Church of the Churchless

I reveal Mystery of the Cosmos: its strange!

Yesterday I achieved one of my lifelong goals: I became a newspaper columnist.

Sure, the paper is Salem Weekly -- which actually is published every two weeks, but since this is Salem's alternative newspaper, likely most of the readers are too stoned to notice.

And Salem Weekly is free. So I'm a columnist in a paper which gets grabbed out of boxes, sometimes by people who need a foundation layer for their kitty litter. But like I said in a post on my other blog:

Still, hey, I'm a columnist!

Along with Paul Krugman and Thomas Friedman. I'm just one (freaking gigantic) step from being read regularly by readers of this country's most respected newspaper.

Since I have my permission to do so, I'll share another quote from that post about why I'm so enthused about being able to ponder the ins and outs of strangeness bi-weekly.

At the age of 64, it's all becoming very clear to me now. Very clear indeed. I'm homing in on the Secret of the Cosmos, the Theory of Everything, the Key that Unlocks Every Mystery. 

It's been right in front of me this whole time: strangeness. I just made the mistake of thinking, "That's so strange; I've got to look somewhere else."

No, it's Strange that we want, need, and long for.

It's Strange that makes everyday life into something mind-blowing. It's Strange that converts ordinary into unique, mundane into special, ignorable into can't-take-my-eyes-off-of-you. I'm going to enjoy explaining to others, and to myself, why I'm not crazy to think this way.

Or, if I am crazy, why this is a fine madness.

Now, it might seem that these thoughts are at odds with my churchlessness.

Aren't agnostic/atheist religious skeptics like me scientific'y rationalists who like their reality all lined up in neat clean boxes filled with boringly factual demonstrable evidence?

No, not at all. 

In fact, one of my gripes with religious faiths is that they aren't weird enough.

Theologies, whether of the Western or Eastern variety, usually try to make sense. They aren't content to view reality as the Super Strangeness that I consider it to be. Instead of worshipping at the altar of the Cosmic Question Mark, they conjure up illusory answers in an attempt to dispel mystery.

The universe is strange. Life is strange. You and me... we're strange. Everything is strange. 

Just imagine: existence exists. Seemingly always has; always will. That is just so freaking strange! Along with the specifics of what exists within existence. 

Look around. Fourteen billion years after the big bang, a mystery in itself, this is what the cosmos has come up with in our little corner of the universe. 

The Kardashians. iPhone. The Colbert Report. McDonalds. Lattes. Tiny dogs people carry around with them.

The list is endless. If you look at Earth through eyes attuned to Strange, every single thing on this planet is amazingly unlikely in the cosmic scheme of things.

An alien spaceship visits us. Beings exit the craft. Do you think they will tell us, "We have found other civilizations just like yours in other galaxies."

I don't. I bet they'd gaze upon what we've got going on here and cognize, Wow, this planet is so freaking strange! Never seen anything like it.

Feelings I share. (Not surprisingly, since I made up the alien's feelings.)

Might as well end by quoting my first Salem Weekly column.

At one point in my life I worried about being considered strange. Now, I consider it a compliment. The most interesting people I’ve known, the most fascinating places I’ve been to, the most unforgettable experiences I’ve had — they’ve all been compellingly strange.

...Strange Up Salem has to be a communal happening, a venture into uncharted territory where we all stand on the border between who each of us is now and what our city is now, and boldly keep stepping forward.

Onward, into strangeness.

Which is another way of saying, I have no idea. Of exactly where this column is going. Of precisely how Salem should change for it to be the city we long for.

And that’s a good thing. Strangeness blossoms in the fertile soil of openness. When we’re absolutely certain, the strangling Dogmatic Weed doesn’t allow ooh and ah fruit to ripen.

...Most importantly: be strange. Passionately, confidently, lovingly.

“Beauty always has an element of strangeness.”
      --Baudelaire

Parts of a discarded religion can fit into a new spiritual practice

Reuse. Recycle. 

Good advice for handling material stuff. Also practices that can be used with religious stuff. Recently someone emailed me, asking whether I still repeated the mantra I was taught after being initiated into a guru-based meditation practice.

Part of my reply was:

Usually I don't repeat the RSSB mantra. But sometimes I do, sort of for old time's sake. I figure that I repeated it so many times over the many years, it must have formed some sort of concentrative relaxed groove in my brain. It's kind of comforting to repeat the Five Names. Sometimes I do it while falling asleep. Or just a few of the names.

There's no harm in continuing to engage in a religious practice, even though you no longer believe in the religion. Many lapsed Christians still go to church. They enjoy the atmosphere, the hymns, the stained glass, socializing afterward, whatever. 

Me, I still meditate every day. I rarely use the mantra mentioned above during my meditation. However, like I said, sometimes I drag it out of my memory chest and give it a try again.

After all, words are just words. Sounds, more accurately, when someone isn't focused on the meaning of the words. Maybe this is how de-converted Christians feel when hymns are being sung, or a sermon preached. 

Like how I feel when I repeat the familiar mantra: comfortable word-sounds echoing in my head. I enjoy the sensation of them; not the theological significance they once held for me.

D.T. Suzuki, a Zen adept, has a similar attitude about the Buddhist mantra, namu amida butsu. I wrote about this in previous posts: "Update on my enlightenment (in brief, going well)" and "Mantra meditation: what's in a word?"

The basic notion is to still the intellectual, rational, analytical, conceptual aspect of the brain, allowing whatever is left over to shine in one's consciousness. Bingo! Enlightenment! Here's another passage from D.T. Suzuki's book on Zen that I re-read today.

In my view, the reason [to repeat a mantra like Namu Amida Butsu] is to be sought not in the magical effect of the name itself, but in the psychological effect of its repetition.

Whenever there is an intelligent meaning, it suggests an endless train of ideas and feelings attached thereto; the mind then either becomes engaged in working a logical loom, or becomes inextricably involved in the meshes of imagination and association.

When meaningless sounds are repeated, the mind stops there, not having chances to wander about. Images and hallucinations are less apt to invade it. To use Buddhist terminology, the external dust of discrimination covers the original bright surface of the inner mirror of enlightenment.

For many years I followed a spiritual path that emphasized repeating a mantra that had a lot of meaning. The "five holy names" supposedly pointed to actual supernatural realms of reality, each with a divine ruler, sights and sounds, special characteristics, and such.

Holy? From the above-mentioned Idiot's Guide [to Taoism]:

A famous Zen saying describes the sacred sutras as "useful only for wiping puss from your boils." 

Holiness can go to hell.

Along with religions, gurus, masters, mystic practices, spiritual paths, and every other purveyor of metaphysical crap that sells the "meshes of imagination and association" and "images and hallucination" Suzuki mentioned.

Religious practices, including mantras, work. But not for a supernatural, mystical, divine, or miraculous reason. Because those practices affect the human mind in certain ways.

Christians and other monotheists believe in "let go and let God." Meaning, cast all your cares upon God. It isn't necessary to be religious to understand that this is a good thing to do: worrying less and living contentedly more.

Not long after I was initiated in 1971 and starting repeating my mantra as often as I could, I got a part-time job as a teacher's aide. I had just gotten a psychology degree from San Jose State University. Having taken 4 1/2 years to do so, I needed a job before starting a Master's in Social Work program at Portland State University.

I was asked to counsel a female Santa Clara High School student. I had no idea what to do or what to say. About all I remember was that I tried to repeat my mantra even while counseling her. This left me rather distracted. I didn't think I was helping her at all.

When I got feedback from the teacher who was supervising me I was told that the student thought she got a lot out of our sessions. I was amazed. At the time I thanked my guru and his mantra. Obviously this was a miracle of sorts, divine grace!

Now, I'm inclined to a different perspective.

In addition to the fact that simply listening to someone share their feelings can be therapeutic for them, thinking often isn't a productive thing to do. Many activities go best when they're accompanied by the fewest possible thoughts.

I talked about this here:

Understand: there's nothing wrong with words, ideas, thoughts, understandings, theories, hypotheses. But they should be seen for what they are, emanations of a human brain, not something godly to be bowed down to.

Last Tuesday my wife and I went to the sixth of an eight-week Hustle class (danced to disco music) that we've been enjoying a lot. The moves have been getting more challenging from week to week.

