Connecting with God

First, let me apologize for the current infrequency of my blog postings. I am writing a book on an unrelated topic--if any topic can really be said to be unrelated to God--and lack both time and available brain cells. So, readers who have not given up on me, thank you kindly. And now back to the subject at hand.

I honestly believe that we are all connected with God, all the time. For some reason, though, we don't always feel that connection. Much like a long marriage, the God connection needs an occasional refresher, a reminder of what it's really all about. Unlike a long marriage, of course, there is no danger of the bond deteriorating; God's presence in our life is permanent and unchanging. For our own well-being, though, we need to renew our awareness of it once in a while.

Let us say for argument's sake that God and humans dwell on two separate plains. Our everyday lives take place in the physical sphere, God exists in the realm of the sublime, and the two realities intersect in our consciousness. As miraculous as consciousness is, however, our everyday experience of it can be pretty mundane. We think about money, and job stress, and gossip and arguments and pop culture--and why not? This is the stuff of life. But sometimes we need to rise above the everyday, to that place where consciousness meets the unknowable essence of God. In short, we need transcendence.

In rural Vermont, where my father lives, the roads predate the advent of heavy machinery, and rise and fall naturally with the terrain. If you are driving at a certain speed--not that I recommend it--you are likely to experience that moment at the top of a hill when the car leaves the road and you are momentarily airborne. This is transcendence--or, at least the physical equivalent. It's that slight loss of control that allows you to take flight. Transcendence is a state akin to inspiration, with one key difference: rather than waiting passively for inspiration, you actively seek transcendence.

The path to transcendence is different for every individual, but the activities that I have found most conducive to transcendence fall into three categories: participation in nature, participation in culture, and service to others. Each deserves its own blog entry--and more, but blog entry is what we have--for further discussion. So stay tuned...

Two Boats and a Helicopter

Those of you who sat through Protestant Sunday school for the first few years of existence can skip this paragraph. But if you have not heard the story of the man and the flood, here it is: A man is sitting on his porch as flood waters rise. A woman floats by in a boat, asking if the man needs help. "No, thank you," says the man, "I'm trusting in the Lord." The waters rise higher, sending the man upstairs. A raft full of people floats by his second story window. "Get in," they say, "there's plenty of room." "No thanks," says the man, "I'm trusting in the Lord." The flood waters keep rising, pushing the man up to the roof. A helicopter swoops in, lowering its ladder for the man. "Thanks anyway," shouts the man, "I'm trusting in the Lord." Finally, the man is swept away in the torrent and drowns. At the gates of Heaven, the man asks God, "Why didn't you save me?" "What do you mean?'' replies God, "I sent two boats and a helicopter."

I am reminded of this story because in the nearby town of Oregon City, a tragically familiar drama is playing itself out, with the indictment of a faith healing couple for medical neglect in the death of their fifteen month old daughter. Until 1999, the use of prayer in lieu of medical care could be used as a defense in Oregon courts. This case will be the first real test since the shield law was rescinded. And although I do agree that these cases must be prosecuted, I am torn between empathy for a couple grieving the loss of their child, and utter mystification at their parental choices. What wrong-headed logic could produce this catastrophe?

The idea the "The Lord will provide" (paraphrased from Philippians 4:19, or Genesis 22:14, depending on who you ask) is a thorny one for the faithful. The usual rebuttal, that "God helps those that help themselves," may be apt, but of course it's not biblical (most of us know it from Benjamin Franklin, though versions of the quote date back to Sophocles). There have been those who have taken the concept of the Lord providing to its logical extreme, with predictable results. But mainstream readers of the Bible use the lens of experience to find meaning in these words. Clearly, food must be grown and clothing must be sewn and shelter must be built. These things don't magically appear. Even faith healing families don't stand outside waiting for showers of manna.

So why is medical care different? It seems to me that there are two interrelated aspects that keep faith healing alive. The first is that its efficacy is difficult to disprove (if you don't look at statistics, that is); sometimes sufferers really do get better with no medical intervention, just as those of us who go to doctors are often told to go home and sleep it off. But an even more compelling reason may be that for all it has given us, modern medicine cannot yet cure everything (just ask Chris Rock). The truth is that you can see all the doctors with all the hi-tech equipment in the world and still not be cured. Most of us greet this reality with a shrug of the shoulders--or a visit to the acupuncturist. Still, it's easy to see why one might turn to God when medicine fails you. Perhaps prayer won't work either, but at least you'll get the brownie points for showing God some respect.

The control over one's own body is one of our most important freedoms. Far be it from me to be critical of the decision to forgo medical care; it could very well be that the comfort a believer in faith healing gets from prayer has actual restorative power. But when they inflict this choice on their families, my sympathy evaporates. How can God be testing the faith of an infant? Or do the adults fear judgment by proxy? Let the flood waters wash you away if you wish; but get your children into that boat.

