in which it is communicated.
A second example of the hope for revelation to infuse life with significance is the tendency to
sanctify certain days of the week and year. Many religious followers have little intellectual
tolerance for unreasonable concepts during the workweek, yet at worship service they seem to
turn off their critical faculties and let a vulnerable mind take over. Suddenly apprehensive about
leading an unanalyzed existence, weekend worshippers may have no qualms about agreeing
wholeheartedly with a sermon or prayerfully invoking their God’s selective beneficence. Few, if
any, notice this lack of communication between their hierarchy-based instincts embracing
external authority and their more discerning intellect. Of course, if the faithful had the same high
standards for their religious thinking as they do for their practical weekday concerns,
revelation-based faiths could not maintain a foothold in their minds.
A third example of the draw to revelation can be seen in the multitudes of Westerners who,
raised on revelation, seek to enhance the significance of their lives by unquestioningly taking up
Eastern practices onto which they have projected revelatory holiness, such as yoga, Zen and
other forms of Buddhism, and tantra. To many practitioners, such exotica ends up imparting
exactly what they were hoping for. But the West’s mystification of Eastern religions and its
beatified authorities has repeatedly led to the commercialization of ideas, an outcome to which
most practitioners remain oblivious. For example, yoga has become disconnected from nearly
every spiritual and philosophical consideration, and distorted into a system of physical culture.
Exercise instructors are falsely considered spiritually elevated gurus, leading to abuse of power
and sexual exploitation. Zen—currently associated with archery, tea ceremonies, passive forms
of meditation, and other sense-bound activities—has been transmogrified by the addition of
outer rituals and paraphernalia. As for tantra, it is often grossly misconstrued as a means for
consecrating a hefty sexual appetite.
Perhaps the most compelling incentive to rely on revelation is fear of the devil, revelation’s own
personification of spiritual ignorance, evil, and suffering. As is to be expected, submissions to
revelation promise a swift escape from this dispenser of adversity. But what is the devil?
Probably born of Zoroastrian influence on Hebrew thought, the devil image is mired in ethical
contradictions and patent absurdities, making it difficult for spiritual investigators to find a helpful
alternative to the fear he inspires. Conflating the Judeo-Christian ideals of Satan and God, some
Islamic literature asserts the devil is an angel that loves God so completely he cannot bear the
thought of anyone else loving God. But if God is in everyone, this would mean the devil so loves
everyone that he would strive to prevent human beings from loving one another, which is in fact
God’s way of testing people’s love for him. One means by which the conflated devil-God might
accomplish this goal would be to create potent distractions in the world, such as excess wealth,
that can tempt people to be too preoccupied with warring to bother loving God in one another. A
more insidious ploy would be to inspire divisive and conflicting revelations of God’s will that
sanctify and promote people’s struggles and wars over wealth by instilling fear of God and the
devil. Both methods are geared toward preventing human beings from thinking deeply about life
and from identifying with one another.
Once conveniently caught in the devil-God’s revelatory trap, people’s fear of the devil becomes
fear of anything that might threaten the revelatory justification for wars fought over wealth.
Ironically, many religionists come to define the loss of trust in revelation as spiritual ignorance
and the absence of wealth as true evil and suffering, which at once pleases the devil and
confirms God’s suspicion about being unloved. It is no wonder, then, that fear of the devil
nurtures in us the very sins otherwise prohibited by entrenched beliefs, such as greed, pride,
and wrath. The inevitable outcome of this reversal is an increase in humanity’s inventory of
fears. In the final analysis, fear of the devil draws individuals to revelation by allowing the narrow
sense of self to sanctify its narrowness through inverted nomenclature: calling ideas conducive
to expansion “the devil” and ideas promoting narrowness “God.”
To avoid succumbing to the vice grip of this devil and to assure God that we love him in others,
we would reject the notion that any God from the history of religion communicates to humanity
through a small group of “the enlightened faithful,” especially since it is so easy to counterfeit
revelation. And to gain sanctuary from revelation’s duplicity—that is, to take refuge from a
self-image already narrowed by fear—we would continually work to expand our sense of self.
Even when fear of the devil is simply fear of the unknown, as is most often the case, it can be
overcome by rejecting the influence of fearmongers and getting in touch with the fearless,
expansive self. In each instance, we achieve success by shining the light of investigation into
the darkened recesses of the intellect, illuminating our inherent love for truth and the essential
unity of the human race.