As the leader, it's my job to get our hands, arms, legs, and feet in a moderately correct position, while keeping time to the infectiously happy disco beat. At first, I have to think about this with a newly taught move.

"Jeez. From the two hand hold, I'm supposed to drop my right hand, not my left. Damn! And after the woman's one and a half turns I've got to keep to her right side in order to lead her in the opposite direction." 

That sort of stuff goes through my head. But at the end of the class, when our instructor said, "I'm going to put a few songs on you can practice to; run through everything we've learned so far," I was pleased to see how I found myself doing a new move correctly without knowing what I was doing.

Meaning, I could do it without thinking "I'm doing it." I'd be halfway through a complicated Hustle move before I realized what I was doing.

Enlightenment! 

Not what I thought enlightenment would be like why back when, before I knew I was enlightened. But what I think, and what is -- those are two very different things. 

"Dirty money" tied to RSSB guru's Ranbaxy wealth

Like I said in this post, there's a tangled web of financial dealings surrounding the newfound wealth of Gurinder Singh Dhillon and his family. 

Gurinder Singh is the current guru of Radha Soami Satsang Beas, an India-based spiritual organization I used to be a member of.

Theologically, he is considered to be "god in human form."

Financially, his family has become one of the richest in India, thanks to gifting of Religare stock by several relatives (and RSSB initiates), Malvinder and Shivinder Singh. Another post of mine describes the money connections between Religare and the guru.

Religare is a company that Malvinder and Shivinder Singh invested heavily in after selling their stake in Ranbaxy, a pharmaceutical company. So the money gifted to the guru and his family is rooted in previous Ranbaxy holdings.

Wikipedia describes the involvement of Malvinder Singh with Ranbaxy:

Malvinder Mohan Singh is a former Chairman and CEO of Ranbaxy Laboratories, an Indian unit of Japanese drugmaker Daiichi Sankyo, who resigned in 2009 after Ranbaxy posted losses and after Daiichi Sankyo decided to get more actively involved in the newly acquired Indian unit.^[1] He is the grandson of Bhai Mohan Singh, the founder of Ranbaxy. He and his brother Shivinder Singh, who in 1999 upon the death of their father inherited their family's 33.5% stake in Ranbaxy, are among the twenty richest Indians.

...Malvinder Singh's tenure as CEO of Ranbaxy starting in 2006 is controversial. Corporate culture of fraud continued unchecked under his tenure. In November 2006, Malvinder Singh led a delegation to FDA headquarters to try to reverse the decision to accept new drug applications from Ranbaxy.

This attempt failed as FDA asked Ranbaxy to turn over audits done by its outside consultant, Parexel, which the company was claiming were confidential. The meeting ended in a standoff. Soon thereafter Mr. Singh decided to cash in. On June 11, 2008, Singh stunned the Indian business world by announcing that he and his brother were selling their 34% stake in Ranbaxy to the Japanese drugmaker Daiichi Sankyo for $2 billion.

That phrase, "corporate culture of fraud," is much elaborated on in a lengthy May 15, 2013 CNN Money story, Dirty Medicine: The epic inside story story of long-term criminal fraud at Ranbaxy, the Indian drug company that makes generic Lipitor for millions of Americans.

What Thakur unearthed over the next months would form some of the most devastating allegations ever made about the conduct of a drug company. His information would lead Ranbaxy into a multiyear regulatory battle with the FDA, and into the crosshairs of a Justice Department investigation that, almost nine years later, has finally come to a resolution.

On May 13, Ranbaxy pleaded guilty to seven federal criminal counts of selling adulterated drugs with intent to defraud, failing to report that its drugs didn't meet specifications, and making intentionally false statements to the government. Ranbaxy agreed to pay $500 million in fines, forfeitures, and penalties -- the most ever levied against a generic-drug company. 

As noted in the Wikipedia article, Malvinder Singh (the guru's nephew, I'm pretty sure) became CEO of Ranbaxy in 2006. Another CNN Money story says: 

Ranbaxy has been grappling with quality issues for years. In 2008, the Food & Drug Administration took a highly unusual step, barring the importation of 30 drugs from two of Ranbaxy's plants in India. The FDA slapped the company with what's called an "Application Integrity Policy," halting the review of new drug applications from one of the company's Indian facilities until Ranbaxy proved its truthfulness.

Which, of course, it wasn't able to do. Ranbaxy was permeated by sleazy corporate policies aimed at making more money by avoiding drug safety and testing requirements. The details are laid out in Dirty Medicine.

I find this Ranbaxy story fascinating for several reasons. As noted before, my involvement with Radha Soami Satsang Beas (RSSB) began in the days of a previous guru, Charan Singh, who was scrupulous about not mixing spirituality with money-making. 

So far as I know, Charan Singh lived completely off of his own earnings, never mixing up his RSSB gurudom and personal financial dealings. Gurinder Singh, the current guru, operates much differently.

In a previous post I quoted an Indian blogger who referred to Gurinder Singh's early involvement with Ranbaxy :

For instance, the patriarch of the Radha Soami sect headquartered at Beas (he is also called the Beas Sant or the saint of Beas) is reported to have played his role in the succession drama at Ranbaxy after the death of then CEO and promoter Parvinder Singh in 1999.

I readily admit that few large corporations are ethically impeccable.

Making lots of money usually requires cutting some moral corners. But traditionally Indian spiritual leaders have stood apart from this "dark side" of modern culture, pointing to a way of living that elevates direct experience of divinity above material concerns/desires.

In that light, here's another excerpt from the Dirty Medicine story:

In January 2006, Malvinder Singh, the founder's grandson, succeeded Brian Tempest as Ranbaxy's managing director and CEO. At 33, with an MBA from Duke University, Singh was brash and competitive. The Indian business press dubbed him the Pharaoh of Pharma, and hailed him as an "out-of-the-box decision-maker."

Others viewed Singh as petulant and immature. "I want profit!" he would yell in meetings, two former employees recall. Among the staff, he was known for being preoccupied with his ranking on the Forbes list of India's 40 richest people. When he and his brother Shivinder fell from No. 9 in 2004 to No. 19 in 2005, despite $1.6 billion in assets, Singh seemed to blame the decline on a lack of employee loyalty, a former employee recalls.

Shows that even if "god in human form" is your uncle, enlightenment and detachment from worldly concerns can be far away. 

Tom Tomorrow: no reason to thank the Lord for tornado devastation

Like I did in a post, this Tom Tomorrow comic points out the absurdity of prayer and thanking God for death/destruction. (click to enlargencize)

Nice bit of CNN ridicule, also. (Wolf Blitzer did indeed ask a survivor if she thanked the Lord; turns out she was an atheist).

Gurinder Singh's son become CEO of Religare subsidiary

Money (lots of it) and spirituality (questionable amount of it) continue to mix at Radha Soami Satsang Beas, the Indian religious organization I used to be a part of.

Someone just emailed me a link to this news story, "Religare Health Trust names Gurpreet Dhillon as CEO."

Religare Health Trust (RHT), a wholly owned subsidiary of Delhi-based Religare Enterprise Ltd (REL), has named Gurpreet Dhillon as CEO of the company. Earlier, Dhillon was working as the executive director and COO of RHT.

...Gurpreet Dhillon is also a second cousin of the billionaire brothers Malvinder and Shivinder Singh who are the promoters of Religare and Fortis Group. Moreover, Gurpreet is one of the two sons of Gurinder Singh Dhillon, leader of the spiritual group Radha Soami Satsang Beas. The Singh brothers are followers of the spiritual group and their maternal grandfather had previously served as one of the gurus of the group.

It's a tangled web -- the connections between Guru Gurinder Singh Dhillon, Malvinder and Shivinder Singh, and the guru's sons. You can read about the strands here, here, and here.

Some will say that all's fair between relatives, whether close or distant. If a Radha Soami Satsang Beas devotee wants to make Indian-style billionaires out of relatives who just happen to be the guru and his sons, so what?

Others, like me, have an old-fashioned view that spirituality shouldn't be so closely connected to money-making. Gurus and other spiritual leaders should be focused on "divine" aspirations, not becoming hugely rich.

Meditation is good for your genes. So, likely, is patting a dog.

I've meditated every day since 1970, with just a handful of exceptions.

