So here is my suggestion: whenever you fall back to a conditioned intellectual model, return to Chapter 6 and re-read it while constantly comparing its arguments to the conditioned model. Try to hold the cognitive dissonance of this comparison in awareness as you read. By staying with the corresponding psychic tension, you will notice that the apparent paradoxes and contradictions slowly begin to dissolve. You will gain insight into more and more nuances and, at some point, clarity will dawn. You will then have climbed out of the hole and the horizon will present itself to you in all directions.
With this newfound clarity and perspective, you will know this: to find and live the transcendent truth portrayed by religious myths, we must not look ‘outside,’ for there is no such a place. The ‘outside’ is nothing more than an abstraction of the intellect. We must look where all reality resides: our own mind, profound aspects of which are given symbolic expression in the form of religious myth.
Religious myths are, by and large, explanations and predictions. They do not correspond to facts outside mind, but neither do scientific cosmologies. The only value of any religious myth or scientific cosmology is symbolic. The only meaningful way to interpret them is as icons of the now.
How religious myths reveal internal truths
If there is no external truth, then the transcendent truths pointed to by valid religious myths can only be internal. They are the truths of our own nature, not of an outside reality. And our own nature is clearly transcendent, for that which conjures up time and space through a trick of circular reasoning cannot itself be bound by time or space.
You may recall the epiphany I related in Part I, which I had while contemplating a beautiful crucifix in Cologne Cathedral. Well, on that occasion I suddenly recognized that the man hanging from the cross is each and every human being. His sacrifice is our sacrifice: we are all hanging from the self-conceptualized cross of space, time, confinement and impermanence. His divine nature is our true nature as timeless mind taking particular, seemingly limited perspectives within its own dream. That Christ is both God and the Son of God born into God’s creation is a hardly disguised way to express this symbolically. We are Brahman hatching from the cosmic egg now; now; now. ‘Atman [the personal self] is Brahman,’128 concludes the Vedanta School of Hinduism.
My feeble attempt to word my epiphany isn’t really the point. I am just trying to illustrate how an involuntary shift in cognitive perspective can suddenly reveal that religious myths aren’t about external events, but about us as creative consciousness. The transcendent truths these myths point to are the truths of our own nature, for there’s nothing ‘out there.’ And it is the religious myths themselves that prime us for this realization. God’s birth in the world as the Christ, Brahman’s self-creation through the cosmic egg, Karora’s rise within his own dream, Nainema’s penetration into his own vision, all illustrate the self-referential nature of reality and, therefore, the internal character of truth. The finger has only ever pointed at ourselves. True religious myths can thus help us live the deepest transcendent truth by reminding us of our intimate kinship with it. Working with and within the phantasmagoria of symbolic projections of mind, the myths help us eventually turn our gaze inward, to the projector.
One might object to this by pointing out that many religious myths promote the worship of external agencies: deities, angels, saints, etc. This may seem to contradict the idea that the myths point inward. However, remember that these seemingly external agencies are—like everything else in life—symbols of our own inner nature projected outward. ‘The gods are real, but they are not as real as the Self, of which they are temporary projections,’129 wrote Kripal, describing certain Hindu comparative practices. A minor instance of this kind of projection can even be caught at work when we, for instance, colloquially refer to our own neuroses as assailing ‘demons.’ Thus, what seems to be the worship of external agencies is, in fact, a conversation with estranged aspects of ourselves through symbolic proxy. In this context, the myths still point inward: if we can’t turn our head back to look at ourselves, we can at least project our inner essence out so to face ourselves head-on. As Swedenborg put it, ‘One should not omit the practice of external worship. Things inward are excited by external worship.’130
There is also another way in which religious myths can reveal truth: by cancelling out the implications of deprived cultural myths. Take the modern myth of materialism, for instance: it states that the real world is outside and independent of consciousness, and that consciousness is generated by particular, transient configurations of matter. There are two peculiar things about it: the first is the abstract inference of a world outside consciousness, which is fundamentally beyond knowledge. The second is the implication that consciousness, as a secondary phenomenon of matter, is limited in both time and space. Notice further that it is this very implication that obscures the transcendence of our lives. Thus, by believing in a deprived myth, we lose touch with our own transcendent nature. Here is where even the most seemingly naïve religious myth can play a valuable role.
For instance: the seemingly naïve substance dualism of the Abrahamic myths, which postulate an eternal immaterial soul next to a material body, cancels out the transcendence-denying implication of materialism. Never mind the fact that an immaterial soul floating in space and time is just as abstract and unprovable an idea as a material world outside mind; the point here is the myths’ balancing counter-perspective, which gives us a chance to remain open to the internal truth of transcendence. The ‘soul’ of the Abrahamic myths isn’t a literal truth, but a symbol of a timeless inner reality.