All these incentives for accepting claims of revelation—from identifying with heroic individuals to
overcoming fear of the devil—can be satisfied at no cost to the intellect by turning instead to
reason. When guided by reason, we approach problem solving through direct evidence rather
than handed-down claims of truth. We sift, analyze, and reflect on large quantities of data, then
draw conclusions consistent with our observations. Because it is evidence based, reason forces
us to think clearly, precisely, and unbiasedly; to develop ever-increased mental agility; and to
arrive at original hypotheses, skills crucial in today’s shrinking world. It is through the cultivation
of critical thinking skills that we are able to penetrate the realm of probable knowledge blocked
by the reliance on revelation.
Spiritual investigators would point out that revelation asks us to silence the voice of reason, a
faculty of knowledge that speaks to all of us directly and informs us about bogus revelatory
claims. They would argue that seeking truth is not a spectator sport requiring us to pit one
person’s revelation of God’s will against another’s. Nor is it about downloading conclusions from
someone else’s experiences. Instead it’s about coming alive with questions—taking in content
through the lens of our own experience and subjecting it to the light of reason by challenging
every possible assertion. Progress is assured because in engaging reason, the herald of global
unity, we expand our sense of self.
But coming alive with questions takes practice when reason’s operating instructions have been
obscured by revelation. Among those of us accustomed to revelation’s biases and busily
mortgaging the future by mining the past, it can be hard to know how to begin. In such
instances, the first order of business is to decondition embedded patterns of thinking and
perceiving (see Technique 4). Through deconditioning, it becomes possible to stop regurgitating
revelatory ideas we have absorbed secondhand and begin developing our own thinking skills,
and with them, a new verve for questioning.
TECHNIQUE 4
Reading, Writing, and Reflecting
To elicit the truth of something or resolve contradictory ideas, freethinkers of the past engaged
in dialectics, a form of dialogue that can be practiced with others, as in a colloquium, or
individually. When practicing on our own, we engage in an inner dialogue that trains us to
challenge our thoughts and question our perceptions. The more thoughts and perceptions we
dispute, the better prepared we are to lift the veil of conditioning that has separated us from our
inoperative reasoning faculties and distanced us from others.
This technique involves reading books that help expand the sense of self, writing down
questions they inspire, then reflecting on them. Contemplating your questions within the larger
context of an author’s questions allows you to uncover biases in both. Though it may seem futile
to try to overcome conditioning by posing questions that have been shaped by it, comparing
your views with those of intellectual and spiritual giants can immediately broaden your
perspectives.
When selecting reading material, look for books that depart from your usual frame of reference.
Include titles by men and women alike, as well as people of different ages, nationalities, and
historical eras. Also read religious texts with which you are unfamiliar or about which you have
not yet formed an opinion. If you decide to read or reread the Bible, choose a translation other
than the one you are accustomed to, or study Greek or Hebrew with someone willing to share
time then read the Bible as it was originally written. The more translations you delve into, the
more questions you will be able to formulate for inner dialogue.
Seek out a variety of genres, as well. Most classics, whether fiction or nonfiction, provide food
for thought. If you prefer romance novels, however, a valuable catalyst for inner dialogue might
be Murasaki Shikibu’s Tale of Genji, which at least furnishes a historical glimpse into the
perspectives of other cultures. Provocative reading material can also be found amongst the
writings of America’s Founding Fathers, some of which have been suppressed because they
challenge traditional ideas about religion. Thomas Jefferson, for example, thought of himself as
being in the church of his mind, freed from the constraints of manufactured beliefs.
To further your liberation from customary patterns of thinking and perceiving, read several
books that examine the same subject from different perspectives. Exposure to a range of views
on any topic will increase your breadth of comprehension. This enlarged perspective will have
you weighing the relevance of each and arriving at your own viewpoint, which may change yet
again as you gain even more exposure.
Because books have a way of becoming good friends, choose wisely and embrace them
open-mindedly. If you don’t know quite where to begin, visit the library, read book reviews, or
seek recommendations from trusted others. To make a book your own, scribble freely in the
margins; decorate pages copiously with question marks and exclamation points; highlight
segments worth returning to; and tuck in clippings, bookmarks, and other inspirational oddities.
Once personalized in this way, a book is more likely to keep you engaged with its contents.