That's over forty years. During most of that time I thought I was engaged in a spiritual journey from illusion to enlightenment. Now, I don't believe much, if at all, in that possibility.

But I still meditate. Every day. Along with doing Tai Chi at least three days a week, which is a form of moving meditation. 

Meditation is good for the body and mind.

So those who don't believe in soul or spirit can benefit from meditation, yoga, Tai Chi, mindfulness, and other ways of eliciting the Relaxation Response (opposite of Stress Response). 

Recent research showed this to be true. I learned about the study in New Scientist. Here's what "Meditation boosts genes that promote good health" said:

FEELING run-down? Try a little chanting, or meditation – yes, really. Such relaxation techniques can boost the activity of genes that promote good health, and a few minutes each day is enough to show results.

"It's not New Age nonsense," says Herbert Benson of the Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston. He and his colleagues analysed the whole genomes of 26 volunteers – none of whom regularly meditates – before teaching them a relaxation routine lasting 10 to 20 minutes. It included reciting words, breathing exercises and emptying the mind.

After eight weeks of performing the routine daily, gene analysis was repeated. Clusters of beneficial genes had become more active and harmful ones less so (PLoS One, doi.org/mfj).

The boosted genes had three main effects: improving cellular energy efficiency; upping insulin production, which improves control of blood sugar; and preventing the breakdown of caps on chromosomes that help prevent cells wearing out and ageing.

Clusters of genes that became less active were those involved in chronic inflammation, which can lead to high blood pressure and heart disease.

By taking blood immediately before and after the technique was performed, researchers also showed that the gene changes happened within minutes. Further studies in people who regularly meditate suggest these changes could be long term. "It seems fitting that you should see these responses after just 15 minutes just as, conversely, short periods of stress have physiological effects that are harmful in the long term," says Julie Brefczynski-Lewis of West Virginia University in Morgantown.

The team is now looking at whether these techniques could be used as an adjunct to conventional medicine in people with high blood pressure, inflammatory bowel disease and cancer.

A lot more detail can be found in the study itself, which has a rather imposing title: Relaxation Response Induces Temporal Transcriptome Changes in Energy Metabolism, Insulin Secretion and Inflammatory Pathways.

What's beneficial is the relaxation response. Meditation is just one of the ways to achieve it. The study says:

The relaxation response (RR) is the counterpart of the stress response. Millennia-old practices evoking the RR include meditation, yoga and repetitive prayer.

...The RR is elicited when an individual focuses on a word, sound, phrase, repetitive prayer, or movement, and disregards everyday thoughts. These two steps break the train of everyday thinking.

Millennia-old mind-body approaches that elicit the RR include: various forms of meditation (e.g., mindfulness meditation and transcendental meditation); different practices of yoga (e.g., Vipassana and Kundalini); Tai Chi; Qi Gong; progressive muscle relaxation; biofeedback; and breathing exercises.

When I mentioned the subject of tonight's blog post to my wife, she was patting one of our two dogs. Her canine-centric reaction: "Patting a dog is another way to relax."

A few minutes of Googling revealed that this intuitively correct notion has some scientific evidence to back it up. So says the Harvard Health blog.

Studies going back to the early 1980s support the idea that dogs—and other pets—have enormous health benefits for people. Pets have been shown to lower blood pressure, improve recovery from heart disease, and even reduce rates of asthma and allergy in children who grow up with a Fido or a Frisky in the house. Pets also improve people’s psychological well-being and self-esteem.

Along with a survey of dog owners.

The poll of 1,000 of the UK's seven million dog owners, conducted for dog food makers Winalot, showed 55 per cent felt more relaxed after time with their dog, 44 per cent were more optimistic and another 44 per cent were less worried about life's everyday problems like job security and financial troubles. 

Psychologist Dr David Lewis, of Mindlab International, said: 'You’ve had a tough and stressful day. The boss has been on your case, the children playing up, the shops packed and the traffic bumper-to-bumper. 

'Now all you want to do is relax and unwind. Actually, forget the TV and interact with the dog instead. The research we conducted shows this is a profound and effective stress reducer and increases feelings of contentment and relaxation.'

In addition the survey found that one in four people describe their dog as their best friend and one in six women share their deepest, darkest secrets with their pet alone.

Sure. Who needs God?

Those who share their life with a canine know that reversing those letters reveals the true ultimate deity who must be loved, served, and honored: DOG.

Praying to a personal God requires us to be a "person"

I'm not big on praying. A few days ago I called it absurd, even in the face of tragedy. Prayers alone have zero effect on anything or anyone. Prayers plus action to change things... that can work.

Philosophically, though, praying raises some interesting questions. 

Is the entity being prayed to a personal being, or not? Usually we assume that it is, for good reason. Impersonal entities, like a stone, gravity, or a computer, aren't considered to be capable of responding to prayers. 

(Nonetheless, I've engaged in quite of bit of dialoguing with computers over the years; particularly Windows machines where my side of the conversation consisted mostly of profanity and marvelously creative curses.)

This is why "people of the Book," Christians, Jews, and Muslims, pray, while people who believe that impersonal forces guide the cosmos, such as Taoists and Buddhists, don't. At least not in the same sense as monotheists do.

A Taoist or Buddhist prayer (using that term loosely) really is more of an intention directed to oneself.

It's main purpose is to alter the consciousness of the person uttering the "prayer" than to appeal to a separate and distinct conscious divinity. Likewise, Taoists and Buddhists don't believe that humans are separate and distinct from the cosmos, possessing (or being) an individualized self or soul.

So we see a certain symmetry operating here. 

Those who pray to a personal God view themselves as "persons." This allows them to have a personal relationship with God, to enjoy the prospect of eternity in heaven, paradise, or wherever with their Best Godly Friend, to survive the demise of their body by virtue of an immortal soul.

Those who embrace an impersonal sense of the cosmos view themselves as integral aspects of the whole. There is nothing and no one to pray to, because nothing and no one is in control of the universe. Rather, everything is interconnected naturally.

This is a pleasingly scientific conception of reality. Also, in my opinion, the most genuinely spiritual (using that term loosely) way of looking upon the world.

Modern neuroscience agrees with ancient Taoism and Buddhism: there is no distinct "me" inside my head, or yours. No ethereal self or soul gazing upon the contents of consciousness from some supernatural height. No entity standing apart from the web of relationships that guide the course of everything in the universe.

In this sense, prayer reflects a lack of faith.

Those who pray for anything other than "thy will be done" (whether this be a natural or supernatural "will") are complaining that what did or will happen, shouldn't have. Instead of acceding to the reality of is, prayerful people substitute their personal vision of what should be.

Like I said, action is inevitable. We are born to act, born to desire, born to have goals we want to achieve. But we should realize that men and women propose, while nature disposes. And we are an integral aspect of nature.

No need to pray when there is no one to pray to, and no one, really, who is doing the praying.

Oklahoma tornado tragedy shows absurdity of prayer

I understand why people pray.

I've done a lot of praying myself. It's a natural reaction to appeal to a higher power when a loved one is seriously ill, lives are in danger, or some other unwanted event begs for divine intervention.

But while the motivation for prayer is utterly human, so is prayer itself. Almost certainly there is no God watching over us, listening to pleas for this and that, deciding which to grant and which to ignore.

I'm thankful for this. Because it would be worse if actually there were a God to pray to, a supernatural being like Zeus who threw thunderbolts on those he was angry at, while bestowing gifts on favored humans.

On my car radio I heard a survivor of the horrific Oklahoma tornado destruction say, "I prayed, and prayed, and prayed... for the tornado to head another way."

Again, understandable.

However, what a strange thing to want -- to have a tornado tear apart another area, instead of where this woman was. This probably wasn't in her mind at the time; it's the natural consequence of her prayer, though.

Kill someone else, not me. What kind of a God would respond to a prayer like that? For sure, no God I want to believe in.

If I believed in God, which I don't, I'd much prefer a naturalistic "god" which plays no favorites, treating all alike. Such an entity would be much more akin to Buddhist and Taoist notions of the cosmos: it is up to us to adapt to unavoidable circumstances, rather than appeal to some divine being to produce a miraculous avoidance of them.

