(originally posted on the Internet Infidels forum, now saved for posterity)
I started out as a Protestant, that is, my parents were not overly fastidious concerning the differences of doctrine between one non-Catholic Church or the next. We were German-Americans, but family History is confused over which Religious Division of Germany we were originally from But early family rumor told of my father leaving, or being asked to leave the Methodists. It became part of my upbringing to know that Methodists were very bad people. Also, family rumor held that my grandfather had knocked down a Catholic Priest for having said something to 'upset' my Grandmother. I could have guessed from the behavior of the paternal side of my family that I might have my own problems with Religion. On my maternal side, my Grandmother was extremely devout, which she evidenced by labeling as a profligate indulgence all of life's pleasures or enjoyments, except for her own very excellent pancakes (thank God, excuse me, that the Hebrews, particularly their strict and austere prophets, knew nothing of fine pancakes). But her husband, my Grandfather, didn't enjoy her religiousity, nor find hope in it -- when the Markets fell and the banks collapsed at the onset of the Great Depression, he took the easy way out of a window 20 stories above the pavement of Wall Street ( I guess that made him something of a French Existentialist). Her daughter, my mother, was always of a fun-loving and cheerful disposition, and never had a lack of friends, but because of the preponderance of gloom on her side of the family, she was considered the 'black sheep" for being overly 'wild'. Even now, as a sedate old lady, the survivors on her side still look at her askance. The effect has been that, though optimistic, the one cloud in my mother's disposition was a distrust of anyone who was so Religious that it 'showed' – it was as though my mother thought that, if Religion was going to judge her, she would judge it in return.
Although neither of my parents loved Religion, neither was willing to raise their children as heathens. So we found a church, and lucky we were that it was the closest to our house. So I grew up in the Presbyterian fold (and I'm now amazed that their theory of a Spiritual Elect super elite, predestined to rule the earth and monopolize Heaven is not more opposed by the other denominations as more a form of Satanism than of Christianity, as it encourages no other virtue but 'thrift', and that only because it comes so close to 'greed' — when you think of the doctrines of some of these sects, and their social implications, it is difficult not to understand the intensity of the hatred that fueled the "Thirty Year War"), but I assume we stayed with Presbyterianism only because it was neither too embarrassingly emotional, like the Pentacostalists, nor too austere (the sermons not being longer than 20 minutes or so). But, myself, being influenced by the youth groups, before I was yet 12 years old, found it necessary to be 'born again'.
Even as I got older Christianity still attracted me for the secret reason that it, if taken the way the old Arian Heretics took it, showed that the Human could share in the omnipotence of the Divine. Jesus, the Man, found a way of connecting to the Miraculous -- well, if He could, so could I. But a change came as I got older -- the saints of various other Religions seemed to have the same tricks up their sleeves, and yet had different moral injunctions and different theories to rationalize their powers. But there had to be something in common, and so I started researching them all (it turned out that the common thread was that they, or their followers, all had an irresistible inclination to lie or exaggerate).
The Yogananda Self Realization Fellowship may have been spectacular when Yogannanda was alive -- he claimed so much for himself, as well as holding up the claims of dozens of other Indian 'Saints' -- but at his death he handed the cash-cow organization over to a lot of puffy rich Americans whose only apparent claim to Spiritual Leadership was that they had bought it, and profusely kissed Yogannanda's butt while he was still alive.
I became active in the Sri Aurobindo Movement, and actually lived on one of their communes in the Catskills (immediately after I graduated college with a B.A. in Philosophy). This was an intellectual mysticism with all the complexities of multiple levels of consciousness, and many techniques for attainment suited for any temprements. From all the Oriental Philosophy that came before him, Aurobindo expanded upon it, to make its Metaphysics more of what he wished it to be. His writings had such a majestic cadence and it sounded so reasonable (or being so obscure that no one cared to take the time to find a problem with it) that he convinced hundreds of people to believe it too. But, after his death, no one in the organization could be found to mouth the philosophies with quite as much conviction as he could, and the devotees drifted away. But, my problem with the organization was more local -- to live at the Ashram, I was required to work, which was fine, in and of itself. I built stone walls and cleared fields of trees, and built fences, and put in and maintained gardens -- all with the zeal of conviction in the virtue of honest labor. But then one of the leaders came to me and told me of his plans to convert the extremely useful chicken coop into a stable for a horse which it would give him great pleasure to ride. And he wanted me to be the one to build it. "Well", I thought to myself, "who is he going to ride harder? -- Me or the horse." I suddenly felt as though my labor would be wasted. Who could take pride in building a stable for a fat guy intent on making some horse's life miserable. So I went over the wall that night and joined the Peace Corps.
But I was part of another Organization (which annoyed the Aurobindonians) -- Kundalini Yoga -- the Guru's name was Vethatiri. He was not half bad. As much as I could discern from his writings he was a Socialist Materialist who simply believed that people could activate and cultivate a Life Energy that would make them smart and healthy. All his references to God were deflections away from traditional notions of a Providential Divinity. And one of my incentives to become an Atheist may have originated in first my confusion as to how he could not be considered an Atheist, and then in my quarrels with the other devotees that he indeed was an Atheist, but just either lacked the courage, or was too discrete to say so in so many words. Then, I thought he was wrong to be an Atheist. But now I think it was wrong for him not to have come out more strongly.
It was with these Devotees that I began to recognize the tendency for Devotees to exaggerate everything. The motivation, I think, is something like this -- "If I can make people believe my Guru is the Greatest Guru since Jesus, then that will make me important too." Or... "If I flatter the Guru, I will quickly move up the ranks of this Organization ". If you just stick to what you see and what you know, with no embellishment whatsoever, then you're always part of the throng in the outer circle. And so I was always a part of the throng of the outer circle.
