Church of the Churchless

Keep open a crack in your belief system

Ah, it feels so good to let in the light, to freshen the atmosphere, to relieve the pressure of a claustrophobic enclosure. Not anywhere outside -- within our psyche.

All we need to do is keep open a crack in our meaning-of-life belief system, that conglomeration of thoughts, feelings, intuitions, knowings, and what-not which enable us to get out of bed in the morning, move through life with a sense of purpose, and offer us some answers to what's it all about?

Nothing is 100% certain. Including what I just said.

Hey, there might well be something that is 100% certain. So far, though, it isn't apparent. Even the most intensively validated theories of science, such as quantum theory, are considered by the scientific method to always be open to falsification.

So living in touch with reality requires that we remain open to the possibility that whatever we fervently believe to be true, isn't. Otherwise truth could smack us in the face and we'd pretend that we didn't feel a thing.

If you're absolutely sure that God exists, erase the absolutely in your mind. Ditto if you're absolutely sure that God doesn't exist. Double ditto for any other belief that you don't see yourself ever letting go of, or modifying.

Loosen your hold. Lighten your dogmatism. Lessen your certainty.

I'm not saying that we should uncritically embrace every alternative belief path that appears before us. The human mind generally moves along well-trod patterns for good reasons. Sticking with the tried and seemingly true allows us to learn from experience rather than having to figure out again today what was known yesterday.

However, whenever we find ourselves defending some position with unusally rigid zeal, that could be a sign that a retreat is in order. How far we move back from our personal 100% Certain Maginot Line is up to us.

I don't think it matters much how large the doubt gap is. Truth can slip through the eye of a psychological needle, or a wide open mental barn door.

What counts is that some crack exists in the otherwise solid structure of our belief system. This is where the benefits will come from that I mentioned above: lightness of being, freshness of attitude, relaxing of rigidity.

Recently I was lying in bed, about to fall into sleep, with thoughts of what one day will come -- death -- running through my mind. I mulled over one of my favorite frightening fascinating topics, non-existence.

I recalled how in a conversation with friends a few days ago, someone told a story about an atheist she knew who was in a hospice, close to dying. He kept asking staff and visitors, "What happens next? What happens next?"

Meaning, after death.

Now, since he was an atheist, one would expect that he already had an answer to his own question: nothing. When you're dead, you're dead. No more consciousness, no more existing.

But that prospect can be scary, especially if life feels like it's well worth living. If you're happy being alive, it's only natural to want to hold onto that good feeling for as long as possible.

That's why eternity is so appealing to religiously minded people. They don't believe they'll ever stop existing. To them death is just a transition to an even better life.

I could feel some familiar anxiety arising as I visualized my own non-existence (yes, I know that's impossible). I could tell that it was going to be difficult to fall asleep so long as I felt trapped within the bounds of a reality marked by an absolute finis at the moment of my last breath.

Then I thought, "That isn't absolutely certain. No one knows for sure what happens, or doesn't happen, after death. There's a slight possibility that my consciousness will continue to exist, just as I used to believe."

Instantly I felt the mental pressure subside, like I'd opened a stress-release valve. I relaxed into a pleasant state of who knows? Sure, I still considered that the vastly most likely possibility is that death is The End.

But allowing even a small likelihood of To Be Continued into my mind changed everything. And the same would have been true if my certainty had been in life after death.

Cracks in belief systems are beneficial no matter what the content of our convictions are. It's never healthy to believe that you can't be wrong. That's egotistical, dogmatic, and, well, wrong.

In one of Huston Smith's books he talks of meeting a Zen practitioner who tells him, "I've got a new koan: I could be wrong."

Beautiful. Fully embrace that koan and it seems like enlightenment would be close at hand.

What God is Glenn Beck talking about?

I've been underwhelmed by the religious'y "Restoring Honor" Glenn Beck rally held in Washington D.C. yesterday. Beck's big message was faith, hope, charity.

Wow. What a non-big, and vague, theological surprise.

Our country would supposedly do better if people had more faith in something (God, presumably), had more hope in something (not sure what), and were more charitable (beneficiary of largesse left undefined).

After reading some news reports of what was said at the rally, I'm left with significant philosophical questions and political worries.

On the philosophy front, I'm wondering what God we're supposed to turn back to, as Beck urged.

"Something beyond imagination is happening," he said. "America today begins to turn back to God."

Beck exhorted the crowd to "recognize your place to the creator. Realize that He is our king. He is the one who guides and directs our life and protects us."

Well, all sorts of religions and spiritual teachings refer to God. I've got a Yoga book called "How to know God." With all the interest in Yoga these days, maybe Glenn Beck was talking about embracing Patanjali's sutras.

I sort of doubt it, though. I also suspect that Beck wasn't urging the crowd to worship Allah, which is simply the Arabic name for "God."

Beck reportedly talked a lot about this nation's Founding Fathers, many (if not most) of whom were Deists. Wikipedia says:

Deism (pronounced /ˈdiːɪzəm/, us dict: dē′·ĭzm)^[1][2] is a religious and philosophical belief that a supreme being created the universe, and that this (and religious truth in general) can be determined using reason and observation of the natural world alone, without the need for either faith or organized religion.

Hmmmm.

Our Founding Fathers, such as Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, and John Adams, rejected faith and organized religion. Yet somehow Glenn Beck was able to urge Americans to do the opposite of what our founders practiced in the name of restoring this country to its original values.

I guess this is why PolitiFact's Truth-o-Meter has given Glenn Beck statements eight "false" and "pants-on-fire" ratings, and only two "true" or "mostly true." For a guy who talks about morals so much, it's strange that Beck is so OK with lying.

What bothered me the most about Beck's rally was the attempt to make Christianity into a state religion.

Martin Luther King's niece, Alveda King, is an anti-abortion activist. She came on stage to urge that prayer be put back in schools and the public square. That's how Saudi Arabia and Iran operate. Do we really want to turn our schools into Christian madrasahs?

When I channel surf my way onto conservative talk radio, sometimes I hear crazy talk of how Shariah (Islamic) law is coming to America. Yet Beck and his right-wing colleagues see nothing wrong with imposing some sort of ill-defined Biblical law upon United States citizens.

That said, there's obviously nothing much wrong -- and a lot right -- with faith, hope, and charity. The question is, as with the definition of "God," what exactly are we talking about?

The values of Beck's rally were "faith, hope, and charity."  At first glance most people would agree with these values, including President Obama.  However, disagreements arise when people start talking about what those values really mean as applied to society.

Does faith mean that only the Christian faith as the freedom to build a place of worship wherever they wish, or does it also include the right of a group to build a mosque two blocks away from Ground Zero?

Does hope mean providing every person hope through a government financed college education, or does hope mean that some individuals college dream dies because of a lack of financing?

Does charity involve the government playing a role in helping the poor, or relying on individuals to help the poor through voluntary donations (sparse as they may be)?

"Am I a Who?" better question than "Who am I?"

I'm a cliche. But then, who isn't?

My philosophical approach to life falls squarely into the cliched "I'm spiritual but not religious" vein that we hear so much about nowadays -- using spiritual in a decidedly non-supernatural sense.

So even though I've forsaken organized religion, I continue to enjoy pondering questions that are increasingly appearing to me as imponderable. Such as, "Who am I?"

In one of the comments that make up an interesting interchange on this post, Mike Williams said:

"If I realize that there is no 'self', then why would I think of a 'journey' being completed? I see a 'no-self' not needing any journey at all." quote Roger

That is correct, there is no need for a journey. Only a direct realization of how impersonal thought.... personalizes itself.

