a heretic and dismissed as if the true believers are already beyond all this. If I mention the wonderful loving people I have known who were of other faiths and their insights, and say that we shouldn’t condemn others, I am treated like a heretic.

Perhaps some satsangis are protecting their yet-fragile faith. Some ex-satsangis now appear to need to invalidate the path (through fact or fabrication, whatever it takes) so they don’t have to feel guilty about distancing themselves from it. But aren’t they doing this because they believed that Sant Mat is the only valid path to God? Just like the Catholic Church?

The alternative is being excommunicated from the church and barred from heaven (and doomed to hell) for eternity—or doomed to transmigrate under the domain of Kal for eternity. Or as one poor soul said: “The master will drag you and you can never get away from him, he sees everything you do.” Hmmm, which is worse? (And, even more importantly, what does all of this say about Santa Claus?) We are the victims of our own narrow thinking, and then have to dig our way out of the hell we have created for ourselves.

This brings me back to your question. Where is the awareness, insight, wisdom and radiant love after all these years of spiritual practice? My recent readings in Buddhist and Jungian psychology, other paths and religions, and Taoism have helped me progress more in recent years than twenty-five years of attending satsang. Well, I must give credit where it is due. All those years were part of the journey. They set the stage and created the fertile ground for my current studies and introspection.

As a satsangi, I found your book “Return to the One” a breath of fresh air because it didn’t insert advertisements for the “perfect living master” and sant mat dogma throughout. I am relieved to hear that Master Gurinder Singh encouraged you in that direction.

Here is my current mantra: “Religion is for those who are afraid of going to hell; spirituality is for those who have already been there.”

Filtering reality

The morning after I wrote “Why I embrace unorganized religion” I had an Aha! moment that smoothly spoke in a few words what I had struggled to express in several pages. Writing is a mystery. For me, the process seems to stir up the contents of my cranium, loosening up what had been fixed, uncovering what had been hidden.

Much of the mental stew sinks back to the bottom of the pot again. Some rises to the surface of consciousness, bubbling over with a fresh insight. Such as…

Clinging to a filter that obscures reality is a primary vice of organized religion and its fundamentalist followers.

Filters. We all have them. The words of the language(s) we use are filters. Our memories and beliefs are filters. There are many kinds of filters that come between us and reality, personalizing our perception of the universal.

I don’t know enough about this subject to speak about it in a scholarly fashion. So I’ll stick with the intuitive flash that burst in my brain yesterday: What gripes me the most about fundamentalists, whether they be members of the RSSB faith that I’ve been associated with or followers of some other religion, is that they cling so strongly to filters that cloud their vision of reality.

Again, no one sees things as they are. At the least, I’m going to be conscious of what is, or seems to be, via my own consciousness. So there’s going to be an “I-filter” no matter what. I perceive; I think; I feel; I imagine. I can’t experience reality in any other fashion except through me.

Whoever I am, and I’m still trying to figure that out, I’m not simple. My life history, genetic heritage, and god knows what else have combined to produce a complex web of predispositions, proclivities, prejudices, and presuppositions that clothe naked experience in many coats of many colors.

I can’t help that. Neither can you. Innate ways of looking at the world (such as a bias toward pessimism or optimism, skepticism or belief, thinking or feeling) are so ingrained in our being it is terribly difficult to make major changes to the primal “I-filter.” How many people do you know, leaving aside the mentally ill, whose basic personalities have markedly changed over the course of their adult lives?

It’s the filters we place over the lens of our consciousness voluntarily (or quasi-voluntarily) that I hold people accountable for. These conceptual filters are much more apparent both to our own self and to others. We should be able to recognize when we’re blatantly distorting reality by viewing things through the prism of our beliefs. This is the value of collegial give and take, of frank discussions where other people point out our biases, of forums like this where ideas are shared and challenged.

Unfortunately, religious beliefs tend to be intractable. Political opinions are changed much more easily than religious opinions. In large part this is because true believers don’t regard them as alterable opinions, but as set-in-stone facts. Jesus saves. Guru is god. Allah will judge. Buddha-nature is compassion. When a fundamentalist of any stripe has come to believe in, well, a fundamental conception about the nature of reality, this belief filter is laid over their innate “I-filter,” thereby doubling his or her distortions.

As I described in my previous post, my goal in writing “Return to the One” was to present Plotinus’ mystic philosophy as accurately and clearly as possible. Necessarily I was going to have to write about his teachings through the filter of my own self, for “Brian Hines” was going to be on the cover of the book, not “Objective Truth.” But I struggled diligently to separate my personal conceptions from Plotinus’ own views.