A LA TImes story about how religious people responded to the tornado contains this Bible verse:

I form light and create darkness, I make well-being and create calamity, I am the Lord, who does all these things.  -- Isaiah 45:7

What a horrible God this Old Testament nightmare is.

Like I said, thank god he doesn't exist. I have no use for a God who kills school children by creating a tornado calamity. If that is God's idea of a good time, God can go to hell. Tragedies aren't made less tragic by invoking God's will.

Let's cry, be thankful, act courageously, be fearful, express gratitude, and engage in all the other human emotions that arise naturally when awful things happen. Leave God out of it. 

"In the middle of difficulty, the one thing we know is that God is good," Alan Danielson, the church's senior pastor, told the few dozen attending parishioners. 

Actually you don't know that, Pastor Danielson.

What we know after a disaster hits is that most people are good. They rush to help others; they comfort; they support; they embrace; they cry with the pained and smile with the relieved. And these people don't wait for prayers to spur them into action.

They do so naturally. To me, this is truly godlike.

"The hard problem" of consciousness may not exist

This week's issue of New Scientist has a special section on consciousness. Conscious being that I am, I enjoyed reading about whatever the heck my consciousness consists of.

The articles contained a lot of interesting information. Much progress is being made on understanding how the brain works, including what causes something to be conscious rather unconscious. For example:

One of the most prominent attempts to turn this experimental data into a theory of consciousness is known as the "global neuronal workspace" model. This suggests that input from our eyes, ears and so on, is first processed unconsciously, primarily in sensory brain regions. 

It emerges into our conscious awareness only if it ignites activity in the prefrontal and parietal cortices, with these regions connecting through ultrafast brainwaves.

However, the introduction to the special issue distinguished between "easy problems" like what's discussed above, and the "hard problem" -- what consciousness is in itself.

THERE are a lot of hard problems in the world, but only one of them gets to call itself "the hard problem". And that is the problem of consciousness – how a kilogram or so of nerve cells conjures up the seamless kaleidoscope of sensations, thoughts, memories and emotions that occupy every waking moment. 

The intractability of this problem prompted British psychologist Stuart Sutherland’s notorious 1989 observation: "Consciousness is a fascinating but elusive phenomenon… Nothing worth reading has been written on it." 

The hard problem remains unsolved. Yet neuroscientists have still made incredible progress understanding consciousness, from the reasons it exists to the problems we have when it doesn’t work properly. 

Is consciousness still fascinating? Yes. Elusive? Absolutely. But Sutherland’s final point no longer stands. Read on…

Some people, though, don't agree that there even is a hard problem. I'm coming to agree with them. 

To me "the hard problem" bears a lot of resemblance to the famous question, "why is there something rather than nothing?" This presumes the validity of "rather than nothing." 

Why not solve the problem of why there is something rather than nothing by simply saying, "there is something." End of story. No one has any experience of a cosmos that doesn't exist, of absolute nothingness. 

Yet philosophers act as if this is a possibility. So, wow!, isn't it amazing that there is something rather than nothing!!! Let's ponder why this is so!

Noted philosopher Daniel Dennett doesn't believe there is a hard problem of consciousness. Here's what he says in his new book, "Intuition Pumps and Other Tools of Thinking."

The Hard Problem, for [David] Chalmers, is the problem of "experience," what it is like to be conscious, the inexpressible, unanalyzable thusness of being conscious.

...Some of us, myself included, think the Hard Problem is a figment of Chalmer's imagination, but others -- surprisingly many -- have the conviction that there is or would be a real difference between a conscious person and a perfect zombie and that this is important.

There is, of course, no evidence that a perfect zombie actually exists, someone who acts exactly like a normal person, yet has no conscious experience.

Again, this reminds me of the "something" rather than "nothing" question. Philosophers imagine that an entity which shows no sign of existing does, then wonder how it can be that what exists isn't what doesn't exist.

Dennett describes a magic trick called "The Tuned Deck." No one, even other magicians, could ever figure out how Ralph Hull performed the trick with a deck of cards. After he died, Hull revealed the secret. 

Hull's basic approach was that he would repeat "The Tuned Deck" trick, fooling people with the singular word "The" so they wouldn't recognize that Hull was using a wide variety of well-known "pick a card, any card..." tricks.

Without revealing the exact details (a magic no-no), Dennett writes:

And so it would go, for dozens of repetitions, with Hull staying one step ahead of his hypothesis-testers, exploiting his realization that he could always do some trick or other from the pool of tricks they all knew, and concealing the fact that he was doing a grab bag of different tricks by the simple expedient of the definite article: The Tuned Deck. As Hull explained it to Hilliard:

Each time it is performed, the routine is such that one or more ideas in the back of the spectator's head is exploded, and sooner or later he will invariably give up any further attempt to solve the mystery.

Hull's trick was introducing a single common word: "the" -- for heaven's sake. This modest monosyllable seduced his audience of experts, paralyzing their minds, preventing them from jootsing. They found themselves stuck in a system in which they were sure they had to find a big, new trick, so they couldn't see that their problem(s) had not one solution, but many; they failed to jump out of the system.

I am suggesting, then, that David Chalmers has -- unintentionally -- perpetuated the same feat of conceptual sleight of hand in declaring to the world that he has discovered "The Hard Problem." Is there really a Hard Problem?

Or is what appears to be the Hard Problem simply the large bag of tricks that constitute what Chalmers calls the Easy Problems of Consciousness? These all have mundane explanations, requiring no revolutions in physics, no emergent novelties. They succumb, with much effort, to the standard methods of cognitive science.

I'll readily admit to being conflicted. As noted above, I'm coming to feel that the Big Mystery of consciousness is indeed reducible to a bunch of Little Mysteries.

But damn! I want my consciousness to be a freaking Big Mystery!

For most of my life I've meditated, taken psychedelic drugs, sat at the feet of a mystic guru (both literally and metaphorically), studied esoteric literature, marveled at how I'm aware of a vast cosmos that seemingly could have remained without consciousness in any corner of it.

Reading Dennett, part of me feels... Hey, dude, don't take away that Big Mystery I've been so invested in fathoming. What am I supposed to do with the rest of my life?

While another part of me feels... There's nothing wrong with being a Little Mystery. Even a Teeny-Tiny Mystery. After all, does size really matter?

I changed a Bollywood actor's life... turning him vegetarian

Until recently I'd never heard of Shahid Kapoor, a Bollywood actor in India. But it turns out that we have a connection: after reading my book, Life is Fair, Kapoor became a vegetarian.

Here's the tale, as told in "The Man Who Changed Shahid Kapoor's Life" 

His father, who follows Radha Soami, had been preaching to him for years about the benefits of eating only what is grown in the farms, had no effect on him; but the book converted him.

A decade ago Shahid Kapoor turned vegetarian. He got on to a flight with a book Life Is Fair by Brian Hines (gifted to him by his father Pankaj Kapoor) and when he got off the flight, he never touched non-vegetarian food again. Such was the impact of the book that Shahid even wanted the women he dated to embrace his food habits...

His father, who follows Radha Soami, had been preaching to him for years about the benefits of eating only what is grown in the farms, had no effect on him; but the book converted him. It is written by anauthor for the Indian spiritual organisation, Radha Soami Satsang Beas and it is a karmic justification for vegetarianism. Strangely today, the author who changed the actor’s life does not believe in the same principles that he spouted then.

Hines, who now runs a a blog called Church of the Churchless, says, “Today, I don’t look upon karma and reincarnation as I did thirteen years ago. The only thing I can be certain about is that from this moment until the day I die, I’m not going to be absolutely certain about anything. But here’s the thing: I changed. And I’m still changing. As are we all. Thankfully. Because change only stops when we’re dead. Until then, living leads us in largely unpredictable ways. I’m glad I wrote the book. It pleases me to think that some people have become vegetarians as a result of reading it, or were strengthened in their commitment to remain meatless. Likewise, writing Life is Fair meant a lot to me. I agree that some parts of the book aren’t scientifically defensible. I’d write it differently today, but yesterday isn’t today.”

When asked if  Hines still subscribes to vegetarianism, he says, “Well, I no longer believe that reincarnation, and karma, that extends over multiple lives, is the best reason to be a vegetarian. However, there is plenty of scientific evidence, along with ethical arguments, for not eating animals. I still stand 100% behind these reasons for being a vegetarian. These really, are the main points I made in Life is Fair; killing and eating animals for food creates negative health effects for people and (obviously) negative effects for the animals who have been killed and eaten.”