The question is transposed from India. The question 'Who am I ?', should actually
be 'Am I a WHO?"

The Western mind understands it clearer that way.

Nicely put.

This is the first time I remember coming across the query Am I a Who? But I'm pretty familiar with Buddhist, Zen, Vedanta, Taoist, and other literature where this is a central focus of the teachings.

It's a great question.

For me, what it does is point to the potential dissolving of the main motivation for seeking some sort of salvation, enlightenment, divinity, self-knowledge, or other "spiritual" goal.

After all, if there's nobody at home inside my psyche to sign for the self-realization package, why should I be concerned with ordering it?

Buddhist meditation teacher Rodney Smith talks about this paradox, or contradiction, in his book "Stepping Out of Self-Deception: the buddha's liberating teaching of no-self."

Smith's central thesis is that most, if not all, of the effort people devote to their spiritual practice is misguided, because this simply strengthens the ties that bind them to the notion that they are individual free will'able selves with the capacity to liberate themselves from ... something or other.

If this whole liberation/salvation game is founded on a false premise -- that the playing field of "I am" or selfhood exists -- then Alfred E. Neumann's famous Mad magazine phrase is right on.

"What, me worry?" No me, no worries. Smith says:

As we have seen in a previous chapter, the sense-of-self builds upon the pain of its own contraction, forming a narrative that when left unimpeded consumes us emotionally, physically, and psychologically. The effort we make can undermine or support the narrative depending upon our view and intention.

Wise Effort is in alignment with the Wise View of interconnectedness and the Wise Intention of retracing our longing back to its source. But like a fine craftsman we must pick exactly the right instrument to satisfy this purpose, or we will be supporting the conditions for self-deception and add further dialogue to our story.

The four R's of Wise Effort are the perfect instruments for this objective. They are relax, release, relinquish, and rejoin. None of these words holds any tension or stress, nor builds upon the "story-of-me." These words represent moments of surrender, not acts of assertion.

They allow us to fall back into ourselves rather than make something of ourselves. They call us back to our inherent nature through Wise View.

The four R's do not build upon the sense-of-self; instead they invert the energy of seeking back to its rightful direction of investigation and discovery. The four R's are counterintuitive because the sense-of-self only survives by constructing itself over time, and these words deconstruct the self by eliminating the scaffolding on which it builds itself.

I'm not on board with the supernatural side of Buddhism. But I like how the central notion of no-self (anatta) is firmly in line with modern neuroscience when stripped of metaphysical speculation.

I like to visualize how I'd feel if I learned that the being I think of as "me" actually is a robot, a computer simulation, or some other entity far different from the self that I consider myself to be.

That is, if I wasn't really who I think I am, would I be as concerned with such questions as "What will be I be after I die?" and "Have I become all that I can be?"?

And if the answer is No, then Buddhism and other "Am I a Who?" teachings are asking a great question.

Heck, it might be the only question spiritual seekers need to ask, since it points toward the possible dissolving of all other meaning-of-life questions.

Spirituality should be like sex: crazily personal

For me, the crazy thing about religion, spirituality, and mysticism is that they aren't crazy enough. People try to justify their attempts to understand God, divinity, and the supernatural through reason, arguments, explanations, apologetics.

Yet since the dawn of recorded history, and likely long before, human beings have tried to prove that some spiritual notions deserve to be elevated above others.

The net result: there is zero, absolutely zero, evidence that any particular metaphysical dogma, belief system, faith, ritual, or practice is demonstrably true.So there's no reason to offer up reasons for accepting this form of spirituality rather than that one.

Why's are not required in this area.

Which is like sex in this regard. The only difference is that spirituality should be guided by the adage if it feels right, believe it, instead of if it feels good, do it.

One of the great things about the Internet is that it has helped reveal the amazing variety of sexual desires, passions, and predilictions. There's little doubt that no matter how unusual or seemingly kinky someone's individual lust-object might be, with a bit of unfiltered Google searching he or she will find that someone else shares that variety of sexuality.

Likewise, spirituality should be equally free of boundaries, constraints, should's, guilt, and "am I normal?" anxieties.

The most respected religious/mystical seers and sages were wildly bizarre, each in his or her quirky way. Jesus, Moses, Buddha, Chuang Tzu, Rumi, assorted Zen masters, mind-body bending yogis, and other historical personages were uniquely individual.

Yet now the faiths which claim to follow in their footsteps demand that devotees march in lockstep rather than dancing freely across the spiritual landscape. People worry unduly about doing the right thing, rather than doing their own thing.

Some people who visit this blog consider me to be analytical, intellectual, reasonable, rational, and scientific. Well, I do indeed manifest these qualities. Sometimes. Other times, like everybody, I'm passionate, intuitive, emotional, crazy, and artistic.

Vive le difference. Not only between the sexes, between everybody.

Just as each of us has unique sexual inclinations, so should we embrace and honor our unique spiritual tastes -- using that term, "spiritual," not in an other-worldly sense, but rather as what turns us on meaning-of-life wise.

Back in 2006 I wrote about this in a blog post, "The virtue of a Playboy philosophy of life."

What I like about the Playboy philosophy is that it recognizes when a hand of facts needs to be laid on the table, and when it’s OK to keep it hidden.

In the private realm, the only fact you have to be concerned about is your own experience. Like to have sex with the opposite gender? That’s a fact. Like to have sex with your own gender? That’s a fact. The end. In my life I haven’t spent even one second trying to justify to myself or anyone else why I’m heterosexual. Homosexuals have a similar right to simply say, “This is who I am. End of story.”

Ditto with other private preferences, moral or otherwise. I prefer vanilla ice cream. You like chocolate. No problem. Each to his own. (However, every time my wife makes Brussels sprouts she asks if I want some and I say “No, I don’t like them.” She then says, “But they’re good for you.” I reply, “I still don’t like them; I’ll have a salad instead.” It’s our little ritual.)

Disturbingly often, though, religious types forget that their beliefs are just that: beliefs. They’re private preferences about how to look on the mysteries of life: whether God exists, what happens after death, why bad things happen to good people, and such.

Nobody has the answers to such questions. More precisely, nobody can prove that they have the answers. So for practical purposes, nobody has the answers. Similarly, I can’t explain why I like vanilla ice cream and can’t stand Brussels sprouts. I just do. So don’t try to tell me why I should feel otherwise, because there’s no “why” to tell.

Again, there's no reason to offer up reasons for our spiritual beliefs -- what makes life meaningful for us -- just as no why's are required to explain our sexual or food preferences.

With one caveat: if we expect that other people should like what we like, we should also expect that this expectation won't be fulfilled. Facts may be agreed upon, but likes... never.

Which is why this blog's tag line still rings true for me: preaching the gospel of spiritual independence.

Ultimate truth is a fool's goal

Back when I was giving supposedly inspiring talks back in my true believing days, I used the term "ultimate reality" a lot. It just sounded so, well, ultimate. And real.

I enjoyed thinking that one day it'd be possible to know the final truth of the cosmos, what the whole amazing deal is all about, the answer to all possible questions. In short, the Aha! understanding that would demolish the noncomprehending Church of Holy Fuck!

It now seems to me that ultimate truth is a fool's goal. And I readily admit that, in retrospect (the best perspective to view one's shortcomings) this aptly described me: fool.

Ultimate truth came to mind this morning when I responded to some comments on a recent post. Someone noted:

Both of you are interpreting the available data from your particular bias. None of us knows what’s ultimately true.