The writing portion of this technique awakens critical thinking skills. Writing anything distances
us from content that would otherwise remain in the head and largely inaccessible to us. It
follows, then, that drafting questions inspired by reading material provides a chance to actually
see our legitimate concerns, doubts, and fears so we can later work through our conditioning.
And indeed, the questions appearing on paper open portals of insight into thoughts and
perceptions we did not know we harbored.
To begin, while reading a book you have selected for inner dialogue, keep a writing tablet
beside you and jot down questions that come to mind. You may wonder, for instance, how the
author’s worldview, life experiences, or assumptions differ from yours, or what sorts of
conditioning the author has undergone. Allow plenty of time for composing your questions since
some may cause initial discomfort as your self-image expands beyond its usual contours. Just
as more time is spent digesting a meal than eating it, so are more hours needed to assimilate
ideas after reading about them. Ideas that are well absorbed through questioning become part
of who we are. At that point we start to view the world through them, using them instead of our
conditioning to interpret the sensory data that come our way.
Once you have finished each chapter, begin reflecting by contemplating or writing several
possible answers to the questions you have posed. Engaging with your questions in this way
allows you to rigorously evaluate them. In contemplating every question, do your best to arrive
at a personally meaningful answer. If a question does not profoundly affect you, dig more deeply
and fearlessly into your mind for a better one. For instance, if your answer to every question
seems to justify the same desire, question the desire. If you have difficulty determining whether
the desire is of a narrow or expansive self, see how it affects your perceptions of people you
know. Remember that desires themselves are neither narrow nor expansive but rather become
so upon mirroring one’s self-image.
While reflecting, you are likely to encounter dialectic pushes and pulls. In such instances, look
for a truth beyond these contradictory answers. For example, in examining clashing images of
God, find a truth large enough to encompass them all. You will know you have arrived at a
viable truth when you begin living it and observing how your self-image incorporates the
interests of more and more people. Of course, the most viable truths open themselves to new
challenges and questions as time passes.
With practice in reading, writing, and reflecting, you will be able to identify any attraction you
currently have to revelation and how it has co-opted your ability to lead an intellectually and
spiritually honest life. To question what revelation posits as unquestionable is to begin
courageously thinking for yourself—a leap into the future for a self that may have spent years
fearfully adhering to revelatory truths. Ongoing use of this deconditioning technique delivers the
fearlessness that investments in revelation only imitate.
As a child raised on biblical revelation, the stories of Adam and Eve, Noah, Moses, and King
David seemed to me the most important things in the world. Long after I put away childish
things, these stories maintained their hold in my mind and in my ways of thinking. Even after
intellectually growing out of their constricting world view, I had no doubt that if I was accidentally
switched at birth with a baby born to Muslim or Christian parents, I would have embraced the
stories of Muhammad or Jesus with the same unquestioning conviction. The sheer effort it took
me to deprogram and decondition my attitudes and approaches to seemingly unrelated aspects
of my life, long after I ceased to consciously believe, was evidence of revelation’s grip when
introduced with solemn fervor to my young mind.
I cannot recall a day of my life when I did not feel unconditionally loved by my parents but I
would have no qualms about telling them that causing me, at an age when I was vulnerable, to
believe in things that were not only untrue but unsafe for the development of my intellect and
reason was a form of brainwashing. The challenge for me in implementing Technique 4 was that
I was never alone, and usually in good company, during my years of indoctrination but was
entirely on my own during the long days, nights, and years of deconstruction. Revelation did not
hold sway because it made any sense but because it was associated with being loved at a
formative time in my life when feeling loved was all I really wanted. But as unfeeling as reason
initially felt, freedom from revelation opened my heart to a love that can soar around the world.
To reason, the world of revelation is a game of make- believe while the world of critical thinking
is at least an outward projection of expanding ideas of self. Departing from René Descartes’
dictum of “I think, therefore I am,” reason reminds us, “From the idea of ‘I am (the self),’ all
thinking arises.” And while it cannot on its own confirm or deny any substance of awareness, in
showing its kinship with the expansive ideal of that substance, reason paves the way for the
finite sense of self to eventually expand through its gift of universal communication with others
as equals.