The Meaning of Life (No, Really)

A blog is a pretty short format for delving into complex issues, so I'm just going to cut to the chase. I submit that the meaning of life is:

Happiness.

Or, to state it another way, happiness is meaning. After all, what is happiness for, if not to let us know that we're on the right track? This may seem obvious--most of us devote our lives to the pursuit of happiness, true enough. Yet we focus our efforts on red herrings like wealth, fame, and physical beauty. If all that were enough, last year might have seen Sylvia Plath reading a poem at Kurt Cobain's 40th birthday party. Alas...

So, if these things cannot produce happiness, what can? To answer this question, I have taken an extremely unscientific appraisal of all the happy people I've ever known, and found only one common denominator: to achieve true happiness, you must be a positive force. That is, the world must be better with you than without you.

But wait--there are all sorts of terrible people walking around with big grins on their faces. Why do they get to be happy? Well, the short answer is: they don't. Imagine for a moment that happiness has two components, joy and contentment. Anyone can experience joy, even the wicked. Without contentment, however, there is no true happiness, and there is no contentment in a negative life; the conscience sees to that. What's more, even joy is eroded in a life without contentment. I suppose this is what compels the robber barons of our time to throw $2,000,000 parties and build 100,000 square foot houses. They must continually--and uselessly--up the ante.

If there is a spectrum to what sort of effect each of us has on the world around us--with genocidal maniacs on one end and Nobel Peace Prize winners on the other--most of us bunch up around the middle. On the one hand, your car may pollute the air, but on the other hand you make your dog happy. Things balance out. So push toward the positive, just a little, and reap the rewards. There is nothing random about happiness; nor is there a secret to it. If you have done things you wish you hadn't, mitigate them by doing things you wish you had. Pay it forward, pay it back, and bask in the glow.

Cult or religion?

Growing up in the Bay Area in the 1970's, I was exposed to some things that might have seemed exotic--at the time--to the rest of the country. Still, nothing prepared me for the shock I received one night while visiting the family home of a man my mother was dating. Making our way through the darkened house, my mother's friend flicked on a light, inadvertently waking a young man who had been asleep in the room. Apparently terrified, he sat bolt upright in bed, letting out a blood-curdling scream. My mother whisked me quickly away. That was Ford, she explained, who had just come home from "the Moonies." It would be several years before I saw Ford Greene again, on TV--he had become a crusading anti-cult attorney in the interim. But from the age of seven, this one experience shaped my idea of what it meant to belong to--and to escape--a cult.

Fast forward to the 2008 Republican primaries, and the candidacy of Mitt Romney. It has not escaped me that other Christians are uncomfortable with Mormonism. Yet, I was somewhat surprised to hear a woman on the radio say that she wouldn't vote for a Mormon, because Mormonism is a cult. It was probably pretty naive on my part, but I had looked on Mormonism as being both too old and too mainstream for this designation. Of course, some Christians say the same thing about Islam--much older than Mormonism--and Buddhism, which is older than Christianity itself. In short, cult seems to denote a group that follows any charismatic leader other than your own. And a faith can never outgrow this label, no matter how hard it tries.

Perhaps it is easy for a nonbeliever to dismiss this distinction. After all, if there is no truth to any faith, then they're all on a more or less level playing field. Still, I do believe that there is a difference between current, active cults and religions that may have had cult-like beginnings. Mormonism has had to modernize, officially abandoning such polarizing practices as polygamy; and while they may once have sought to create a separate society, Mormons can now be found in the darndest places--in addition to the usual actors, athletes, politicians and science fiction authors, they include among their numbers hotel magnates, rock stars, civil rights icons, and even Broadway playwrights (well, at least until they get excommunicated...). In short, Mormonism is no longer a cult in my book, because they have assimilated.

The key question, then, in evaluating what is a cult, as opposed to a genuine religion-in-it's-infancy is whether there is a future to be seen. This lets out doomsday cults, like Heaven's Gate, of course, as well as those whose methods prevent them from coexisting with society, like Aum Shinrikyo. But what of Scientology, for instance? It's still pretty new, having been founded within living memory; but as I write, second generation Scientologists like Lisa Marie Presley and Beck are raising their third generation children (and with Lisa Marie's daughter now of age, can a fourth generation be far behind?). Granted, there may be some unsavory or antisocial practices taking place at this point. By keeping the spotlight on these issues, however, organizations who would seek to put an end to Scientology might be inadvertently helping followers to iron out the rough spots, hastening their evolution into just another religion next door.

The Soul of a Minimalist

At a museum once, standing in front of a recreation of a spare modern living room from the 1960's, I overheard a woman comment dryly, "Well, you'd always know where your car keys were." At the time, I probably rolled my eyes; as an art student, this was my general response to my-kid-could-do-that reactions from the hoi polloi. As I thought about it, though, I realized that this dismissive observation had actually touched on one of the tenets of minimalist design: that a pared-down space makes you more aware of the world around you. Yes, you always know where your keys are--and how beautiful that single flower is, how delicious that perfect peach, how sublime that one note on the cello. Without all the clutter, what else is there to do but appreciate things?