When told that a leading Indian actor turned vegetarian after reading the book, he says, “I’m pleased that my book had an effect on Shahid. Since this book was written as seva, I didn’t get any payment from writing it other than the satisfaction of feeling that some people may have been encouraged to become vegetarians.”

The quotes by me came from an email I sent to the person who ended up writing this story. I was asked by the journalist for Bombay's DNA newspaper if I still subscribed to the views expressed in a blog post, "Is my 'Life is Fair' book really crap?"

My answers comprise much of the story. 

Yes, I still strongly believe in being a vegetarian.

However, I no longer consider that avoiding nasty karma that'll be incurred in future reincarnations is a good reason to not eat animals for food. Looking at this life alone, there are plenty of good karmic, meaning cause-and-effect, reasons to be a vegetarian.

I feel good that my book touched Shahid Kapoor in the way it did. This is a reflection of how interestingly interconnected the world has become.

I wrote Life is Fair in the late 1990s. There I was, a fifty'ish American guy living in Oregon, writing a book aimed at explaining why vegetarianism makes sense -- both scientifically and from the standpoint of Indian philosophy. 

The book was published in India. I enjoyed hearing from someone who told me, "I saw bluejean clad Indian teenagers carrying your book around." 

Cool, I thought.

This is how "flat" (in Thomas Friedman's sense) the world has become. An American guy who follows a guru in India writes a book that is read by Indians who want to better understand their culture's ancient philosophical tradition.

(I used lots of cartoons to make my points, so maybe this helps explain why Life is Fair appealed to some readers who aren't turned on by the Vedas or Upanishads.)

Anyway, reading the story about Shahid Kapoor made me feel good. Writers write to touch someone. Knowing that the book I labored over for several years had an effect on Kapoor... sweet! 

Fireplaces are bad for you. Also, pleasant. Like religion.

Here's a thought-provoking You Tube video: someone reading aloud Sam Harris' essay "The Fireplace Delusion." 

It's about how we can emotionally and intuitively enjoy something, while understanding reasonably and factually that this thing isn't good for us.

We have a wood stove in our house, but we don't use it very much -- for reasons described in the video. Plus, my wife has allergies. However, I enjoy burning wood outside. 

I'm not sure how well this fireplace: religion metaphor works. Yet like almost everything Sam Harris writes, it makes you think. 

 

JOOTSing -- Jumping Out Of The System

Sounds good to me, this Jootsing thing. Learned about it in Chapter 8 of Daniel Dennett's new book, "Intuition Pumps and Other Tools for Thinking."

Joots is a term coined by Douglas Hofstadter. It stands for "Jumping Out Of The System." Jootsing is doing that.

This is an important tactic not just in science and philosophy, but also in the arts. Creativity, that ardently sought but only rarely found virtue, often is a heretofore unimagined violation of the rules of the system from which it springs.

...When you are confronting a scientific or philsophical problem, the system you need to jump out of is typically so entrenched that it is as invisible as the air you breathe.

As a general rule, when a long-standing controversy seems to be getting nowhere, with both "sides" stubbornly insisting they are right, as often as not the trouble is that there is something they both agree on that is just not so.

Both sides consider it so obvious, in fact, that it goes without saying. Finding these invisible problem-poisoners is not an easy task, because whatever seems obvious to these warring experts is apt to seem obvious, on reflection, to just about everybody.

This reminds me of a term often used by a regular commenter on this blog, Mike Williams. He often speaks of Something Else.

Not God. Not energy. Not matter. Not spirit. Not mind. Not consciousness. 

At least, I'm pretty sure these sorts of things can't be Something Else, because they are such familiar concepts. Sure, no one knows what any of those words really means, but enough people think they do to make possible lively debate about them.

God exists. Or not. Consciousness is brain-based. Or not. And so on. Dennett has this to say about consciousness, in regard to joots:

Ray Jackendoff and I have argued that we must drop the almost always tacit assumption that consciousness is the "highest" or "most central" of all mental phenomena, and I have argued that thinking of consciousness as a special medium (rather like the ether) into which contents get transduced or translated is a widespread and unexamined habit of thought that should be broken.

Dennett notes that productive jootsing sometimes involves subtraction, and sometimes addition.

Several of the great instances of jootsing have involved abandoning some well-regarded thing that turned out not to exist after all. Phlogiston was supposed to be an element in fire, and caloric was the invisible, self-repellent fluid or gas that was supposed to be the chief ingredient in heat, but these were dropped, and so was the ether as a medium in which light traveled the way sound travels through air and water.

But other admirable jootsings are additions, not subtractions: germs and electrons and -- maybe even -- the many-worlds interpetation of quantum mechanics!

"Why is there something rather than nothing?" is mentioned as a philosophical (and religious) question that deserves some jootsing. I agree. 

I've blogged about this question quite a bit. The more I ponder it, the more it seems to me that presuming the reality of "nothing" is highly dubious. Abandon that supposed "thing," and the problem implied by the question disappears.

We know something exists. There's no reason to believe nothing does exist, or could exist.

Yet philosophers and metaphysicians who enjoy playing the "Why is there something rather than nothing?" game have agreed to assume the validity of the question.

What other philosophical, religious, spiritual, mystical and other sorts of problems/questions could benefit from some jootsing -- some Jumping Out Of The System where reality is looked at from a surprisingly different angle?

Hard to say. Jootsing is tough to do. Personally, I think it is almost impossible to willfully Jump Out Of The System, because almost always we're doing so from a toehold within the System. We end up jumping only to a different corner of the System, not out of it entirely.

Relaxing. Trusting. Opening up. Surrendering. Letting loose. Flowing freely.

I feel those words point to a better platform for jootsing. Which really means, no platform. Or at least, a minimal one.

Isn't it true that when we try really hard to remember the name of someone, it eludes us; but often pops into awareness when we least expect it?

Jootsing might work the same way. 

Thoughts about Yogananda's Kriya Yoga

Here's two email messages that I got from a woman who practices Kriya Yoga and has had some pretty amazing yogic experiences. Yet she considers that the experiences are entirely based on the body/brain.

The book referred to in the first message is Yogananda's "Autobiography of a Yogi." Way back when (early 70's probably) I read the book and marveled at the far-out descriptions of mystical goings-on.

Message #1:

Hi Brian,

Yes, unfortunately, a lot of people believed what Yogananda experienced was true. This is what helped build the organization he founded in California... The Self Realization Fellowship which later was incorporated as a church for tax purposes. I read part of the book when I was in my 20"s; now I'm 52 (an old gal). Back then I believed what was written.

About a year and a half ago I picked up the book and starting reading some of it and had to close the book realizing how it resembled a fantasy story (Lord of The Rings came to mind for some reason). Oh yes, I believe he did experience visions as this is what the practice of kriya yoga meditation will do. However, I think his religious fanaticism and devotion to a being called God, which does not exist, set the stage for these far out experiences.

My experiences with kriya yoga had me seeing golden light, wheels of light in red, yellow, orange, blue and violet (Oh yeah, gotta love this one, my guru says these are the chakras coming into view, keep placing OM at each chakra with the upward breath as we need to cleanse the chakras).

Then later on in the practice I kept seeing a full white moon, after that came the bursting forth of many suns while practicing yoni mudra. Which after a while my guru told me it was showing me how creation forms, a bursting forth of energy and light.

Anyway, with this practice I have found no god entity, no existence of heaven or hell and certainly no soul or spirit residing in the human body. Only matter, energy, and consciousness in other words, body, and brain. 

Message #2:

Paramahansa Yogananda proclaimed to have come to the West to spread the teachings of an ancient yogic science called Kriya Yoga. In Chapter 26 of his book "Autobiography Of A Yogi" entitled "The Science Of Kriya Yoga" 3rd paragraph it is written:

Kriya Yoga is a simple psychophysiological method whereby, the blood is decarbonated and recharged with oxygen. Atoms of this extra oxygen are transmitted into life current to rejuvenate the brain and spinal centers. By stopping the accumulation of venous blood the yogi is able to lessen or prevent the decay of tissues. The advanced yogi transmutes his cells into energy. He then goes on to state Elijah, Jesus, Kabir, and other prophets used kriya or some similar method to cause their bodies to materialize and dematerialize at will. 