I liked the last sentiment. But it seemed out of sorts with the first sentence.

After all, if there are data about something, if evidence concerning some phenomenon exists, then it sure seems like we should be able to figure out what interpretation of the data/evidence makes the most sense.

So I said in my own comment:

We aren't talking about ultimate truth here. We're talking about evidence that a supernatural realm exists, that certain humans have supernatural powers, that a part of human existence (soul) is linked to a supernatural realm.

This isn't ultimate reality stuff. This is just reality, and there should be some evidence for those things.

For sure.

Lots of people overemphasize the ineffability of mystical, spiritual, and religious experiences. They claim that it's impossible to describe contact with a reality beyond the physical, or of sublime divinity.

Well, if someone has an experience, that's something which happened to them -- an alteration in their consciousness. If they recognized it as an experience, then they should be able to communicate that recognition, albeit imperfectly, haltingly, with difficulty, imprecisely.

Having taken psychedelics quite a few times back in my college days, I can tell you that a LSD "trip" is a journey far out of the ordinary. Yet it is eminently possible to describe what it feels like to be on LSD, though the description isn't the same as the experience (which is true of every experience).

But what about ultimate reality, ultimate truth?

I have no idea what these words mean anymore, assuming I ever did. Like "God," ultimate reality/truth is a concept without any content, an abstraction that's absent any meaningful concreteness.

Ultimate implies the end, the final destination, the There beyond which is no more. What could this be in relation to the cosmos as a whole, all of existence?

Existence exists. It's arguable that this understanding is ultimate truth. If so, I've got it. So do you. So do we all. How would it be possible to get to the edge of existence and take another step beyond? Where would you be? What would you be?

Still existent -- if you were to have an experience of supposedly ultimate truth. Yet you haven't understood why existence exists, because "why" is a meaningless word when it comes to ultimacy.

Again, the ultimate is The End. No why's, what's, which's, or whatever's allowed beyond this point, or at this point.

We humans have evolved an ability to conceptualize fantastical notions like "God" and "ultimate truth." However, this is far different from being able to experience or know them. All kinds of things can be conceived which don't exist in reality.

We can, though, know and experience all sorts of other phenomena. This is where our focus should be: living real life, not pursuing fantasies such as ultimate reality.

 

Meditation without God works just as well

I don't believe in God.

Yet I also don't know that God doesn't exist. I just see no compelling evidence for God. So, like space aliens, I choose not to believe in something about which rumors abound without demonstrable proof of them being true.

I do believe in the value of meditation.

I've meditated almost every morning since I was twenty years old. Given that I'm sixty-one now, meditation has been part of my daily activity for two-thirds of my life. I enjoyed meditating when I was churched, and I still enjoy it in my churchless phase.

A book that I'm reading by Andrew Newberg, M.D. and Mark Robert Waldman helps explain why. Though it might seem from the title that "How God Changes Your Brain," would have a religious slant, actually it has a very different focus.

Contemplating God will change your brain, but I want to point out that meditating on other grand themes will also change your brain. If you contemplate the Big Bang, or immerse yourself in the study of evolution -- or choose to play a musical instrument, for that matter -- you'll change the neural circuitry in ways that enhance your cognitive health.

But religious and spiritual contemplation changes your brain in a profoundly different way because it strengthens a unique neural circuit that specifically enhances social awareness and empathy while subduing destructive feelings and emotions. This is precisely the kind of neural change we need to make if we want to solve the conflicts that currently afflict our world.

And the underlying mechanism that allows these changes to occur relates to a unique quality known as neuroplasticity: the ability of the human brain to structurally rearrange itself in response to a wide variety of positive and negative events.

So with meditation, notions of God or any other supernatural entity are entirely optional.

Buddhists, atheists, and agnostics happily meditate away -- just as I do -- without bringing God into either the foreground or background of their contemplative practice. In the chapters I've read so far, Newberg and Waldman offer up numerous examples of this, including a guy who learned Kirtan Kriya meditation.

Gus had never meditated, and he wasn't interested in religion. He just wanted his faltering brain to function better. Gus was a relatively large man, a bit rough around the edges, but very pleasant. He seemed more like a plumber you'd meet on a construction site -- you know, someone who was likely to zone out in front of the television with a couple of beers by his side.

Nonetheless, Gus took to this practice, which Newberg had him do for twelve minutes a day.

Before and after brain scans showed that after just eight weeks there were noticeable changes in Gus' anterior cingulate, "a structure that is involved with emotional regulation, learning, and memory, and is particularly vulnerable to the aging process."

When I read that, I decided to give Kirtan Kriya a try. The book said that it involves chanting "sa ta na ma" either audibly or silently while performing a mudra with your fingers.

Detailed instructions are given on an Alzheimer's prevention web site. A much more religious'y explanation is offered up on this You Tube video by a Sikh-looking Westerner. I dutifully watched the whole ten minutes, but found his style unduly reminiscent of a holier-than-thou guru.

Anyway, for a few days I did twenty minutes of Kirtan Kriya (barely audible or silent version) during my morning meditation period. I liked it.

Having to simultaneously focus on moving my fingers in concert with the "sa ta na ma" (which must refer to sat nam, a central Sikh concept) seemed to bring my body and mind into closer than usual connection.

I'm sure that Gus didn't view "sa ta na ma" as having any meaning -- which those sounds do to religiously minded Kirtan Kriya practitioners. But they don't have to. And the benefit of exercising the brain in a certain way will be about the same (or exactly the same) whether or not one has a spiritual goal in mind.

Later in the book -- I peeked ahead -- Newberg and Waldman say that it's absolutely fine for someone to make up his or her own meditative practice, silently or audibly repeating any word or words that are meaningful, positive, and pleasant to the individual.

No God required.

If you custom design your own memory-enhancing program, you'll show even greater improvement, along with an increased willingness to practice. So why not apply this strategy and create a personalized memory-enhancement meditation?

The key elements are simple.

Maintain a state of relaxed awareness, regulate your breathing, and peform a simple or complex movement with any part of your body. As you do this, sing, chant, or silently repeat a sound or phrase that has personal meaning, and practice for at least twelve minutes each day.

And don't forget the most important step: Be clear about the goal you wish to reach. Make the meditation as simple or as complex as you like, and feel free to vary it from week to week.

However, the more complex your meditation becomes, and the longer you do it, the more you will strengthen the neural circuits that tend to deteriorate with age.

"Ground zero" mosque dispute fanned by supernaturalism

When I read the facts about the Islamic mosque planned for a site a few blocks from "ground zero," a.k.a. the spot where the World Trade Center towers once stood, it's difficult to understand what all the fuss is about.

There already is a mosque four blocks from ground zero. So what's the big deal with having one two blocks away? Plus, the proposed development actually is a cultural center, which will include a mosque.

As a Washington post story says (registration may be required to read it):

The plan is for a cultural center that would contain a mosque.

The project's organizers have said that the center would be modeled on Manhattan's 92nd Street Y, a community center open to all New Yorkers. The center would house meeting rooms, a fitness center, a swimming pool, a basketball court, a restaurant and culinary school, a library, a 500-seat auditorium, a mosque and a Sept. 11 memorial and reflection space. The organizers have estimated that the mosque could attract as many as 2,000 worshipers on Fridays.

So again, what's the big deal?

There's talk about one or more of the people involved with the Islamic cultural center being unduly radical. Well, if he's a terrorist, charge him with something. But if he isn't breaking any laws, isn't free speech still allowed in the United States?