This second role of religious myths is vital under a cultural ethos dominated by redundant, inflationary inferences and circular systems of thought. As such, it is absurd to say that modern civilization no longer needs religious images: the very opposite is the case. Never before have we been in as dire a need of religious symbolism, liturgy and iconography as today. True religious myths negate the implications of delusions—implications that would otherwise obscure transcendence—helping us stay open to the mystery of our own nature and the possibilities it entails. This openness is, in fact, the true meaning of faith. The importance and validity of religious myths has thus nothing to do with an objective truth somewhere ‘out there.’ That the contemporary anti-religion movement131 focuses precisely on combating the literal validity of religious myths misses the point rather spectacularly.
There is a third and equally essential role religious myths can play in helping us come closer to truth. Ordinarily, most of us are locked inside what I’ve earlier called ‘the hole of cultural conditioning.’ This ‘hole’ entails self-reinforcing, circular patterns of thinking—intellectual models—that prevent us from becoming lucid of the many layers and nuances of our own cognitive processes. They blind us to the simple, transcendent truth of our being. Yet, not all intellectual models inside the ‘hole’ are equivalent: some swirl very close to the bottom in their circular, self-referential flow of linguistic cognition, while others swirl higher up. For instance, both the metaphysics of materialism and idealism—the notion that the world is made up entirely of ideas in transpersonal consciousness—are intellectual models inside the ‘hole,’ since both assume space and time in a linguistic description of reality. However, materialism makes more unnecessary, fictional postulates and abstract inferences. This extra ballast weighs it down and drags it much deeper in. Consequently, there are better and worse myths in the ‘hole’ of conditioning: worse myths drag you down while better myths lift you up to the edge of the ‘hole’—the ‘brink of a transcendent illumination,’132 in the words of Campbell—maximizing your chances of escape. This is where religious myths come in again.
As discussed in the previous chapter, many religious myths, by suggesting that reality consists entirely of ideas in a cosmic mind, are symbolic articulations and enrichments of the metaphysics of idealism. This is the case for the Hindu, Arandan, Uitoto and Hermetic myths we looke
d at. Even the Christian philosophy and theology of Swedenborg are, if one looks carefully, eminently idealist.133 These idealist myths may not go as far as denying the existence of space and time in an internally consistent manner—after all, the concepts of space and time are built right into language itself—but they do lift us up to the edge of the ‘hole,’ the brink of illumination. They are better myths that bring us as far as language can go, minimizing the distance we have to jump in order to finally escape conditioning. By legitimizing transcendence, they free us from the intellectual chains that could otherwise keep us shackled to the bottom.
As discussed in Part I, the full realization of transcendence is a kind of quantum leap: it happens spontaneously, suddenly, in one swift movement without any apparent cause. It’s a kind of grace. But if we are running intellectual models that anchor us to the bottom of the ‘hole’ of conditioning—like the deprived myth of materialism—we give grace no chance: the distance to the edge of the ‘hole’ remains just too great to jump. These bottom-dwelling models prevent escape because they deny the very possibility of transcendence, closing us up in a bubble of cynicism. True religious myths, on the other hand, acknowledge transcendence and foment the openness—the faith—that is precondition to the final leap to freedom. They bring us to the edge of what can be achieved within the framework of language, space and time, priming us for grace. This, in a nutshell, is the third way in which religious myths can nudge us ever closer to truth.
In conclusion, true religious myths can help bring transcendence into our lives, thereby delivering us from existential despair, in three ways: first, by helping us turn our gaze inwards to realize the truth of our own nature; second, by projecting symbols that cancel out the implications of deprived cultural inferences and abstractions; and third, by lifting us up to the edge of the ‘hole’ of cultural conditioning, from which grace can help us take the final step to freedom.
Since there is no external reality, religious myths can only point to internal truths. They reveal our transcendent nature, for that which conjures up time and space cannot itself be bound by time or space. Religious myths also cancel out the transcendence-denying implications of cultural abstractions and lift us up to edge of the ‘hole’ of conditioning.
Religious institutions
I feel forced to briefly digress at this point, so to prevent misunderstandings of my position. My emphasis on the importance of true religious myths in contemporary culture and society should not be construed as blanket support for religious institutions and their actions. Although it is hard to imagine how religious myths could retain vitality without some form of institutional support, it would also be naïve to deny the defacement, abuse and misappropriation of religious mythology at the hands of institutions.
Indeed, religious myths have been routinely hijacked and corrupted for political and economic gain. They have been misused to establish and maintain the power of clergy. They have been abused as instruments of oppression and social control. Inconceivable harm has been done in their name, as any cursory reading of history will show. This doesn’t eliminate the intrinsic validity and importance of true religious myths discussed earlier, but it must be acknowledged. Acknowledgement, after all, is the first step towards healing.
It is not too difficult to spot the misuse of religious mythology. The essence of a myth lies in its symbolic pointing at the internal truths of cognition; truths that are inside us, not in the world ‘out there.’ As such, the relationship between true religious myths on the one hand, and codes of external conduct on the other, is indirect and ancillary at best. So when religious myths are used as justification for arbitrary morals—meant to tell people what to do and not to do—suspicion is justified. When a house of worship begins to resemble a court of law, where the emphasis is on passing judgment and casting blame, one must wonder.