Sound far fetched? You bet! 

I am initiated into kriya yoga and have been practicing this tantric meditation technique for a while now. With this method one is instructed on where and how to locate the 7 chakras which in reality are the lumbar points in the spine. The 7th chakra is not part of the spine as it is the crown/ top of the head. The kriyaban is instructed in various mudras and in pranayama. Many of which come from the Hatha Yoga Pradipika. Such as the correct asana for practicing kriya meditation, kechari, the mahamudra, shambhavi mudra. 

The practice of kriya yoga pranayam, whereby one draws the breath upwards mentally touching each of the chakras (spinal centers) then resting in the kumbhaka state produced visions of wheels of light in red, yellow, orange, blue, and violet. These I was told by my guru are the chakras coming into view. Keep placing OM at each chakra as we need to cleanse the karmic seeds from our chakra database. (Okaaay,)

Then suddenly, one day my entire head was flooded with a golden light and the internal sounds of Omkar resounded within. Such peace, joy and bliss. I was sure I had found the god within! Turns out it was all brought about by the practice of pranayama. Breath and mind are linked!

Next came all the sensations of energy (prana) moving up and down the spine. The body would gently sway like the motion of a pendulum on a clock. The spine felt like it was tingling and vibrating. I saw a pure white orb like the full moon on several occasions. Wow! such a great spiritual vision, so I thought. Then came the bursting forth of many suns while practicing yoni mudra.

According to my guru, this mudra was showing me creation, the bursting forth of energy and light even though this mudra is manipulated by the one practicing it. One takes a deep inhalation, retains it, thumbs close the ears, index fingers cover closed eyelids, middle fingers close the nostrils while the ring fingers and pinkies are placed at the corners of the mouth. 

To sum up everything, all the visions are just a product of practicing pranayama (breathing technique). The energy flows of prana are also produced by practicing pranayama. Breath and mind are definitely linked. Nothing mystical.

The sense that all is one or everything is one also arises from doing this practice. However, the feeling of being one with everything is impermanent. 

Religions make a Big Problem out of life's little problems

We've all got problems.

Some days it seems like life is nothing but one problem popping up after another. Car won't start. Forgot to pay credit card bill. Child came home with bad report card. Faucet has started leaking. Knee is hurting for some reason.

Of course, much of life is problem-free.

Or seemingly so. Even when things are going well, usually there's some nagging glitch that keeps an enjoyable experience from being perfectly so. I'm enjoying the movie, but, geez, why does that guy behind me have to eat his popcorn so noisily?

There's no problem in getting help with our problems. Family, friends, doctors, plumbers, You Tube, Google -- fortunately there are plenty of places to turn when we aren't sure how to handle a problem. 

However, now that I'm in a churchless frame of mind I do have a problem with religions that manufacture an overarching Big Problem. This isn't any of life's little problems, though supposedly it is the hidden cause of them. For example...

Christianity has Original Sin. Hinduism has Maya. Buddhism has Karma. 

These supernatural Big Problem concepts are used to explain why everyday life is so full of little problems. Religions also promise that if we can fix the Big Problem, those little problems will go away. Maybe not now, but after death.

Then we'll be saved, enlightened, released from the wheel of rebirth, or whatever other goodie is promised by some religion.

Only problem is, there's no evidence that the Big Problem exists, nor any evidence that after death all of our little problems will vanish and we'll still be alive in some form.

(For sure our problems will vanish after death, but without holding some religious belief the best bet is that so will we; no me, no problems -- yet also no me aware of having no problems.)

So here's something to ponder:

Given that we already have to deal with so many problems in life, does it make sense to embrace a religion that conjures up a Big Problem which we're supposed to deal with along with everyday little problems?

Or is it possible to live a meaningful life without believing in some hypothesized Big Problem that only exists as theological dogma, not direct experience?

Not surprisingly, I answer "no" and "yes" to those questions.

A life lesson about "faith" I've learned on Maui, bodyboarding

Whenever I go to Maui, I learn something. Not from a book, holy or otherwise. Not from a person, revered or otherwise. 

From experience. The best teacher.

Usually from one of my favorite experiences, bodyboarding, which I'm only able to do in warm wavy water, something Hawaii has in abundance (in my home state, Oregon, we've got great ocean waves, but, damn, they're cold.)

Bloggings about some of the past life lessons I've learned on Maui can be perused here, here, and here. What follows are insights gained on my most recent Maui visit.

After some middling-good wave days, OK but not Wow'ish, the ocean swells on Napili Bay became the way I like them: big, and breaking nicely over reef rocks midway in the bay.

By 8 am my bodyboarding-crazed brain had spurred me to paddle out, the only person sane or crazy enough to be in the water at that time. I caught a nice wave right away. And proceeded to ride wave after wave after wave, until my 64 year old body said "enough, dude."

It was a peak experience. Catching large waves makes me feel absolutely great. No matter what happens after bodyboarding (a.k.a. boogieboarding), after just one ride on a big breaking wave I know this has been a well-lived day.

Returning to our condo, I rested. I picked up a book I'd been reading, Galen Guengerich's God Revised: How Religion Must Evolve in a Scientific Age.

Some of what he wrote helped me understand conceptually what experientially I know every time I catch a breaking wave. Here Guengerich is speaking of a form of "faith" that is much different from blind belief in religious dogma.

But if our faith is not acceptance of supernatural revelation, what is it? Let me be candid. Faith is something no one fully understands. It peers into the realm of mystery and transcendence, of meaning and purpose, of value and satisfaction. 

In the modern world, people of enlightened faith live on the boundary between things we know for certain and things we can never fully comprehend. 

...Faith requires a leap of the moral imagination to connect the world as it is to the world as it might become... Faith looks at what is and imagines what might be.

I didn't agree with everything Gunegerich wrote in his "Keeping the Faith" chapter. But these words rang true to me.

There's a moment in bodyboarding, as in surfing (I've never surfed, but I've caught a lot of waves, just as surfers do) when you're on the edge. You don't know. You're not sure. You're in the realm of maybe. 

Maybe I'm going to catch this wave. Maybe I'm not.

Sometimes I'm almost certain that I will; sometimes I'm almost certain that I won't. Those varieties of certainty become more accurate with experience -- knowing that when a wave like this, is acting like that, and I'm positioned here, such-and-such will happen. Still, there's always that maybe.

A big part of what makes bodyboarding so satisfying and fun is maybe. Uncertainty.

Even when I'm caught in the curl of a wave, feeling "this is going to be a good ride," surprises can happen. Waves can act in mysterious ways. I've been dumped upside down so quickly it made my head spin (literally). And I've had a wave pass me by that I figured I was almost sure to catch.

When life is certain, it lacks meaning. For me, at least. I'm always just talking about me, when I'm speaking about meaning. There's no meaning without a me. And for me, I'm the only meaning-making me I know directly.

Your experience of life may be different. However, I suspect that if you reflect on the happiest, most satisfying moments you experience, they will include a big dose of "maybe." 

Certainties feel mechanical. Gears revolving, producing an expected outcome. Click, click, click. Certainties aren't human. They aren't natural. The laws of nature, though orderly, usually don't produce completely calculable life experiences. 

Fortunately. 

If I knew exactly what was going to happen every time I see a large wave approaching and I position myself to catch it, bodyboarding wouldn't be nearly as much fun. The joy I feel doing it is much enhanced by living on that mysterious boundary Guengerich speaks of.

The boundary between what is, and what will be. Which also is the boundary between what was, and what is.

We are part of something much bigger than ourselves. I prefer to call it "cosmos" rather than "God." But, hey, words can't encompass it; knowledge can't explain it; expectations can't predict it. When the part of the cosmos that is me is engaged with the part that is ocean waves, I feel these things acutely.

I don't know. I'm clueless. Mystery always looms over, under, in front, and back of me. 

Whether out in the ocean or inside my brain, I can't predict with total accuracy what will happen next. This is what "faith" really is: being OK with that. It isn't being certain. About God, life after death, salvation, or anything else.