Some people rant on about mosques being hothouses of Al Qaeda'ish radicalism. OK, if this is true, why are any mosques allowed to stay open in this country? Why isn't there a call for the existing mosque four blocks from ground zero to be shut down?

I think a big part of the answer is found in two words: hallowed ground. This phrase comes up a lot in stories about the proposed "Park51" cultural center/mosque. Hallowed ground is sacred, holy, revered. It isn't plain old ground; something supernatural has been added on to it.

This shows how religiosity complicates social and political issues, introducing metaphysical nonsense into debates that should be carried out much more calmly and rationally.

Those opposed to the cultural center say it is disrespectful to have a mosque so close to the World Trade Center site. I can't understand why. There already are mosques close to ground zero. Why not have another one?

The reason, so far as I can understand it, seems to be that some people imagine that a "hallowsphere" extends out from where the World Trade Center towers stood. Nobody can see or sense it, like God. But they believe that it exists and makes the ground underneath it hallowed.

That's ridiculous.

If people have strong feelings against a mosque in the area, they should simply say: "I object to a mosque anywhere near ground zero." And then give their reasons why. Arguing that a mosque can't go on hallowed ground is to say nothing -- it's just gibberish.

I loved my mother. I still love her. However, following her funeral I've never been back to where her ashes are interred. It has no meaning for me. My mother isn't there. My mother lives on in my memories of her, not in the cemetary ground.

(In fact, I'm not absolutely sure that her ashes are even there. I can't remember whether the granite marker has anything underneath it.)

Similarly, there's nothing sacred about the ground under or near the World Trade Center site. "Sacred" exists within the minds of human beings, not in objective reality. So I don't like all this talk about hallowed ground.

There's no such thing as hallowed ground, sacred ground, holy ground.

There only are people who feel that some places are hallowed, sacred, or holy. So it'd be a lot better if the debate over the mosque didn't include any "hallow" talk. Then we could focus on the real issues -- not supernaturalism.

Almost all spiritual paths lead up Mount Ego

For about thirty-five years, from age 20 to 55 (I'm now sixty-one), I meditated assiduously in accordance with the tenets of Radha Soami Satsang Beas -- an India-based guru-centered organization whose teachings claim to be able to unite the soul with God.

However, what I learned from my immersion in the deep waters of organized religosity is applicable to almost every sort of spiritual path (to mix watery and earthy metaphors).

True believers generally feel that they're becoming less selfish, egotistical, and me-centered through their devotion to...whatever or whoever. God, guru, Jesus, Buddha, Allah, Krishna, cosmic consciousness, Great Spirit, etc. etc.

Yet as some commenters on a recent post have noted, whenever someone believes that he or she is a distinct entity -- an "I" -- who is moving in the direction of salvation, enlightenment, satori, God-realization, or such, a huge freaking usually-unnoticed contradiction lurks at the core of their supposedly selfless spiritual practice.

Namely: a self can't be selfless. So whatever is done with the intention of improving one's self, even if this is to become less egotistical, will have the opposite effect.

This is where certain varieties of Buddhism and Taoism have a lot better understanding of what spirituality is all about than other more self-centered religions, mystical practices, and spiritual teachings.

I say "certain varieties" because Buddhists and Taoists aren't immune from falling into the trap of desiring to become desireless, working hard to achieve effortless ease, and following specific practices to enter into a state of unity.

Here's what Buddhist teacher Rodney Smith says in an opening chapter of his book, "Stepping Out of Self-Deception." It's firmly in line with findings of modern neuroscience, which doesn't find any me at home in the human brain.

The inevitable fallout from this mental reorganization of reality is the belief in a separarte self, which is formed through this restructuring principle, and leads the subject to believe that reality is external to itself.

Once "we" have been established, we start arranging the data to suit our desires and fears, and then act upon reality as if it could be aligned with our needs and wants. That is when all hell breaks loose, because reality is not divided, and acting upon reality as if we were separate creates the pain and suffering of the world.

The fundamental principle we must remember when traversing a spiritual path is that "we" do not "have" a mind. The mind has created the sense of you and me from the way it perceives reality.

The truth is the mind holds "us" within it. "We" are not the possessor of a mind, and the mind is not something happening to us as if we were outside looking in. "We" are a part of the mental processing of the mind.

The thoughts of the mind and the sense-of-I are not two separate events. "We" exist only because the mind thinks us into creation.

Smith goes on to persuasively argue that any form of spiritual practice which emphasizes discrete goals and effortful discipline is going to lead the aspirant further up the slopes of Mount Ego, even as he or she feels like their devotion is causing them to become selfless.

It is helpful if we consciously verbalize our spiritual intention: is our intention to be a person waking up, or to awaken out of being a person?

...Unwise view seizes the opportunity by following the desire [to be a person waking up] and looking outside itself for completion. We go searching for teachers, retreats, pilgrimages, we engage in ceremonies, do austerities, chant, meditate, bend our body into yoga postures, all in the name of satisfying a longing that only needs our attention.

The longing, if read correctly, does not need to take us outside to search for an answer. It is a longing to connect more deeply with what is already here, not to try and find something missing.

Our primary intention is to completely resolve all outside searching and to know our intrinsic wholeness of being. To meet this primary purpose, simply allow your attention to rest with the longing rather than with what the longing seems to indicate is missing.

...The space between fixed notions of reality holds the Dharma. The confusion we feel is the wonderment of the Dharma trying to get through our cognitive maps and indicates the sense-of-self is on shaky ground.

...The momentary confusion keeps us from becoming mechanical or complacent within our ideas of the truth, because the truth cannot be located or mapped. In fact, a quality of truth is that it is not definable.

...I have seen many practitioners overstay their efforts and arrest their understanding. They practice a certain method based upon a logical formula for awakening, and then stay there despite internal cues to the contrary.

The practitioners feel safe and unassailable, expertly following their breath for hours according to the Buddha's instruction, or sweeping their attention from head to toe over and over, knowing they are practicing in accordance with long-established traditions or progressions of insight.

But scratch beneath the surface and their hearts are dry. The mechanics of the approach eventually dulls their aliveness. They are often waiting for the results more than seeing into the mystery, and have opted out of the wonder for the mental fulfillment of precision.

This impediment is often accompanied by firm views and opinions about their methodology, and an equally firm resistance to hearing feedback, making the journey through the maze much longer.

...If we look down from above the maze, the path leading toward the exit is obvious. It is not obvious from inside the maze because the walls of self prohibit the clarity of observation.

The effort involved in seeking the truth is paradoxically long and arduous because the truth is what we intrinsically are, and therefore cannot be sought. From the beginning we need to invert the effort so the effort is not externally seeking what is already here or creating a fixed spiritual terrain.

This new effort is releasing the need to be separate.

Nicely said, Mr. Smith.

When people identify with a particular religious, spiritual, or mystical teaching, they feel closer to that belief system than to competing faiths. So they go through life thinking, "I am a _______. I'm on a special path."

How could this lead to genuine humility, selflessness, and identification with our fellow human beings?

Most forms of spirituality aspire in some way or another to oneness, lessening the sense of isolation we feel from ourselves, the natural world, and other living beings. Yet all this aspiring, all this desiring, all this trying to be something other than what we are, and to make reality into something other that what it is, fosters separation.

We divide our personal characteristics into what is OK, and what needs to be changed. We divide time/space into where we are now, and where we believe a better there-and-then exists. We divide reality into what we consider to be true, and what those fools who lack our unique understanding falsely view as truth.