An aside: it’s sort of ironic (or, some might say, karmic) how I began working on a book that ended up changing how I viewed Radha Soami Satsang Beas and, more generally, my whole approach to spirituality. For it was the guru of RSSB, Master Gurinder Singh, who suggested to me various mystics who might serve as worthy subjects for a “Mystics of the West” book. One of these was Plotinus, to whom I was most attracted.

Further, it was Master Gurinder Singh who looked me in the eye at an author’s meeting in India and said, “Stick with Plotinus, of course,” after I had asked him, “If I find a conflict between the teachings of Plotinus and of RSSB, which should I go with in this book?” So the guru himself, who I have a lot of respect for, advised the obvious: a book about Plotinus should be about Plotinus, not some other philosophy.

Apparently the RSSB staff who gave me so much trouble about “Return to the One” didn’t get this message. For they couldn’t help viewing my book through the filter of their faith in Radha Soami Satsang Beas. This isn’t all that surprising—one would expect that the Vatican would try to put a Catholic spin on any book that it was considering publishing—but RSSB holds itself up as a “science of the soul” and not a typical religion.

Well, I’m still waiting to be convinced about that. I have a thick file folder filled with emails between me and the RSSB staff where a depressingly repetitive theme is evident. Basically, it went like this:

Me: “Please tell me why you think the manuscript needs to be changed. Is there something poorly written? If so, I’ll improve it. Is there something not true to the teachings of Plotinus? If so, I’ll fix it.”

Them: either [silence] or: “Consider how your RSSB beliefs relate to Plotinus. Tell the reader how your guru has caused you to understand Plotinus’ spiritual message.”

Me: (if the latter response from Them) “I can’t tell the reader something that isn’t true. I wrote this book, not the guru. My personal self necessarily is reflected in my writing, but I’ve been able to distinguish my own beliefs from Plotinus’ teachings.”

And so it went. I was trying to write a book about Plotinus. They wanted me to write a book about how Plotinus agreed with their own religious beliefs. Not only were they unwilling to view Plotinus in as unfiltered a fashion as possible, I came to realize that they actually were proud of how immovable was their distorted view of reality. While I was trying to see Plotinus as clearly as possible, they wanted him colored with RSSB paints.

That I couldn’t do and still be honest both to myself and to Plotinus. So I ended up going my own way with the book. And increasingly, with my spirituality.

I want to emphasize that I don’t consider myself to be free of prejudices and blind spots. However, I know myself well enough to be confident in saying, “I’m doing my best to see reality as it is, not as how I believe it to be.”

No religion will say the same thing. If it does, then it isn’t a religion. It’s a science. Science tries to remove as many filters as possible from man’s perception of reality; a religion tries to impose an additional filter on believers. This is how I distinguish science and religion.

By their attitude toward filters shall you know them.

Why I embrace unorganized religion

Regular Church of the Churchless readers will have noted my antipathy toward organized religions and my corresponding fondness for spiritual independence.

It’s worth asking, “How did you become such an anti-church curmudgeon, Brian?” And since I don’t hear anyone else making this query, I’ll pose and answer it myself as briefly as possible (which won’t be all that brief, given my blogging style).

I won’t spend time delving into the psychological nuances of the first five decades of my life, other than to say that I was blessed to be raised by a divorced mother with decidedly intellectual and independent tendencies. And also, cursed. For a person’s greatest strengths also are the source of his or her greatest weaknesses.

Over the years I have probably thought more than was desirable, as I have excessively railed against organizational restrictions. Still, who I am is who I am, an unavoidable tautology that applies equally to each of us.

Up until about seven years ago I was fairly comfortable with the religious organization to which I have belonged for thirty-four years: Radha Soami Satsang Beas, or RSSB. I realize that this name won’t be familiar to many of you. However, it isn’t important to understand what sort of spiritual group RSSB is, for the themes I’ll be writing about seem to apply to virtually every religious organization—from the vast Catholic Church to the smallest sect.

I say this because over the years I’ve talked with quite a few people whose experiences have been remarkably similar to mine. A Bahai follower comes to mind. He was active in the Bahai faith and became familiar with its inner workings. The more he learned about the organization that lay behind the Bahai teachings, the more he perceived the gap between leaders’ words and actions.