It's waiting for the next wave of life to arrive (yeah, they do keep on coming; no stopping them) with open arms, mind, and heart. Not understanding. Not knowing. Not being sure. Just feeling, "I am you, and you are me, and we are all together." 

(So sang someones famously, sort of.)

If God doesn't exist, do we still need to believe in "God"?

I love to get free books. One of the benefits of being an active churchless blogger is getting review copies of books in the "spiritual but not religious" genre. 

I'm about a third of the way through Galen Guengerich's "God Revised: How Religion Must Evolve in a Scientific Age." I like the title, and I''m liking the book -- though this isn't really a review, since I've still got most of the book to read.

Today I reached one of Galen Guengerich's core theses in the "What's Divine" chapter (he's the senior minister of All Souls Unitarian Church in Manhattan). 

A central premise of this book, and perhaps its most controversial and counterintuitive claim, is that God is not supernatural, and yet belief in God is necessary. Ironically, both atheists and traditional religionists agree about the nature of God; they disagree only about whether this God does or does not exist. For my part, I agree with the atheists that God is not supernatural, yet I agree with the advocates of traditional religion that belief in God is necessary.

Hmmmm.

My first reaction when I read this was, Good luck making that argument. It's tough to make a case for a "God" who/that isn't supernatural. 

I've looked into pantheism, and it's less appealing (to me) variant, panentheism. Pantheism basically says that the universe is God, while panentheism posits that God interpenetrates the universe while extending beyond it.

When Guengerich said he agrees that God is not supernatural, yet belief in God is necessary, I thought "he's a pantheist." This would have been disappointing, because I've never understood why the concept of "God" needs to be added to the concept of "universe" if the two are identical.

Sure, its easy to say that God is everything there is.

But how is this different from saying the universe/cosmos is everything there is? Likewise, I could say God is love. Which, if God isn't anything supernatural or distinct from the universe, seems to be no different from saying love is love.

Thus the problem with pantheism is that it doesn't add anything to our understanding of reality other than calling the universe by another name: God.

Good writer and smart thinker that he is, I hoped Guengerich wouldn't take this easy philosophical way out in his attempt to salvage a belief in God while rejecting supernaturalism. Though I've got quite a few chapters left to read, it's looking like he has come up with a fresh way of looking upon a scientifically-defensible notion of God.

Because a few pages further on, I came to this:

For reasons that will become apparent in the next chapter, I believe this experience of being extensively connected to the universe and utterly dependent on it is an absolutely necessary aspect of a fulfilling human life. It also provides a foundation for the experience I'm referring to when I use the word "God." God is the experience of being connected to all that is -- all that is present, as well as all that is past and all that is possible.

When people ask me whether I believe God exists, my answer is yes. I believe God exists in a way similar to the way beauty exists, but not in the way a person or an apple exists. An apple is a physical object that can be weighed and measured.

...God, by contrast, is an experience, akin to our experience of beauty. Beauty itself never appears to us, but we find the idea necessary to account for our delight in the symmetry and form of certain objects and experiences: sunsets, symphonies, and sculptures by Degas. While different in many other respects, beauty and God are both qualities of our experience.

OK. This is a different take on pantheism. Rather than focusing on the objective existence of everything there is, the universe/cosmos, Guengerich seems to be emphasizing the subjective experience of everything there is, including its past, present, and future manifestations. 

When I look up into the night sky while on a dog walk around our neighborhood's lake, and marvel at how mysteriously vast the universe is, along with the mysterious ability of conscious beings like me to marvel at it, seemingly I'm experiencing Guengerich's God.

I'm still skeptical about what is gained from calling my experience "God." I'm sure Guengerich will do his best to convince me why this is necessary or desirable in his book's remaining chapters.

God talks to lots of people... the mind talking to itself

Has God ever talked to you? Have you ever heard divine sounds, or seen divine visions? If so, you've got lots of company according to "Is That God Talking?" by T.M. Luhrmann, a professor of anthropology at Stanford.

A questionnaire posed to 375 college students found that 71 percent reported vocal hallucinations of some kind, according to a study published in 1984 (a finding consistent with my own research). A 2000 study found that 38.7 percent of the population reported visual, auditory or other hallucinations, including out-of-body experiences.

Interesting. 

Fairly frequently people post comments on this blog or send me emails about "inner" experiences that, to them, prove that they're right and I'm wrong: God certainly does exist, as do heavenly supernatural realms.

Well, by that logic we'd have to believe in the validity of countless Godly experiences, many of them decidedly contradictory with each other. 

Is God a person, a power, a universal presence? Is there one God or many Gods? Is God involved with the world, or does God sit back as a passive observer? Is there a single favored way to know God, or many ways?

People who have religious experiences come up with all kinds of answers to these sorts of questions. Christians almost always find the tenets of their faith confirmed; Hindus, the tenets of their faith. It's rare for someone who is a fervent believer in some religion to have a vision of the divine that leads them to proclaim, "I was wrong! Christianity isn't correct -- Buddhism is!" [or whatever}

Yet if God is objectively real, why don't people who hear or see God agree about what the divine nature is like?

Luhrmann suggests an obvious answer: what religious people fervently believe conceptually to be true, eventually becomes experientially true for them. The mind is a marvelous creator of subjective reality. It will deliver what is wanted, if the desire is strong enough.

I eventually discovered that these experiences were associated with intense prayer practice. They felt spontaneous, but people who liked to get absorbed in their imaginations were more likely to experience them. Those were the people who were more likely to love to pray, and the “prayer warriors” who prayed for long periods were likely to report even more of them.

The prayer warriors said that as they became immersed in prayer, their senses became more acute. Smells seemed richer, colors more vibrant. Their inner sensory worlds grew more vivid and more detailed, and their thoughts and images sometimes seemed as if they were external to the mind. Later, I was able to demonstrate experimentally that prayer practice did lead to more vivid inner images and more hallucination-like events.

Again, if descriptions of these inner sensory images --  sights, sounds, smells, and such -- were consistent across religions, this would be much stronger evidence that those who pray and meditate were coming into contact with an objectively true supernatural reality.

But this doesn't happen. Again, Christians have Christian'y experiences; Buddhists have Buddhist'y experiences; Hindus have Hindu'y experiences. 

What the mind dwells upon and expects, the mind delivers as inner experiences. Nothing supernatural involved. Just the mind doing its thing. Prayer and meditation are powerful tools that create "divine" experiences. So, of course, do psychedelic drugs like psilocybin. 

The more interesting lesson is what it tells us about the mind and prayer. If hearing a voice is associated with focused attention to the inner senses — hearing with the mind’s ear, seeing with the mind’s eye — it suggests that prayer (which today, the National Day of Prayer, celebrates) is a pretty powerful instrument.

We often imagine prayer as a practice that affects the content of what we think about — our moral aspirations, or our contrition. It’s probably more accurate to understand prayer as a skill that changes how we use our minds.

Without religion, I enjoy feeling normal and not special

Recently I experienced an insignificant moment on an airplane which reminded me of how, when I was religious, experiences like this took on a wildly undeserved meaning.

The flight attendants were coming down the aisle on their last beverage service before the plane landed. Sitting way in the back, I could hear repeatedly, "Would you like a complimentary Mai Tai?"

I started to think about what I'd say when the two women got to my aisle. 

I've probably only had a couple of Mai Tai's in my life. In fact, likely I've consumed less than a dozen alcoholic mixed drinks in my 64 years of living. 

From the age of 20 until I was in my mid-50's, I didn't drink a drop of alcohol. Not even wine or beer. I was devoted to a system of meditation that required from its practitioners total abstinence from alcohol and mind-altering drugs.

For that and other reasons, I felt really special in my true believing days.

Of course, like most religious people I tried to hide my attitude of Me, Me, Me behind a veneer of Thee, Thee, Thee -- submission to the will of my guru and God (who were tightly connected, since the guru was considered to be God in Human Form, a lot like Jesus is viewed by Christians).

In truth, though, I'd come to see my life as akin to what was noted in the above-linked post: a Technicolor production in a black-and-white world.

My vivdness arose out of a belief that I was on a fast track to spiritual and mystical understandings which most people in the world would never be privvy to, because I was a "chosen person" and they weren't (amazing how so many religions consider a particular faith, and that faith alone, to be the special beloved of God.)