As I observed in another post, spiritual ego is worse than worldly ego. So it's better to be naturally self-centered, than artificially (and falsely) believing that your religiosity is making you into a selfless person.

Live in here and now. Also, there and then.

I've got a fondness for Buddhism, and it's sister faith, Taoism. I especially like how Buddhist and Taoist teachings emphasize the here and now, this present moment.

For example, Buddhist "guiding teacher" Rodney Smith says in his book, Stepping Out of Self-Deception:

Spiritual fulfillment can be defined as a complete abiding in the here and now.

This is a refreshing philosophical antidote to sacred and secular then-and-there'ness. Both religious dogma and materialistic advertising promise that we'll be truly content only if we obtain something in the future and/or in another place.

Jesus awaits in heaven. A guru awaits on some astral plane. The new car awaits at the dealership. A great meal awaits at the recently opened restaurant.

Smith divides our human perception of reality into two spheres: a timeless Vertical Universe and a past/present/future Horizontal Universe. The present is where these spheres bisect.

If what I've just said doesn't make sense, perhaps these quotes from Smith's book will help convey what he's getting at:

From the horizontal perspective, the present is a moment between time past and time future, a deprived moment on its way to some other time.

...The vertical perspective of the here and now is very different. Since the moment is not being squeezed between the rock of the past and the hard place of the future, it is open and expansive.

...Within the horizontal, we like to imagine we are somewhere we are not. We go on excursions in time, and through our imagination create a better place than the here and now.

...The vertical universe is empty of separate content and void of meaning, but this absence of purpose is not meaningless or despairing. Because it is not going anywhere, every moment is complete.

Recently my wife and I ate at a vegetarian restaurant where the food was very good. Accordingly, the place was very busy. Our server's name was Carl.

When we were done with our meal, and I was feeling an urge to leave the restaurant so I could get going on some important activities (like blogging), Carl was nowhere to be seen.

This bothered me, because he'd been attentive to our needs up to that point. Now, where the heck was he when I wanted the bill? Soon after my mind emitted that thought, Carl zipped by our table, looking in the other direction.

This happened several times. Carl was a difficult waiter to flag down. But my Horizontal Universe was firmly in a desired future moment where the bill was given to us, I handed Carl a credit card, and we were out the restaurant door.

Recognizing how impatient I felt, I took a few deep breaths and tried to settle into the present moment. I did more watching and less wanting. I noticed how Carl seemed to be responsible for most, if not all, of the tables in the small restaurant.

He was simultaneously trying to take the orders of newly arrived patrons, deliver food to those who had already ordered, and settle up the bills of people like us who had finished eating and were ready to leave.

Getting in touch with my Vertical Universe felt good. I still wanted to get Carl's attention, but I wasn't frantic to do so. And I understood better what was going on here and now in the restaurant.

Almost certainly we weren't being ignored by Carl. He was just super-busy and was giving his attention to people who hadn't eaten. Our stomachs were full; there really wasn't anything important I had to do; I could wait a few more minutes to get the bill.

Here's the thing, though --- which I suspect Rodney Smith is going to address in the chapters of his book that I haven't read yet.

We can't live entirely in the here and now. Nor can we live entirely in the there and then. The present moment does indeed encompass both of these seemingly contrary dimensions of human experience.

I wanted to pay our bill and leave the restaurant. That was an entirely appropriate desire.

If I just sat placidly at the table like a stone Buddha, eventually Carl would conclude that I'd either had too much to drink or was suffering from some sort of mental illness. But I also didn't need to get all frantic about not getting Carl's attention immediately.

So I mostly agree with the notion that fulfillment is complete abiding in the here and now. (I prefer to leave off Smith's modifier, "spiritual," because it doesn't seem necessary to me.)

However, part of the here and now is our thoughts about there and then. Meditation and similar mind-training practices can help us develop the ability to switch freely between the above-mentioned vertical and horizonal perspectives.

Sometimes it's good to be centered in the stillness of the present moment. Sometimes it's good to be moving purposefully in the direction of some past or future moment -- remembering or intending something.

Remember my t-shirt slogan: "There Are No Rules" (including that one)

Here's the reason religions don't agree

I used to be a proponent of the "perennial philosophy." This is the notion that there's a basic agreement about the nature of metaphysical reality. Aldous Huxley wrote a book by the same name, saying the perennial philosophy is:

The metaphysic that recognizes a divine Reality substantial to the world of things and lives and minds; the psychology that finds in the soul something similar to, or even identical with, divine Reality; the ethic that places man's final end in the knowledge of the immanent and transcendent ground of all being; the thing is immemorial and universal. Rudiments of the perennial philosophy may be found among the traditional lore of primitive peoples in every region of the world, and in its fully developed forms it has a place in every one of the higher religions.

This statement used to make sense to me. That's because I didn't think about it very much, nor consider as deeply as I should have whether it conformed to the way things are.

Which, it doesn't. Religions don't agree. Mystics don't agree. Spiritual sages don't agree. That's a fact.

The only possible way to find commonality among faiths such as Islam, Buddhism, and Christianity, or sages such as Rumi, Lao Tzu, and Moses, is to make extremely broad sweeping statements about what they supposedly agree on that lack any meaningful substance.

Like, it is possible for people to become more in tune with what is true about the cosmos.

Well, duh? Who doesn't believe that?

To fancy up this thought and call it a "perennial philosophy" is to make something out of nothing. And that is exactly what one of my favorite atheist bloggers, Greta Christina, says is the reason religions don't agree.

There's no there there.

Makes sense.

-- There's no demonstrable evidence of God, so how can people agree about God?
-- There's no demonstrable evidence of any metaphysical reality, so how can people agree about metaphysical reality?
-- There's no demonstrable evidence of life after death, so how can people agree about life after death?

Check out Christina's "Blind Men and Elephants: Religion, Science, and Understanding Big Complicated Things."

It's a terrific demolishing of a metaphor that gets way overused by those who believe that seemingly disparate religions actually are pointing to different aspects of the same divine reality.

Here's some parts that I especially liked:

I have never seen a version of the fable in which the blind men start explaining to one another why they think the elephant is what they think it is. I have never seen a version where the blind men say, "Hey, come over here! Follow my voice, and check this out -- this is why I think it's a snake!" (Or a tree trunk, or a rope, or whatever.)

And yet, that's exactly how science works.

Yes, of course, if God existed, he would be immense and complex and difficult to perceive and understand.

And what -- the physical universe isn't?

The physical universe is both far, far larger and far, far weirder than we had any conception of 500 years ago, or indeed 100. Billions upon billions of galaxies all rushing apart from each other at blinding speed; everything made up of atoms that are mostly empty space; space that curves; continents that drift... I could go on and on. It's way too big, way too complex, way too multi-faceted, for any one person to accurately comprehend.

And yet, the blind men [scientists] are coming to a fair understanding of what an elephant is.

Every century, every decade, every year, the blind men are getting a better and better picture of an elephant.

...Why does this work?

Because the elephant is really there.

Because there is actually something out there that we can compare notes on. Because when two blind men feel an elephant's trunk, they're feeling the same real thing.

...In religion, we have no such consensus. The Snakians and the Treeists and the Ropafarians are still squabbling, still dividing up into sects, still coming up with no better argument for their beliefs than "Other people say it" and "I feel it in my heart" and "You can't prove it didn't happen." And they're still coming up with no clearer picture of the elephant: no better ability to predict what the elephant will do, no better skill at guiding the elephant in the direction that they want, than they had a year ago, or a hundred, or a thousand.