That is, they were talking the talk, but not walking the walk. We all do this. I certainly am guilty of espousing ideals that I don’t live up to. But our goal should be to bring the talk and the walk into consonance: not pretending to be anything other than we are, while still striving to improve ourselves. Otherwise, we are hypocrites.

Now, a recent commenter on one of my posts implied that a spiritual group such as RSSB shouldn’t be judged on the basis of its members. At first I agreed with him, but I’ve been thinking about this off and on for a few days and have decided that I tend more toward disagreement (hey, I’m a Libra—I rarely come down solidly on one side or another).

For how else could you judge the worth of a religious organization whose stated aim is the spiritual transformation of those who pledge allegiance to it and to its leader (in this case, a guru)? If the members of the group aren’t becoming better human beings, wouldn’t you be justified in saying that the organization is failing to achieve its purpose?

Consider the Tai Chi classes that I started taking less than a year ago. Obviously I’m still a beginner, while some people in the class have been learning Tai Chi from my instructor, Warren, for over five years. Naturally Warren is highly proficient in Tai Chi. Since he’s the instructor, he should be. But what if I saw that most of the people who had been studying with him for a long time were as bad at Tai Chi as I am?

In other words, outwardly they hadn’t learned much about how to move in the harmonious, controlled, soft, continuous, flexible Tai Chi fashion. Maybe inwardly they were flowing with chi (ki). That just wasn’t apparent from their actions. In this case I’d say to myself, “Gosh, this can’t be a good Tai Chi school, given how little students learn in five years.”

This conclusion wouldn’t negate the teacher’s clear competency in Tai Chi. It just would mean that either he’s inherently a lousy teacher, or the methods he’s using to teach aren’t effective. It might also be that the students are bumbling fools, but if they appeared to be competent in other areas of their lives and were physically normal, I’d discount that explanation.

In truth, I’ve observed that the people who have studied longest with Warren are, by and large, the best at Tai Chi. A few even seem to be as proficient as he is, which shows that he’s an excellent instructor.

Yet in the case of RSSB, my experience was different. I came to see that those people who had pursued the practices enjoined by this group for the longest time, and apparently with the most diligence, hadn’t made much outwardly evident spiritual progress. And one of those people was me.

This realization struck while I was in the midst of writing my third book, “Return to the One,” which is about the spiritual teachings of a 3rd century Greek philosopher, Plotinus. Radha Soami Satsang Beas wanted to add a Mystics of the West series to their existing Mystics of the East series. I agreed to write this book in cooperation with RSSB, hopefully fulfilling both my own literary goals and those of the spiritual organization to which I had belonged for so long.

Given the length this post already has achieved, it would unduly stretch the reader’s patience if I were to go into many details of the eight-year process of researching and writing “Return to the One.” I’ll just say that it was enormously fulfilling. And also enormously frustrating.

Fulfilling, because I came to love Plotinus’ marvelous blend of grounded rationality and soaring mysticism. Frustrating, because I came to realize that high-ranking people in the RSSB organization were surprisingly beset with such human frailties as egotism, a controlling nature, closed-mindedness, and an unwillingness to compromise.

I say “surprisingly” for this reason: Naturally I was uncomfortably aware of my own weaknesses that remained after decades of daily meditation, adherence to moral/ethical vows, voluntary service, and so on. Yet I had always assumed that others who occupied an elevated position in the RSSB organization were more spiritual than I was, just as the experienced Tai Chi students in my class exhibit greater skills than I do.

This didn’t seem to be the case, however. And I’ll pretty much leave it at that, not naming names and not detailing the reasons for my disillusionment. In a few words, in the course of writing “Return to the One” I was deceived, let down, lied to, ignored, and manipulated. Such is par for the course in a business or governmental organization, but I had expected better from a spiritual group.

Hopefully I don’t sound bitter. Really, I’m not. Certainly I was disappointed at having years of my work be cast aside by people who I had trusted would treat me better. However, having lived for fifty-six years on this earth I understand, as the saying goes, that “nobody promised me a rose garden.” No, this was more a philosophical turning point for me than an emotional personal crisis.

For it finally had dawned on me that just as the RSSB people in leadership positions had failed to be spiritually transformed after many years of diligent devotional practice, so had I. Yet the difference between us was that they were much closer to the leader of this religious group, the guru, than I was. They also were much more intimately tied into the inner organizational workings of RSSB than I was. In Catholic parlance they’d be considered Vatican insiders with ready access to the Pope.