So, for example, I'd stand in a theatre ticket line, observing my fellow movie-goers, and think, while repeating the oh-so-special mantra the guru had given me when I was initiated in 1971, "I am destined for divine heights these other people will never reach; I'm so fortunate."

It felt good to feel so special. Yet, looking back, it also was a burden. Many little things of life became gigantic moral challenges. 

I was such a strict vegetarian, I didn't want to eat even a speck of meat, fish, or egg. I read the details of every food label to make sure that something like Worchester sauce wasn't in it, because the sauce contains anchovies. 

If some of my dining companions were ordering wine with dinner, I'd decline even a taste. After all, commandments must be followed. God in Human Form, my guru, had told me not to drink a drop of any alcoholic drink. 

Now I see things much differently. There are indeed good reasons for not drinking alcohol. Feeling that by remaining abstinent you are strenthtening your special relationship with God isn't one of them. 

Eventually I tired of my supposed special-ness. I yearned for normalcy. I wanted to feel like I was no better and no worse than anyone else, just another human being living my human life. I make my choices about what to do; other people make theirs. We're all going along trying to do the best we can.

Deciding whether to drink a free Mai Tai no longer is an episode in a morality play for me. As the flight attendants came closer, I wondered whether I'd like the taste of it, and if one drink of an unfamiliar alocholic concoction would affect my driving after I picked up a rental car.

"Complimentary Mai Tai?" The flight attendant looked at me.

"Sure," I said. She turned to the guy in the center seat. "Sure," he told her. I liked how he used the same word I did. I'd only exchanged a few words with him during the flight. But now we were Mai Tai buddies, two normal guys enjoying a free drink.

I'm still a strict vegetarian. I rarely consume more alcohol than a nightly glass of red wine. I meditate every morning. Difference is now, I don't feel like I'm doing anything special, or that I'm anybody special for doing these things. 

Who knew Louis C.K. was a (funny) philosopher?

Being an admirer of the American comedian Louis C.K., naturally I was attracted to the title of a Yoga Brains post I came across: "The Yoga of Louis C.K."

It's worth a read. Excerpt:

With that in mind, the below clip, which ended comedian Louis C.K.’s HBO special ‘Oh My God,’ while hilariously funny (and worth watching on those merits alone), points to the deep rift we humans suffer on a daily basis: the distance between what we think and how we, at least sometimes, act. Or, at the very least, the conflicting chorus of voices that consistently ring out in our heads, oftentimes at the most inopportune moments—what he refers to as ‘Of Course’ and ‘But Maybe.’

Kudos to Louis C.K. for being able to get laughs by talking about children dying from nut allergies. Humor is marvelous.

We're reminded that, sure, life can be really tough and serious. Nothing to joke about. Of course.

But maybe... everything is a joke. On some level. 

Of course... that probably is wrong. But maybe... And so we go.

Here's the video clip.

 

Early editions of Radha Soami Satsang Beas books wanted

A while back I blogged about how I boxed up almost all of the Radha Soami Satsang Beas (RSSB) books that I'd accumulated over some thirty-five years. 

An Indian woman had contacted me, saying she was looking for older editions (first and second editions, ideally) of RSSB books published before 2000. I agreed to send her mine for the cost of mailing. They were sent to her relatives in this country, because shipping books to India is expensive.

Only one of the three boxes I sent off got to her. Two were lost, one seemingly because it was opened by the postal service to check if the contents indeed qualified for "book rate," then not resealed properly. I did my best to find the books via USPS staff, but had no luck.

I just heard from the woman again. She still wants to obtain copies of older RSSB books, preferably first or second editions, published before 2000. She wants the older editions because she has heard that they were rewritten, and she wants the "originals."

Email me (see right sidebar) if you have any books you don't want any more.

She will pay the mailing cost. I'll forward any emails I get to her. Then she and the prospective book provider can work things out. I was glad to get rid of books that were sitting in storage boxes in our attic. Books should be read, not stored away.

This woman has told me that she's interested in the RSSB teachings, though she isn't an initiate. This is what she told me in one of the first emails that we exchanged.

 

The basic reason why I am interested in the RSSB books is that I have a keen interest in philosophy. The journey "within" has been shrouded in mystery in all the ancient cultures of the world....mystics who have trod this path since time immemorial have alluded to it with vague accounts, but few have described it at any length. The RSSB books seem to have set it out simply, shorn of elaborate masks and interpretations...and they had made their books freely available to all seekers....at least till some time ago. 

 

Be a real actual body, not an imagined abstract soul

What are we? Ah, there's an ageless question. Matter? Energy? Mind? Spirit? Soul? A combination?

As noted in a post from a few years back, "Feeling the spirit... via body or soul?," I used to believe that our true nature was non-material soul-consciousness. After I died, or maybe before if my meditation bore fruit, I'd soar into a spiritual realm of existence and enjoy a soulful (literally) existence.

Yet where is the evidence for this? Nowhere. Except in the minds of people who believe this sort of stuff -- which seemingly includes the majority of the world's population, given how popular supernatural religiosity is.

(Though traditional Christianity taught that resurrection of the faithful was a bodily affair, I've seen surveys that indicate most Christians today think their soul will go to heaven after death and spend quality time with God, Jesus, departed relatives, and other souls who won the Salvation Lottery.)

One reason I've switched to embracing my bodily nature a lot more enthusiastically than I did in my churched days is this:

For me, living in my head, surrounded by abstract conceptions, isn't anywhere near as satisfying as dwelling in the physical world -- immersed in real live sensations and perceptions. This was the theme of a recent post, "To be 'spiritual,' get physical."

In other words, all our notions about divinity, spirituality, the supernatural, soul, spirit, angels, and such derive from our experience as physical beings in a physical world. 

If someone has a vision of God, that vision was processed through a physical brain and body. If someone writes a holy book, that writing was produced by a physical brain and body. If someone speaks about what lies beyond the material world, their speaking came from a physical brain and body.

Religious people are physical beings pretending to have a spiritual experience. Wisdom lies in seeing through this pretension. Genuine "spirituality" is achieved by being honestly physical.

Strangely, though, fairly often I'm accused by blog post commenters of being an intellectual who spends his days thinking about what life is all about instead of directly living it like god-seeking religious people supposedly do.

Actually, the neuroscientific truth is that anyone who says this has got the situation backwards.

Most of us have heard about the differences between the left and right portions of the human brain. Iain McGilchrist discusses this at length in his fascinating book, "The Master and his Emissary: The Divided Brain and the Making of the Western World." 

Here's some passages from a section called The Body that makes clear how left-brained a disdain for the body is. People who downplay the body are the ones living in a mental, logical, conceptual, abstracted world that's divorced from here-and-now reality.

The body has become a thing, a thing we possess, a mechanism, even if a mechanism for fun, a bit like a sports car with a smart sound system... The body has become an object in the world like objects, as Merleau-Ponty feared.

The left hemisphere's world is ultimately narcissistic, in the sense that it sees the world 'out there' as no more than a reflection of itself: the body becomes just the first thing we see out there, and we feel impelled to shape it to our sense of how it 'should' be.

...Everything about the body, which in neuropsychological terms is more closely related to and mediated by the right hemisphere than the left, makes it a natural enemy of the left hemisphere, the hemisphere of ideal re-presentation rather than embodied fact, of rationalism rather than intuition, of explicitness rather than the implicit, of what is static rather than what is moving, of what is fixed rather than what is changing.

The left hemisphere prefers what it has itself made, and the ultimate rebuff to that is the body. It is the ultimate demonstration of the recalcitrance of reality, of its not being subject to our control. The left hemisphere's optimism is at odds with recognising the inevitable transience of the body, and its message that we are mortal.

The body is messy, imprecise, limited -- an object of scorn, therefore, to the fastidiously abstracted left hemisphere, with its fantasies of human omnipotence.

Nicely said, Iain McGilchrist. 

At my age, 64, or for that matter any age, we should be living our lives in as lively a manner as possible. Not abstracted from the world, which naturally includes human bodies. Fully engaged with the world. 

We are the world. We are body. Some believe we also are more than that.

Fine, be body. And more, if such is possible. Don't shun what is indisputably real in a vain attempt to grasp a hypothesized abstract supernatural reality.