Why?

Because there's nothing there.

...The reason that there's no increased consensus about religion? The reason that different religions today are as different, as inconsistent, as mutually contradictory, as they always have been, for thousands of years? The reason that prayer and prophecy haven't gotten any more effective over the years?

The reason isn't that God is a huge, complex, multi-faceted elephant that no one person can completely and accurately perceive.

The reason is that there is no elephant.

A mountain is what it is. Just like life.

The trajectory of my once-spiritual life has been heading away from other worldliness for quite a few years now. If there's one thing I've come to know about religiosity, it's that there's almost certainly nothing to know.

I don't believe in a Cosmic Jokester.

But I'm a lot more inclined to worship this non-existent being than an imaginary God. After all, think how much power the Cosmic Jokester has (assuming she exists, which she almost certainly doesn't).

This prankster is able to make billions of people believe there is more to life than what is apparent here and now on Earth. She entices them to anticipate the joys of an afterlife, thereby preventing these faithful from heartily enjoying a presentlife.

The joke, of course, doesn't have an obvious punchline -- since nobody is going to know that there's no life after death when they're dead and not alive.

But right now we can smile at the absurdity of ignoring the reality of what is immediately in front of us by always looking around the corner for something different.

I'm reading a book by Rodney Smith called "Stepping Out of Self-Deception." In his introduction, he talks about going to an Indian sage, Nisargadatta, during Smith's days as a Buddhist monk.

Nisargadatta tells him:

"You are like a man holding a flashlight, trying to run beyond its beam. The view you are holding within the methods you are using is undermining your intent."

We already know. We really do. We just do a really good job of hiding reality from ourselves. Mostly by putting ourselves at the center of the cosmos -- another way the Cosmic Trickster fools us.

I'm not a big fan of poetry. But I love these four lines by David Ignatow, which I've used before in a couple of blog posts: "Life is just what it is" and "Hope is the present moment."

I should be content
to look at a mountain
for what it is
and not as a comment on my life.

Mountains don't give a shit about us. They just are what they are. So are we. We're stupider than mountains, though, because we think we're supposed to be different from what we are.

Saved. Enlightened. Spiritually blissed out. Satori'ized. Self-realized. Godly.

Whatever piece of nonsensical religious, spiritual, or mystical crap we've swallowed in the hopes that our ever-so-human lives will somehow morph into a divine state of ... something or other.

When my wife and I visited Banff (Canada), we saw a bunch of beautiful mountains. They didn't speak to me, thankfully. Meaning, I didn't get any grand insights about the meaning of life from them.

I simply went Wow.

What else is there to do at each and every moment which, when it passes, will never come again?

When Laurel and I stopped at a viewpoint to admire Mount Rundle near sunset, few thoughts passed through my mind. There the mountain was. Here I am. Pretty damn simple.

Ditto with a neighboring mountain whose name I don't know. Sure, I could have gotten all philosophical about reality being reflected in the mirror of a still mind, blah, blah, blah. But being there, camera in hand, was plenty enough for me.

When we went to Lake Louise, Laurel had the bright idea of renting a canoe for half an hour. Time well spent. Looking at the craggy, glacier-filled slopes at the end of the lake did stimulate some thoughts in me.

(Hey, Ignatow only said that he should be able to look at a mountain for what it is, and not a comment on his life; so I'm assuming lakes are OK as commenters.)

Every moment we're paddling somewhere or other, even if we're standing still. Time always is doing its own paddling for us. The older we get, we more we may feel life's moments narrowing down to an eventual stop at the cliff face of death.

No matter.

So long as we're aware of floating on the water of life, we are. And when we aren't, we won't be. Again, pretty damn simple.

Be aware. Be aware. Be aware.

Of whatever is. Of whatever is. Of whatever is.

Repeat as long as possible. There's nothing else to do.

Shopping for a faith, and finding a just-right

I like this cartoon. Amazing how a comic strip can encapsulate so much free-thinking truth in just a few panels.

Take the Battleground God test (I aced it!)

TPM (The Philosopher's Magazine) has an interesting online test called Battleground God. It shows how rationally consistent your beliefs about God are.

Can your beliefs about religion make it across our intellectual battleground?

In this activity you’ll be asked a series of 17 questions about God and religion. In each case, apart from Question 1, you need to answer True or False. The aim of the activity is not to judge whether these answers are correct or not. Our battleground is that of rational consistency.

This means to get across without taking any hits, you’ll need to answer in a way which is rationally consistent. What this means is you need to avoid choosing answers which contradict each other. If you answer in a way which is rationally consistent but which has strange or unpalatable implications, you’ll be forced to bite a bullet.

Of course, you may go along with thinkers such as Kierkegaard and believe that religious belief does not need to be rationally consistent. But that takes us beyond the scope of this activity, which is about the extent to which your beliefs are rationally consistent, not whether this is a good or a bad thing.

I hear you asking (because I want to answer) Brian, what was your score?

Oh, thank you for asking. I got zero -- count 'em, ZERO -- hits on the Battleground. Perfect score! Only 8% of Battleground God contestants are equally rationally consistent.

I earned the freaking Medal of Honour! Check it out:

Of course, I've been pondering subtleties about belief in God, and the lack thereof, for most of my life. So it's not all that surprising that I'd have my philosophical act together when it comes to this stuff.

Great news.

I assume that now nobody will ever leave a comment on this blog criticizing my views. (Joking! But seriously, critical dudes and dudettes, you should take the Battleground God test yourself, and see how consistent your own beliefs are.)

Looking over the TPM home page, I noticed another test that sounded intriguing: the Philosophical Health Check.

The PHC report below lists pairs of beliefs which are identified as being 'in tension'. What this means is either that: (1) There is a contradiction between the two beliefs or (2) Some sophisticated reasoning is required to enable both beliefs to be held consistently. In terms of action, this means in each case you should either (1) Give up one of the two beliefs or (2) Find some rationally coherent way of reconciling them.

It may help to think of the idea of 'tension' in terms of an intellectual balancing act. Where there is little or no tension between beliefs, little intellectual effort is required to balance both beliefs. But where there is a lot of tension, either one has to 'jump off the tightrope', by abandoning one belief; maintain one's balance by intellectual effort and dexterity; or else 'fall off the tightrope' by failing to reconcile the tension and holding contradictory beliefs.

Not to toot my own horn, but...HONK, HONK! Once again, I aced the test: zero tensions in my belief pairs, zero.

I'm a philosophical rock star! Well, along with 9% of the 160,211 other people who have taken the Philosophical Health Check.

All this means is that I've got highly consistent beliefs about the nature of God, morality, and such. Which must be why everyone always agrees with what I say in my blog posts.

(Again, joke!)

Judge's gay marriage ruling is putdown of religion

Out here on the left west coast people are pretty tolerant and open-minded, by and large. For example, in a few months Californians are going to vote on legalizing marijuana. Oregon probably will follow in 2012.

So I was surprised when a ban on gay marriage passed in California a few years ago.

Now that a federal judge, Vaughn Walker, has declared the ban unconsitutional, it's becoming more obvious why voters were taken in by the spurious arguments of Proposition 8.

Religion is the main culprit. A front page story in yesterday's The Oregonian contained these telling quotes:

Walker, in a 136-page ruling, said California "has no interest in differentiating between same-sex and opposite-sex unions."

"The evidence shows conclusively that moral and religious views form the only basis for a belief that same-sex couples are different from opposite-sex couples, Walker wrote. The ruling struck down Proposition 8 as a violation of federal constitutional guarantees of equal protection and due process.