What I observed happening—and my psychotherapist wife agrees with me on this—is that holding a position of power in a religious organization exacerbates the common human tendency to assert one’s ego and exert control over other people.

Simple egotism and a desire to dominate are transformed into a more complex self-righteousness which justifies frailties as positive qualities. For example, closed-mindedness can be misconstrued as unquestioning faith and inability to compromise as acceptance of revealed truths.

In Bertrand Russell’s provocative essay, “Why I am not a Christian,” he says:

One is often told that it is a very wrong thing to attack religion, because religion makes men virtuous. So I am told; I have not noticed it…You find this curious fact, that the more intense has been the religion of any period and the more profound has been the dogmatic belief, the greater has been the cruelty and the worse has been the state of affairs…I say quite deliberately that the Christian religion, as organized in its churches, has been and still is the principal enemy of moral progress in the world.

Note that Russell speaks disparagingly of Christian religion “as organized in its churches.” He considers that belief in God is a fantasy, but reserves his harshest condemnation of religion for its institutionalized, not individual, manifestations.

So do I, though I am uncertain about the existence of God, while Russell says that “it is a conception quite unworthy of free men.” I’ve seen that whenever believers come to identify more with a particular religious organization, such as RSSB or the Catholic Church, than with an ultimate reality that transcends such petty distinctions, their spirituality becomes seriously circumscribed.

I don’t know if God is real, but I am confident that reality is real. For me, the essence of reality is what I call “God.” What it is, I don’t know. That it is, I’m persuaded by logic and science. How to realize it clearly is the mystery of all mysteries, the task of all tasks. If God can be known, and the testimony of mystics points to this conclusion, then opening oneself to a realization of the divine nature is the job of a lifetime.

I’m confident that God speaks to us in many ways. Directly, though—not through third parties. And certainly not through organizations. Religious organizations are dead. They’re legal and cultural figments of the imagination. They have no reality, no vitality, no consciousness, no love, no compassion.

When people fall into the trap of saying “I’m a Christian,” “I’m a Muslim,” or “I’m a satsangi” (in the case of RSSB), they enclose themselves in one more layer of illusion. This further distances them both from God and from their fellow human beings.

Like this fair façade, their spirituality may be superficially attractive. Yet a closer examination reveals that it lacks depth and is flimsily propped up by artificial supports: dogma, blind faith, self-righteousness, unquestioned adherence to arbitrary moral codes.

Based upon my personal experience, here’s some advice:

It’s un-organized religion that will make you a better person and point you toward the reality of God. Don’t let anyone or anything stand between you and what you seek. Worship without any intermediaries.

Become your own church. Just don’t organize your faith. Organization is a structure. What we want to do is break down the barriers between us and God, not construct new ones. Let reality speak to you in its own formless fashion.

Above all, love one another. I may not be a Christian, but I certainly subscribe to this part of the gospel. If people in your religious organization aren’t demonstrating that they understand the importance of love, flee. It’s much better to love on your own than not love as a group.

On deciding for oneself

I’ve enjoyed reading David’s comments on my “I is a humble word” post. One of the points he makes is that people shouldn’t take a guru’s statements—and, by implication, those of any other spiritual leader—as ex cathedra (infallible).

David argues cogently that Charan Singh, like many mystic masters, conveyed contradictory messages to different people. For example, (1) laws should be obeyed and (2) do this illegal thing. So, he says, “Which one is the ex-cathedra, eh?”

Good question. There seem to be two ways of approaching an answer.

One is to consider that each of the contradictory pieces of advice was perfectly suited for the person being advised (which allows a devoted disciple to continue to believe in the “perfect living master”). The other is to accept that ethics and morality are relative concepts, and gurus are as enmeshed in relativity as are the rest of us (meaning, they don’t have a fix on absolutes concerning worldly life).

David describes some examples of how Charan Singh’s advice appeared correct from the inside, the point of view of the advisee, but could have seemed wrong from someone else’s perspective.

He concluded with a statement that I heartily agree with: “Please do not make master into another pope.” No, I certainly don’t want to do that. One pope already is too many. Like David, I have no problem with viewing the guru, or any other spiritual leader, as someone who offers advice about how to live in the world which people can take to heart, or not, depending on whether the advice makes sense to them.

All of us need advice from an expert from time to time, whether this be an accountant, doctor, lawyer, auto mechanic, dietician, psychotherapist, or spiritual leader. When this happens one on one, person to person, it’s difficult to call that sort of advising absolutist or ex cathedrist.