Moreover, by pointing at the inner truth of each person, true religious myths also contradict any alleged need for intermediaries or translators of any kind. The myth only has vitality if we develop a direct, personal, intimate relationship with it. No one can explain to us what the myth means since, as we’ve seen in Part I, its meaning transcends words. ‘Make sure that your religion is a matter between you and God only,’134 advised Wittgenstein. So when religious myths are used to legitimize the power of people who place themselves between transcendence and us, the motivations for this must be questioned. When clergy become dictators instead of symbols of, and guides to, our own inner wisdom, something isn’t quite right.
Because living the transcendent truth of a religious myth is a subtle and very personal phenomenon, not conducive to the gathering of adoring crowds, religious institutions often try to ‘translate’ the myth into pre-packaged dogmas that can be doled out like pills and practiced blindly like calisthenics. We are told that if we simply believe the simple formula handed down to us we will attain transcendence—‘salvation’ in Christian terminology—after death. This, of course, is very convenient for the institutions. But if transcendence could be directly captured in simple words and beliefs, we wouldn’t need the iconography of the myths to begin with. We wouldn’t need religion to begin with. As a matter of fact, dogmas anchor us to the bottom of the ‘hole’ of cultural conditioning; religious conditioning in this case. They prevent the quantum leap that could lead us to the realization of our true, transcendent nature. Dogmatic belief isn’t faith and, in fact, contradicts faith: one who spouses an arbitrary set of rules closes himself up to the possibility of living transcendence.
As any human activity, institutions are prone to corruption by the greed, insecurities, prejudices and maliciousness of egos. Therefore, one should not confuse religious myths with the activities of religious institutions. The true myth precedes any institution in its psychic purity and authenticity. It precedes any moral or behavioral code. In an ideal world, religious institutions would do no more than nurture the purity of their myth in altruistic fashion. In reality, however, they often behave like parasites, hijacking the innate psychic force and appeal of the myth for selfish gain.
Mind you: I am not against ethical codes. Ethics are not only useful, but also indispensable for a productive life in society, ensuring that we all have the opportunity to express ourselves in the world. What I am against is the flattening of the unfathomable cognitive dimensions of a true religious myth into a mere moral system. In my view, doing so is an illegitimate attempt to tap into the appeal of the myth for social control. Moreover, legitimate ethical systems don’t require religious myths per se as underpinning: secular underpinnings and justifications can be perfectly appropriate and sufficient.
To be clear, I don’t deny that one can legitimately derive personal morals from one’s felt understanding of a religious myth. For instance, it’s perfectly valid, in my view, that a Christian adopts the moral principle of non-violence inspired on Christ’s ‘turn-the-other-cheek’ example. But for these morals to be alive and authentic, they have to arise spontaneously from one’s own intimate, personal relationship with the myth. Only then can they actually reflect the living mythical essence, which always points inwards. Standardized moral codes defined and packaged by institutions and enforced by decree are not only artificial and dead, they conceal the message of the myth behind a veil of arbitrary conventions. Authentic moral principles are a natural consequence of the personal assimilation of a true religious myth, not the other way around. Nobody can gain a genuine, vibrant, living understanding of a religious myth merely by following a code of behavior.
Finally, I am not against religious institutions as such. Much to the contrary: in principle, I think they can be of great service if their actions honor the purity of the myth. Indeed, as suggested above, without some form of institutional nurturing I don’t think religious myths can survive and thrive in society. However, in my view, a legitimate religious institution will focus on making the images of the myth alive through ritual, not on laying down dogmas and codes of behavior. Its clergy will
serve merely as actors in a symbolic ceremonial drama, not as authoritarian intermediaries between people and transcendence. Its messages will center on evoking inner truth, not on judging the ‘world outside.’ In Christian terms, my ideal Church would be centered on liturgy. Its sermons would repeatedly tell the Christian myth in as evocative, nuanced and alive a manner as possible, not pass judgments. Confession would be a ritual of self-inquiry lovingly facilitated by sensitive and supportive clergy, not a trial.135 Churches would be wombs of warmth, safety, tolerance and unconditional love—just as illustrated by the life and message of the Christ—not chambers of blame, guilt, shame or control.
Having developed this disclaimer to my own satisfaction, let’s now rejoin the main thread of this chapter.
One should not confuse religious myths with the activities of religious institutions. The true myth precedes any institution in its psychic purity and authenticity. It precedes any moral or behavioral code.
Bringing it all together
At this point, we’ve already seen through the illusion of a reality outside consciousness. We’ve also realized that myths not only can point to the transcendent truths of mind, they also constitute the world of our ordinary experience. Therefore, it’s time we revisited and updated our understanding of the relationship between mind and world, as originally discussed in Chapter 3 and summarized in Figure 2.
Instead of a world outside consciousness, what we actually have is a universal consciousness, which I’ll henceforth call ‘mind-at-large.’ The world we live in can be thought of as a collective dream generated by mind-at-large. Just as it happens in an ordinary dream, we believe we inhabit the world and we can’t control it at will. Unlike an ordinary dream, however, the dream of consensus reality is shared across individuals.
More Than Allegory Page 13