Walker cited extensive trial evidence to support his finding that there was not even a rational basis for excluding gays and lesbians from marriage.

Evidence. Facts. Rationality. These are the minor details that the proponents of Proposition 8 failed to bring to the courtroom. So it's no wonder their case fell flat.

But when I saw them interviewed on cable news, the gay-marriage haters were completely in denial. They obviously continued to believe that mere belief was sufficient justification to strip citizens of their constitutional rights.

This is a great example of how religiosity causes true believers to distance themselves from reality. They end up inhabiting a solipsistic world where their saying so supposedly makes it so.

Fortunately, this isn't how the American legal system works. Judge Walker's ruling shows that religious belief should carry just as much weight as any other sort of belief. Namely, essentially zero.

"State your case, counselor."
"I believe my client is innocent, judge."
"That's it? You're not going to present any evidence?"
"No, your honor. I trust you will believe like I do."

That legal strategy isn't going to win over any competent judge. Nor should a similar sort of theological strategy convert people to religion, but unfortunately it does.

I think this is why the supporters of Proposition 8 are so hugely irritated at Judge Walker. He saw through their simplistic evidence-less moralism. He recognized that religious bigotry is an emperor who has no clothes and boldly said you're naked in those 136 pages.

Same-sex couples are no different from opposite-sex couples in their ability to raise children and form a loving, harmonious marriage.

That's a fact.

So if someone wants to object to gay marriage, they can do so -- but they won't be able to support that opinion with demonstrable research-based facts. This was made clear in Judge Walker's well-reasoned ruling.

Here's a collection of his most pointed statements.

I've shared some that discuss the role of fact-less religious belief in this case. If the existence of God were on trial, a judge would also have to rule that the defense has failed to prove its point. Walker wrote:

During closing arguments, proponents again focused on the contention that "responsible procreation is really at the heart of society's interest in regulating marriage." When asked to identify the evidence at trial that supported this contention, proponents' counsel replied, "you don't have to have evidence of this point."

Blankenhorn lacks the qualifications to offer opinion testimony and, in any event, failed to provide cogent testimony in support of proponents' factual assertions. ... His opinion lacks reliability, as there is simply too great an analytical gap between the data and the opinion Blankenhorn proffered. ... Blankenhorn was unwilling to answer many questions directly on cross-examination and was defensive in his answers. Moreover, much of his testimony contradicted his opinions.

An initiative measure adopted by the voters deserves great respect. The considered views and opinions of even the most highly qualified scholars and experts seldom outweigh the determinations of the voters. When challenged, however, the voters' determinations must find at least some support in evidence. This is especially so when those determinations enact into law classifications of persons. Conjecture, speculation and fears are not enough. Still less will the moral disapprobation of a group or class of citizens suffice, no matter how large the majority that shares that view. The evidence demonstrated beyond serious reckoning that Proposition 8 finds support only in such disapproval. As such, Proposition 8 is beyond the constitutional reach of the voters or their representatives.

Plaintiffs questioned [political scientist Kenneth] Miller on data showing 84 percent of those who attend church weekly voted yes on Proposition 8, 54 percent of those who attend church occasionally voted no on Proposition 8 and 83 percent of those who never attend church voted no on Proposition 8.

That the majority of California voters supported Proposition 8 is irrelevant, as "fundamental rights may not be submitted to [a] vote; they depend on the outcome of no elections."

Proponents' argument that tradition prefers opposite-sex couples to same-sex couples equates to the notion that opposite-sex relationships are simply better than same-sex relationships.

Tradition alone cannot legitimate this purported interest. Plaintiffs presented evidence showing conclusively that the state has no interest in preferring opposite-sex couples to same-sex couples or in preferring heterosexuality to homosexuality. Moreover, the state cannot have an interest in disadvantaging an unpopular minority group simply because the group is unpopular.

The evidence shows that the state advances nothing when it adheres to the tradition of excluding same-sex couples from marriage. Proponents' asserted state interests in tradition are nothing more than tautologies and do not amount to rational bases for Proposition 8.

California's obligation is to treat its citizens equally, not to "mandate [its] own moral code."

"[M]oral disapproval, without any other asserted state interest," has never been a rational basis for legislation.

Proposition 8 fails to advance any rational basis in singling out gay men and lesbians for denial of a marriage license. Indeed, the evidence shows Proposition 8 does nothing more than enshrine in the California Constitution the notion that opposite sex couples are superior to same-sex couples.

What I love about Buddhist meditation

Reality is made up of yin and yang, seeming opposites that actually aren't. Atoms wouldn't exist without positive and negative charges, so neither would we.

Thus when I wrote recently about my main gripe with Buddhist meditation, I knew that I wanted to balance that negativity with some positive props. After all, a bunch of Buddhism-themed books reside in my morning meditation area. I enjoy them a lot.

Except when they get into my gripe zone, explicit or implicit claims that human consciousness somehow is able to enter into a state of pure observing -- either of the inner mind or the outer world.

I argued that this isn't possible, given what neuroscience knows about how the brain/mind works. All kinds of factors shape how each of us experiences reality. Further, every experience feeds back into the "hidden brain," causing further changes in how the world appears to us.

This is great news, a cause for joy, not disappointment. Our minds are "plastic," not rigidly fixed. We have plenty of room to grow, change, and learn.

There are limits, though, to what we can become. At least, so long as we are talking about what is possible as human beings living in this material world. Imagination and fantasy have no limits, whether in the secular or religious sphere.

Some Buddhists are inclined toward a form of practice that borders on quasi-fundamentalist religiosity. They believe in supernatural phenomena, survival of consciousness after death, and other unprovables.

But the Buddhism I'm attracted to is here and now. It is centered on mindfulness -- the core theme of a book by Jon Cabat-Zinn that I've been reading (and enjoying) the past few weeks.

The way I understand it, mindfulness is simple.

It's being aware of what is happening now. Not trying to change it, though a desire to change something can indeed be part of what is happening. Much more a calm observing than energetic action, which is a large part of most people's frantic days.

There's no need to consider that mindfulness involve seeing things as they are in some sort of pure truth sense. Our experience is just that: our experience. Not someone else's. Not absolute reality.

Buddhist teachings about mindfulness remind me that no matter what bubbles to the surface of my awareness from the hidden brain in my psyche's unconscious depths, I can see it for what it is: a changeable, impermanent phenomenon which needs to be attended to, but not taken so seriously as I often do.

Things come. Things go. Me and you included.

We're all integral aspects of a marvelous natural world that encompasses so much more than we'll ever know. Yet this doesn't diminish the beauty, wonder, and awe present in each and every moment, when lived mindfully.

Today Mark Morford nailed this whole mindfulness thing from his own unique perspective in his column, "Oh my God you are so missing out." Well worth reading. Here's a substantial sample.

It is, of course, the white-hot urban affliction affectionately known as Fear of Missing Out (FOMO) hereby defined as that wildly addictive and yet totally nightmarish sociocultural dance whereby you are constantly being attacked by the overwhelming sense that so many wonderful, life-altering events are happening all around the city in any given moment that, well, there is simply no way to attend them all.

Result: the overwhelming feeling that you are, right now, missing out on some miraculous experience that is quite possibly the coolest thing ever to happen to anyone ever. Poor, poor, pitiable you.