However, here’s where I differ with David. When a collection of supposedly purely personal advice is formed into a book, as was the case with the letters to disciples in “Quest for Light” by Charan Singh, then the obvious intent is for this advice to be promulgated widely far beyond the original individual recipient.

It’s as if I were to ask a financial advisor what mix of investments would be most suitable for my personal situation. He writes me an answer—“Basically, 60/40 in stocks/bonds”—and then publishes verbatim that same piece of advice in a newspaper column without mentioning that it is suitable only for people like me.

In this situation, which is almost exactly comparable to that of “Divine Light” and many other similar what-the-guru-said books, you’d be hard-pressed to come to any other conclusion than that the advice giver intended his advice to be generally applicable. If this weren’t the case, then the financial advisor wouldn’t have written the column and Charan Singh wouldn’t have authorized publication of the book.

It is true that devoted disciples often make “popes” out of spiritual leaders who would rather not be elevated so highly. But it also is true, as with Charan Singh, that the mantle of infallible perfection is willingly accepted once it has been proclaimed.

As a final note, I’ve been reading an interesting book by Charles Freeman, “The Closing of the Western Mind: The Rise of Faith and the Fall of Reason” (note the “review” by Freeman himself on this Amazon page, written in response to other reader reviews; Freeman practices what he preaches, open-minded rational exchanges). The central theme of the book is that the rise of Christianity thrust the Western world into a dark age after the Greek intellectual tradition was abandoned.

This morning, in a chapter about Paul, I read:

When Paul composed responses to his communities in the turbulent and confused years after Jesus’ death, years that Paul believed were a prelude to the imminent second coming, he could hardly have expected that they would be given the status of universal and authoritative truths and be used in contexts totally different from those in which he had written them.

One consequence of Paul’s elevation as a theologian was to shift the emphasis away from his personality, yet it is certainly arguable that his own psychological needs defined the distinctive teachings that he preached to his communities and should be central to any study of him….He appears never to have married and to have been ill at ease with sexuality, above all homosexuality.

This is what happens over and over with religious writings: they get elevated from the personal to the universal. Paul can’t be blamed for his letters being enshrined as dogma after his death. But when a spiritual leader allows such to occur during his or her lifetime, then much of the responsibility for fostering a climate of moral absolutism has to fall on that leader.

When I got divorced some sixteen years ago, fundamentalist disciples of Charan Singh would mail me copies of pages from his books where he had spoken about the sanctity of marriage and the wrongfulness of divorce. I didn’t appreciate this intrusion into my personal life. I knew what was best for me, my now ex-wife, and my daughter much better than anyone else did.

I’m not saying that all fundamentalists are so judgmental. Many, hopefully, understand that love is a greater good than judgment: “Judge not, that ye be not judged.”

Of course, you can also find lots of admonitions in the Bible to judge. Contradictions abound in every holy book, as the wonderful Skeptic’s Annotated Bible makes clear. Each of us has to make up our own mind about spirituality. Otherwise, it’s roll the dice and take your chances with someone else’s gamble on God.

Existence exists. Amazing!

There’s something. And I’m part of it, as are you. This simple fact is so amazing, it should be a daily wonderment—the Wow! that keeps on wowing through all of life’s routines and trivialities.

Existence exists. Seemingly there could have been nothing, though this is a subject that philosophers love to debate: can “nothing” be? Parmenides, I seem to recall, said “no.” Calling something nothing makes it something—a nothing. Buddhists similarly speak of the emptiness of emptiness, though speaking in this fashion fills the void with words, displacing the emptiness.

My head hurts when I think too much about existence. But I get an enjoyable chill up my spiritual spine when I simply try to wrap my psyche around existence. Not in a wordy way. In, well, an existential way. This happens when I try to let the stark reality of existence blow the roof off all my notions about what exists, when I try to strip away thoughts about all that is until the skeleton of a bare is remains.

For me, existence pure and simple is absolutely real, though I’ve never seen, heard, smelled, touched, or tasted it. I have no idea what it is, this essence of everything that can’t be a thing itself and certainly isn’t nothing either. I feel it much more than I think it. Not emotionally, but like sensing an invisible presence in a dark room that you know you’ll never be able to put your finger on.

Yet, is there. Oh yes, is surely there. So there, it’s more there than solid, substantial things. Existence somehow can make us starkly aware of its omnipresence without revealing the barest hint of its essential nature (assuming it has one).