As such, reason provides handrails to a more just and magnanimous society. Critical thinkers
gauging the worth of an idea appraise not its presumed source but rather its effect on humanity,
which can be observed and repeatedly tested. Claims exempted from rigorous testing—such as
Muhammad’s Gabriel, Joseph Smith’s golden plates of hieroglyphic writing, a religious
devotee’s view of holy scripture as the word of God, or a modern-day medium’s divinely relayed
messages—merely reinforce the understanding that revelation does not exist, that revelatory
claims are by their very nature subversive, and that everything has its source in someone’s
mind. A wise prophet, then, is not a recipient of sacred truths delivered from on high but simply
an individual whose faculty of reasoning has empowered a sense of self expansive enough to
awaken intuitive perceptions of universality. Every one of us can be a prophet of reason, a
freethinking philosopher dedicated to replacing graft and bigotry with generosity and a global
identity.
Religion and Spirituality
What do I want?
I want to free the earth, to free mankind.
I want to do away with everything behind man
so there is nothing to see when he looks back.
I want to take him by the scruff of the neck
and turn his face toward the future!
—Leonid Andreyev
The ideals of religion and spirituality—its timeless countepart—are the same: both aspire to
assist human beings in leading a happy, service-oriented, and purposeful life. The methods
applied by religion, however, too often prevent followers from living those ideals. When
principles degenerate into belief systems, as they have in organized religions worldwide,
adherents argue over them, kill for them, and die for them, yet rarely embody them.
A major drawback of organized religions is that instead of simply offering their members
effective techniques for leading inspired lives, they demand something much easier to muster: a
profession of belief. To be a member in good standing, an individual is not required to be
dedicated to a lifelong search for truth. It is not sufficient to be devoted to a universal ideal of
God day and night, affirming expansive ideals for oneself, others, and the world; to be charitable
materially, empathically, and educationally; to live simply and renounce sensory excesses; and
to be humble and happy. Nothing is enough if you do not profess belief. But beliefs themselves
cannot prevent unethical conduct. On the contrary, they tend to inhibit embodiment of the very
morality they espouse, by imparting a false sense of satisfaction.
Religious self-satisfaction is displayed in overt and covert pardons for conceit. Ultraorthodox
forms of Judaism excuse worshippers’ belittling displays of superiority stemming from their
all-consuming immersion in study of the Hebrew Bible. Christianity, according to a prevailing
interpretation of the New Testament, promotes missionary work in the name of the “only” Son of
God. And Qur’anic references claim that Muslims, who call themselves slaves of God, are
followers of the only true religion in the world. Content with thoughts of being chosen, saved, or
truer to God than everyone else, people are unlikely to develop moral responsibility, much less
avoid repeating unethical acts in the future. Spiritually minded individuals, on the other hand,
strive not to enhance pride and arrogance but rather to acknowledge and dislodge them.
A second factor undermining the embodiment of an expansive self by religious followers is the
belief in atonement, by which their misconduct is thought to be annulled. Jews, during Yom
Kippur, are said to make amends by deeding the consequences of past transgressions to this
day of ritual fasting and prayer. Catholics who confess are viewed as ceding the consequences
of mortal sins to penance prescribed by the Church. Christians believe their sins are forgiven
after confessing belief in Jesus Christ. And Islamic jihadists are not only pardoned but rewarded
for violations against humanity. Such notions of atonement go further than failing to inspire
virtue; they end up rewarding people for their lack of virtue. Moreover, the belief in one person,
such as Jesus, willingly suffering for the sins of others at liberty to continue their violent actions
serves neither the cause for ethical living nor the desire for self-betterment. Spiritually inclined
individuals, however, have no desire for God or an innocent savior to free them of the
consequences of their actions; they would sooner look within and free themselves of the
ignorance that prompted them to hurt others in the first place.
A third challenge to virtuous living among the devout is that since their inception religious
groups have repeatedly failed to model the ideals they teach. For example, though Jews,
Christians, and Muslims in theory worship the same monotheistic ideal of God, they have fought
one another over differing interpretations of God’s word, each believing that God is exclusively
on their side. The sectarian them-or-us dogma of these “select” groups of God’s children has
propelled a long history of conflict and of viewing war as its inevitable solution.
Why, one might wonder, do millions of people—many of whom seek to live an ethical
life—embrace religions that in the name of a belief condone such superiority, irresponsibility,
and exclusivity? It appears that narrow self-interests reflected in the profession of belief has
been a recipe for humanity’s self-image to become still narrower.
Not all the fault for humanity’s belief in irrational dogma lies with religion, however. Human
factors also play a part, such as vulnerable individuals believing nearly any absurdity if it is
repeated with enough fervor. Children, because of their impressionable minds, are particularly
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