Living in a minimalist environment is not really an option for me: I have two young children and am married to an eccentric bibliophile, and I actually like a little disorder. Still, while I may not apply the philosophy to my physical surroundings, it does inform my spiritual life. The ability to connect with God fully and immediately requires a peaceful internal space to which you can retreat when all else is chaos. A mind full of confusion can make it difficult to receive the wisdom--or comfort, or inspiration--that you seek.

It would be perfectly logical to imagine that spiritual minimalism requires a blank slate. After all, the first step to physical minimalism is getting rid of everything you own, right? In theory, perhaps. But nobody actually strips their possessions down to a Noguchi lamp and an Egg chair. The true key to minimalism is storage. You don't throw away all your unopened mail and cleaning supplies and sporting goods, you just find somewhere to stow them away. And so it is with spiritual clutter. It's not possible--or even desirable--to rid ourselves of the experiences we've picked up along the journey. These are the components of a healthy soul. But sometimes you need to put it all into storage, so that you can find a quiet place to be alone with God.

Bad Reputation

Let us consider the Reverend Fred Phelps, who for the last couple of decades has been treating us to signs reading, for instance, "God Hates Fags." It was he who, by picketing Matthew Shepard's funeral, inspired the Angel Action, which was later memorialized in the play and film "The Laramie Project." Mostly, Phelps serves to embarrass other Christians; even those who share his distaste for homosexuality cringe at his vulgarity. My disagreement with Phelps, though, starts even before we get to that one offensive word. Take away those four letters, and you have the root of much of humanity's self-inflicted misery: "God Hates."

Really? God hates?

How would you describe the best person you've ever known? Patient? Fair-minded? Understanding, forgiving, serene? Nobody's perfect, of course, but I have been fortunate enough to know several people whom I would credit with most or all of these qualities. So why do we believe in a God who is petty, violent, jealous, vindictive and insecure? Let's face it, the God of religion can be kind of a jerk. If He were a boyfriend, you'd dump Him. If He were a neighbor, you'd move away. If He were either of your parents, you'd be in therapy forever. A truly dysfunctional relationship.

So how did this happen? How did God get such a bad reputation? As much as I would love to blame this on some clerical conspiracy to control people, I actually believe that the angry God predates faith. Back at the dawn of humanity--when literally nothing was known of the world-- people died for no apparent reason, weather was unpredictable and often fatal, unseen danger lurked everywhere. What better explanation could there be than that there was an all-powerful entity at work, cruelly causing these things to happen? And why not try to placate Him? Try one thing, and the crops fail, so that doesn't please Him. Try the next thing, and you get a bumper crop, so you add that ritual to your repertoire. Pretty soon, you've got yourself a bona fide religion.

By now, we have a much better understanding of the world around us; yet we still believe in a capricious God. This is a shame, because it stands in the way of a healthy spiritual life. How can you have a close, trusting relationship with someone who could turn on you at any moment? I know that for some people, the alternative--that bad things happen randomly, or have circumstances beyond our control--is frighteningly close to nihilism. But here's the upside: if bad things are going to happen (and they are), wouldn't you rather that they weren't God's doing? That way, you can turn to Him for comfort, without reservation.

Tolerance and Tolerability

This seems to have been a breakout week for Anonymous, the deliberately shadowy group targeting Scientology. And while I certainly agree that misdeeds should be unmasked and justice served, I have a slightly queasy feeling at the tone of their campaign. Not that I feel the need to defend the Scientologists--they do that just fine on their own. What concerns me is the state of tolerance in our society. How we deal with Scientology may be a test case for our era, and we cannot fail.

When I talk about tolerance, I'm talking about what people believe, not how they behave. Nobody can be blamed for thinking what they think; but every person is responsible for their own actions. Fortunately, most believers agree, and live in a manner harmonious with society--A.J. Jacobs aside, you don't see many folks out stoning adulterers. Religious leaders, in turn, recognize that their communities can thrive only by deemphasizing the more extreme aspects of their doctrines. And so we get along, hardly minding the abominations and the blasphemy around us.

If even some of the allegations against the Church of Scientology have merit, they should get all the attention they deserve. My intolerance meter is triggered, though, when the criticism spills over into mocking their beliefs. It is not hard to imagine that some may find the science fiction dogma of the CoS snicker-worthy. The virgin birth, burning bush, and human salt pillar of my childhood faith have also raised a few satirical eyebrows along the way (just ask the Gershwin brothers). I am all for sunshine, and if Scientology really is up to no good, then game on. But while we are sharpening our swords, let's be sure that we are going after them for what they do, and not simply who they are.