My experience of the mystery of existence seems to be more abstract than that related by others. However, we seem to be touching the fringes of the same profound sense of wonder. John Horgan, for example, writes in his excellent essay “Beyond Belief”:

One of my fondest altered-state memories dates back [to] my late teens. I was sitting alone on the porch of my parents' house on a warm summer night. My mother and father had gone to a party, and my brother and three sisters were in a room just above me watching television. There was a kind of urgency in the air; the trees shimmered like dark flames against the starry sky, and the crickets and cicadas seethed and pulsed toward a crescendo. So loud was this insect symphony that I barely heard the inane laughter from a television sitcom drifting down from the open window above me.

I was suddenly overcome with astonishment that I exist, that the world exists, that anything exists. I wanted to run upstairs, grab my siblings, and tell them to stop watching that stupid TV show and pay attention to the miracle of being right there in front of them. Fortunately, I restrained myself. But everything I have learned and experienced since then has reinforced my sense of the unutterable mysteriousness of things.

Horgan notes that a British Buddhist, Stephen Bachelor, wrote about a similar experience. This, Bachelor says, was not “an illumination in which some final, mystical truth became momentarily very clear. For me it gave no answers. It only revealed the massiveness of the question.”

Yes, the question is massive indeed. As massive as everything that exists, and then some. Leibniz phrased the query as “Why is there something rather than nothing?” Unlike Bachelor, though, Leibniz answered his own question: Because of God. That’s an unsatisfying answer, but it worked for Leibniz. I have to ask a follow-up, though: “Why is there God rather than nothing?”

In the end, the mystery of existence is insoluble. I’ve read all or part of some heavy-duty philosophical books on this subject, and I’m pretty sure that the authors would agree that either Leibniz’ question can’t be confidently answered, or the question itself is meaningless (See “The Mystery of Existence” by Milton K. Munitz, “The Faces of Existence” by John F. Post, and “The Philosophy of Existence” by John Micallef. None of these books could be called light-reading.)

As was noted in an earlier post about Plotinus’s vision of the One, even a cutting-edge physicist such as Brian Greene, who is used to dealing with exceedingly abstract and far out cosmological concepts, says that a primal state of existence beyond space and time as we know it “pushes most people’s powers of comprehension to the limit.”

Still, I believe that even this is an understatement—pushes over the edge is more like it, presuming that you open yourself up to the mystery of existence and let it serve as a spiritual bulldozer. Or, if you prefer an attractive rather than repulsive metaphor, as the Mother of All Black Holes.

Existence is warm, fuzzy, and all too familiar if you keep yourself at a fair distance. But, as Horgan and Bachelor experienced, lurking beneath the surface of our habitual everyday perceptions is something more. A lot more. So much more that we can’t even begin to imagine it.

Plotinus called it “the One.” He said that you’ll never know it from the outside. However, if every possible distinction between you and the One is erased, then you can know it from the inside, as your very self. Which makes perfect sense (Plotinus was a rational mystic), for if we exist, then knowing the nature of Existence with a capital “E” should be feasible.

The problem is, few of us genuinely want to be one with Existence. Or, if you like, “God.” The prospect of being sucked irrevocably into that freaking ultimate mystery of all mysteries is just too much for our egos to envision, much less actually experience.

Believe me, I can relate to Horgan’s honest words: “One morning, I confessed to my journal that in spite of my professed interest in cultivating mystical wonder, I am actually quite content to remain in my ordinary dull-witted state. Deep down, I fear confrontation with reality. I keep it at arm’s length by turning it into an intellectual puzzle.”

In my first book, “God’s Whisper, Creation’s Thunder,” I wrote back in 1994: “The pieces of the jigsaw puzzle of life remain only so long as we ourselves are a part of the puzzle. If you have done your best to fit together the puzzle, and find—as has the new physics—that some pieces needed to arrive at a complete understanding of existence seem to be missing, consider this: is it possible that the very consciousness which is trying to solve the puzzle is the only missing piece? Is there a way for you, yourself, to become the piece which completes the jigsaw puzzle of reality?”

I still think so. And I’m still trying to become that missing piece of the puzzle.

I am. Existence is. That’s the logical answer to the Big Question. But logic isn’t experience. I’m still waiting for the Cosmic Bulldozer or Black Hole to push/pull me from the idea into the reality. Patience, grasshopper. Patience.

[Those who want to dive right away into an intellectual black hole of philosophical musings about the mystery of existence can click here, here, here, and here.]