This kind of madness, it can be downright dangerous. I have friends who suffer FOMO nearly every day, who almost never say no to a party or an invite to avoid getting knocked by the affliction, who try to cram in as much activity and social scene-stering as possible so they can build up an enormous repository of fantastic memories, friends, Evites, groggy morning-after stories, and mysterious bodily pains the genesis of which they cannot quite recall.

...Gosh, really? You say there are too many fantastic things to do? Too much to choose from? Too many restaurants, bars, cocktails, concerts, yoga classes, sex partners, books, gatherings, amazing people doing amazing things that titillate the senses and expand your body in new or wondrous ways? You are not exactly suffering. You are, you might say, spoiled beyond belief. Can you appreciate?

It only matters if it matters. The wise ones, as always, just wink and smile and tell us that you can never really be missing out, because no matter what you're doing, every single moment is actually full to bursting with divine richness, packed like a public swimming pool in a New Jersey summertime with howling, screaming divinity, raw and tactile and good. Hell, you can sit there and take a few deep breaths in the middle of a forest, and have more ecstatic joy than 100 Burning Mans on the moons of Jupiter. Well, maybe.

These masters of divine mischief, they remind us that the senses are always ready to offer their full expression, the heart is ready to feel everything in an instant, and full ecstatic consciousness is just a millisecond away. Dial into it just right, and missing out becomes, well, impossible.

You have, after all, to make a tiny but still profound shift in your awareness, a little click on over to dial into what the Tantrikas might call chid rasa (the fluid essence of consciousness) to ride the best ride of all.

It's like the great Taoist philosopher Lao Tse said, just before heading off to that new Vegas rooftop hookah bar/roller derby/burlesque review that promises to be totally offf the hook: "The greatest revelation is stillness."

Who would want to miss that?

My main gripe with Buddhist meditation

I've reached a point in my churchless evolution where most religious, spiritual, mystical, and metaphysical writings now irritate me more than they inspire.

Even my big collection of Rumi books sit dustily on a shelf -- though I went through a period not long ago when I couldn't stop immersing myself in Rumi's enticing prose and poetry.

Buddhism is a sometimes exception.

Sometimes, because my attraction to Buddhist literature depends on how non-Buddhist it is. I like "Kill the Buddha" stuff, where the author urges us to throw away Buddhist dogma in favor of our own personal experience, even if it conflicts with venerated scriptures and traditions.

And I enjoy the practical side of Buddhist meditative practices. There's pretty solid scientific evidence that meditation can change habitual brain patterns, leading us to a higher "set point" of happiness and compassion.

This is why I bought the latest issue (September 2010) of Shambhala Sun when I shopped at the natural food store yesterday. The cover enticement sucked me in:

How to Meditate. Our annual all-teachings issue answers your questions about Buddhist meditation practices for mind, body & heart.

I was attuned to this subject because of a brief email that I'd received that very morning from a regular Church of the Churchless visitor, Catherine. She said:

Thanks for the ongoing thought-provoking posts. I have always held vipassana meditation in fairly high regard, but was very interested to read ' A critique of vipassana meditation as taught by Mr Goenka.' accessible through Google Search. He questions all that is admired and held as fact by practitioners and I found myself clapping.

Nice.

This shows the highly positive side of Buddhism: most people who are involved with Buddhist practices, in the West, at least, are very much open to challenges of the sort Harmanjit Singh made in his above-mentioned critique of vipassana meditation.
Download Critique of Vipassana meditation (this also can be read on the web)

It's a lengthy critique which I've only skimmed through. And it focuses on a particular variety of vipassana training involving a lengthy retreat/workshop.

This passage caught my eye as a valid overall criticism of some Buddhist meditation approaches, as well as other practices that encourage detaching one's awareness from things of this world.

Two thousand years of dissociative spiritual practices in India have changed the psyche of its people so deeply that they genuinely consider this earth and the universe as a subjective creation with their only loyalty or faith (howsoever half-baked) in some God or in some other non-physical realm.

Hence, they regard any occurrence in the outside world only with as much importance as it interferes with their own life. The awareness that there are other subjective entities, and the civic responsibility and order this awareness implies, is understandably absent in Indian society. The Indian psyche is already dissociated from the world to some extent.

Dissociative practices, which claim to make one the pure observer, are very attractive to the Indian mind, which finds suffering all around and wants an individual, solipsistic and non-material way to find happiness, howsoever illusory.

Which claim to make one the pure observer.

Mr. Singh precisely describes my main gripe with many Buddhist writings, along with the teachings of other faiths that proclaim the possibility of human consciousness detaching from the human brain into some sort of ethereal realm of perfection.

In a couple of other posts, here and here, I've questioned the possibility of "pure awareness."

This notion simply doesn't fit with what neuroscience knows about how the brain works. We all possess a hidden brain, where much (or most) of our experience is filtered and processed without our knowledge before it pops into conscious awareness.

So when I sat down with my copy of Shambhala Sun this morning, highlighter in hand, it wasn't long before I started putting yellow question marks into the page margins next to passages like these (italicized emphasis is mine):

If you have an itch, for example, mindfulness feels the sensation of itching with no agenda to get rid of it. It is the bare knowing of experience. When you're mindful, the mind is fully present for what's actually happening.

...We see our thoughts and feelings just as they are, without any positive or negative spin. We see our longing and vulnerability. Through soft awareness on breath, mind, and physical presence, our concentration strengthens and we being to accept this view of our inner life naked before us.

...Insight meditation turns the mind away from delusion, our confused notions about ourselves, others, and our world. It turns the mind toward the reality of things as they truly are.

Wow. There's so much unjustified grandiosity in these claims, which are opposed to modern scientific understanding about how the hidden brain/mind works.

Bare knowing. Actually happening. Just as they are. Inner life naked. As they truly are.

Many Buddhists actually believe this stuff, that through their many hours of meditation they're able to enter into an experience of suchness and thus so'ness -- which supposedly is an awareness of things as they are, not as they seem to be to deluded minds like you and I have (I'm assuming you aren't an enlightened Buddhist practitioner; if you think you are, congratulations).

Every human being, without exception, knows reality through his or her own idiosyncratic brain filters. Experience leads us to see things in a certain way, then our seeing feeds back into our experience in a never-ending cycle.

I do believe that meditation and other forms of mental training can help us become more aware of what's going on in both our inner and outer world. However, these awarenesses are of reality as we know it, not reality as it is nakedly, purely, actually.

This is why we need science and reason: to balance our all-too-human tendency to believe that how we see the world is how it really is. Here's how Shankar Vedantam puts it at the end of his excellent book, "The Hidden Brain."

Making the unconscious conscious is difficult because the central obstacle lies within ourselves. But putting reason ahead of instinct and intuition is also what sets us apart from every other species that has ever lived. Understanding the hidden brain and building safeguards to protect us against its vagaries can help us be more successful in our everyday lives.

It can aid us in our battle against threats and help us spend our money more wisely. But it can also do something more important than any of those things: It can make us better people.

For all the ways this book has shown how the rational mind is unequal to the machinations of the hidden brain, this is also a book that argues that reason is our only bulwark against bias.

Our hidden brain will always make some criminals seem more dangerous, and some presidential candidates seem less trustworthy, because of the color of their skin. Terrorism, psychopaths, and homicide will always seem scarier to us than obesity, smoking, and suicide.

The heartbreaking story about the single puppy lost at sea will make us cry more quickly than a dry account of a million children killed by malaria. In every one of these cases, reason is our only rock against the tides of unconscious bias.

It is our lighthouse and our life jacket. It is -- or should be -- our voice of conscience.