Celebrate your spiritual independence

The fourth of July is when we in the United States celebrate our country’s declaration of independence from Great Britain. It’s also a good day for anyone in the world to celebrate his or her independence from Small-Minded Religion.

Religions don’t start out this way, though: small-minded. Without exception the source of each great religion can be traced to people who somehow were able to break the bounds of normal human consciousness and experience truths beyond the sphere of everyday existence.

Moses, Abraham, Jesus, Muhammad, Buddha, Lao Tzu, Nanak, early Hindu sages: all shared with humankind a remarkably original revelation or philosophy. While culturally they necessarily followed in the footsteps of historical predecessors, their spiritual attainments broke new ground.

As is the case with mystics in general. It’s difficult to make contact with the divine. Reading holy books, worshipping in holy places, obeying holy men and women, carrying out holy works—these things are easy to do. They’re within the capability of almost anyone.

Such is the province of small-minded religion, where the limitless experience of great mystics is reduced to narrow confines. Jesus, Buddha, Lao Tzu, and their spiritual brethren refused to be constrained by the accepted religious teachings of their day. This is why they are called “great”: they stood above shallow traditions, possessing a vision that pierced the clouds of conventional wisdom.

In short, they were spiritually independent. But independence only grows well in the wild. It doesn’t thrive when transplanted into the rows and furrows of garden-variety religion, for the priestly classes consider spiritual independence to be a vice, not a virtue.

The strange thing, of course, is that the revered founder(s) of every religion possessed the very quality that “protectors of the faith” now assiduously attempt to stamp out in followers. Namely, an aversion to following. More precisely, an aversion to following any practice that doesn’t lead to direct experience of the highest truths.

Jesus overthrew the small-minded dogmas of the Judaism of his time. But when Meister Eckhart attempted to overthrow the small-minded conceptions of the Catholicism of his time, he was condemned by the Pope as a heretic. Thus spiritual independence becomes a vice after an original independent spiritual vision has become codified into a rigid theology of do’s and don’ts, rights and wrongs, approved truths and condemned heresies.

In my opinion, anyone who reads widely in the diverse literature of the world’s religions, and approaches these writings without preconceived notions of truth and falsehood, must almost necessarily come to this conclusion: There are many ways to the One, or God. For given the marvelous variety of spiritual and mystical experience, it must be that either (1) all but a few of those who report direct contact with the divine are deluded, or (2) divinity appears in a myriad of guises.

I lean strongly toward the second option. I find it extremely difficult to believe that only one person, or one religion, or one spiritual practice leads to the One. If ultimate reality is viewed as a mountain, with the highest truth lying at the summit, then many paths can be taken up the slopes. Only at the very top do the paths converge at unity; diversity otherwise marks the way.

So independence is the hallmark of genuine spirituality. An independent seeker of God, the One, allows divinity to reveal itself without constraints, without preconceptions, without manmade boundaries. There are no hard and fast rules in spiritual mountaineering; you make your way from where you find yourself, blazing your own trail—because your experience belongs to no one but you.

Certainly others can help support and guide you, but obviously they aren’t you. Only you can honor, preserve, protect, and, most importantly, expand, your spiritual independence.

Along these lines, as an addendum to this post I’ll share an excerpt from a 1974 essay, “Live Not by Lies,” by Alexander Solzhenitsyn. Writing in the Soviet Union shortly before he was arrested and exiled to West Germany, he speaks of spiritual independence in a much more political context.

But I liked how he spoke of the choice that must be made for truth or falsehood, spiritual independence or spiritual servitude, regardless of the consequences. The applicability to those who desire to be free not of political domination, but of religious domination, is clear (a seeming typo has been changed, “talk” to “walk”).

“I” is a humble word

I’ve never been one to shy away from the use of “I.” Obviously. This puts me at odds with the powers-that-be who set forth the guidelines for giving talks (a.k.a. satsangs) at meetings of the spiritual group, Radha Soami Satsang Beas (RSSB), where I still hold forth once a month or so. Until I’m fired for heresy by the powers-that-be, that is—an ever present possibility.

Last Sunday I glanced at a memo from the Western RSSB representative, Vince Savarese, which said that it isn’t good for a speaker to say “I” very often. I disagree, so I quickly stopped reading the memo. From my days working in state government I remember the value of being able to respond to criticism from a higher-up with an “Oh, I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to do that. I must not have gotten the memo.”

On our local public broadcasting radio network, OPB, I recently heard an interview with John Danforth. Danforth is a moderate Christian Republican who used to be a U.S. Senator from Missouri. He said that while he agrees with most of President Bush’s policies, he doesn’t like how fundamentalist Christians are inserting themselves into the political process.

Danforth has written two excellent op-ed pieces for the New York Times on this subject. You can read them here and here. The paragraph I like best in his “Onward, moderate Christian soldiers” is:

To assert that I am on God's side and you are not, that only I know God's will, and that I will use the power of government to advance my understanding of God's kingdom is certain to produce hostility. By contrast, moderate Christians see ourselves, literally, as moderators. Far from claiming to possess God's truth, we claim only to be imperfect seekers of the truth.

Which gets me back to why “I” really is a humble, not egotistical, word. Consider the difference in tone between saying “I am searching for the truth” and “This is the truth.” There’s no “I” in the second sentence, but it is hugely more self-assertive—especially when the truth being referred to is religious or spiritual, not scientific or material.

I’m sure that I often sound as if I’m sure about what I’m talking about. For that, I apologize. I should be writing “I believe…,” “I think…,” “I suspect…” and the like more often than I do. In my defense, I assume that the reader knows that what I’m saying is just how I see things, and not how things really are. My spiritual vision is blurry, like most everyone else’s.

Even those regarded by some as Perfect. Such as the Indian guru Charan Singh, and his successor Gurinder Singh. Yesterday three issues of a new RSSB magazine, “Spiritual Link,” arrived in the mail from India. I’ve thumbed through them but find it difficult to resonate with the articles.

For one thing, the frequent use of the phrase “perfect living Master” jars my sensibilities. In the past I’ve used these words in my own writings, so I understand that they reflect an ardent devotion to a spiritual teacher. The devotion is understandable. However, it doesn’t need to be expressed in words that can’t be defended, for they neither reflect a directly experienceable reality nor a loving, humble attitude toward spirituality.

In his other essay Danforth says, “At its best, religion can be a uniting influence, but in practice, nothing is more divisive.” In my opinion, using the word “perfect” to describe a spiritual leader is highly divisive. For it strongly implies that anyone who holds views that are different from those espoused by the Perfect One is, by definition, wrong: imperfect, deluded, uninformed, misguided.

It would be another thing if a devotee were to write, “I look upon _____ as being perfect.” Adding “I” to a statement in this fashion converts it into a profession of personal belief, not a proclamation of universal truth. Strangely, though, in the aforementioned Spiritual Link magazine all articles written by devotees are anonymous, while quotations from spiritual greats are identified by name.

I’ve unsuccessfully argued with the editors that the magazine’s policy should be just the opposite: those who are least likely to be speaking spiritual truth should be named so the qualifications of the “I” doing the saying can be assessed by readers. Also, this would permit mistakes, questionable assertions, and the like to be brought to the attention of the author.

It’s humble to say, “I think… . Now tell me what you think.” It’s egotistical to hide behind a curtain of anonymity that allows you to say whatever you want without being questioned or challenged.

Nobody on this plane of existence is perfect. This is one statement where I’ll omit a prefatory “I believe that… .” Perfection implies unchangeability, or at least perfect harmonization with changing conditions. The human body changes all the time and so does the human mind. It isn’t possible for either body or mind to perfectly mirror the truth of the cosmos, however we might view the nature of that truth.

Yesterday I saw a CNN report that Spain has made gay marriage legal, joining Belgium and the Netherlands (and likely soon, Canada). That made me think about the comment by the supposedly “perfect” guru Charan Singh that I wrote about in my previous post: Homosexuality is contrary to all laws of Nature and no decent society approves it.

Well, now three decent societies have approved of gay marriage, desiring to extend the rights enjoyed by heterosexual couples to homosexuals. Does this mean that Spain, Belgium, and the Netherlands aren’t really “decent” societies? If you believe that Charan Singh was perfect and every utterance of his reflects ultimate spiritual truth, then apparently this is the case.

Naturally I hold a different opinion: Charan Singh had his own views on lots of subjects, as do we all. Some of those views were defensible; others weren’t. His personal opinion about homosexuality was, in my own personal opinion, one of the latter.

I just wish he had been more inclined to say “I believe” and “I think.” For then gay people like Steve, who left a moving comment on that post, would have been less likely to take Charan Singh’s personal opinions on this subject seriously.

Humility is realizing that our “I” doesn’t encompass the big picture, the Eye of God, if you like. It’s honest to say “I.” It’s dishonest to purport that our own individual views reflect the whole of reality.