In my reading I was most facinated by a Indian Saint, Sai Baba of Shirdi near Bombay, who died in 1918. He had both Hindu and Moslem devotees and insisted he not be catagorized himself, except as a Guru. He allowed his devotees to build him a small compound, but was happy to spend most of his life in a small dilapidated shack, and he died poor. So he did not appear to be a crook or ostensibly a fraud. The claims made for him were astounding, and I had not yet learned to doubt the claims devotees make for their Gurus — especially if they are published in venerably dusty old books.
But that Sai Baba was dead. But a new one sprouted up on Southern India who claimed to be the reincarnation. This had me fooled for years. I even went to India, in '88, and visited the Ashram, was given an 'interview', and saw him do some slight of hand tricks. Again, I experienced seeing and hearing situations myself which were blown way up by other devotees. Americans would do it, and the Indians were even worse. I wondered whether it was all intentional dishonesty, because, afterall, I knew some of these people personally and they seemed sincere, simple, and gentle. Maybe there was a wishful thinking process going on, whereby, they would use their heightened emotions to 'doctor-up' -- to modify their short-term memories of events -- by the time their short-term memories got through some mental modulator -- some 'deludinator' -- their long term memory would be of some fantastic miracle, which to my cool head and eyes, simply never took place.
A fortuitous situation occurred which began to open my mind. To get around India I needed a cab driver. Many devotees had mentioned this one driver, who owned his own company, Abdul. And it was general knowledge that Abdul and Sai Baba went way back together -- they grew up in the same village, and Abdul was Baba's first driver. Anyway, being with a large group, I would not have been allowed the honor of riding in Abdul's cab, under ordinary circumstances, but on this particular day Abdul had a bottle of scotch placed prominently on the seat next to him, and he made no secret of hitting it pretty hard from time to time. This shocked the other devotees, but I had spent some time in the Army and knew that old Alcoholics for the most part were 'functional' alcoholics, and I didn't mind the risk of riding with Abdul, if I could hear some of his old stories (I had also spent a year 'homeless' after the Peace Corps, so I was comfortable socializing with old drunks). Anyway, Abdul tells me in the clearest terms possible that Baba, when he was young, would use his slight of hand tricks to ingratiate himself with rich families who had sick children -- many times nature would take its course and the children's health would recover, and Baba would take the credit. But if not, he would simply move on — after having taken them for whatever hospitalities were customary for ‘healers'. Abdul was most upset about a situation where Baba held out on his 'healing power' until this very rich widow in Bangalore brought a new Chevrolet all the way from America. The Lady got the car, which must have cost a literal fortune, and gave it to Baba, and Abdul got to drive it. And then the lady's son died. So this famous car that Abdul became famous for driving was a sort of ‘blood-money' car. Abdul would say he loved that car, and then he'd take a drink and look sad -- I suppose, remembering how they got it. Then Abdul would talk about how Baba was such a cash-cow -- a huge industry, in fact -- that no one would dream of exposing him. I wondered that he would tell me all this. Even drunks can habituate themselves to the habit of discretion. But maybe I asked all the right questions and then listened quietly without jumping in to defend Baba like so many other devotees would have. Or maybe he tells all the Devotees, and they pretend not to hear, or they attribute the tenure of it all to ill-will or jealousy. But it gave me something to think about. I've known old drunks to lie big and lie often, but that's when they're boasting, and this was no boast. This was a "how I became a loser" story, which, may be gilded in the details, but are always substantially true.
I didn't go out of my way to tell the story to other devotees -- discretion is another way the Truth is submerged -- but it was known I rode with that famous Abdul, and once in a while I would be asked if he told me anything. And I would matter-of-factly relate what Abdul told me as accurately as I could. "Oh", and then they would change the subject and it would never be spoken of again.
But stories would come back from India, and by now suspecting how these stories would be turned to Baba's favor, I would use my own knowledge of the World to imagine what 'really' happened. I broke with the Organization when word came from India that a group of his former College Students were implicated in a bomb attack on Baba which failed to hurt Baba, but killed his driver and a college student that Baba had sent for at approximately 3 o'clock in the morning. I thought, "why would Baba be sending for one of his college boys in the middle of the night, and why would grown men, who had once been his college boys, be so angry that they would want to kill?" Simultaneously, Baba, who, as the first point in all his Organizational blather proclaims that money is the least of his concerns, persuaded the guy who owned the "Hard Rock Cafe" franchise to sell it and donate the money for the construction of the Sathya Sai Hospital -- the largest hospital in India, 100 miles from the nearest sizeable provincial town, and hundreds of miles from any city where it could have been of any proportional use. Amazed that I was the only devotee who was 'getting this', I dropped out of the Organization, and my old friends talk about me like I am just some unstable disgruntled nut.
But devotees, like any bunch of friends, develop bonds. How much importance do they place on a particular interpretation of a story, if that interpretation will rupture the Social Bond and disintegrate the Group? Neurotic ‘denial' may even keep the process mostly subconscious. They simply forget what I told them.
As for all I know about other religions and philosophies -- some things you just pick up as you go along -- cursive rather than formal studies. But much depends upon motivation — I had a dream that made me daring in my thoughts and researches -- I dreamt I was on stage and people were applauding me, I knew not what for. Then the Master of Ceremonies congratulated me on being "Enlightened", and then asked me my age. I said, "forty-three", and then awoke. Well, I had that dream when I was 36, but then, as the years went by, I found myself approaching 43 and felt if being ‘Enlightened' was a forgone conclusion, then all the doubts in the world, brought on by secular literature, would not hurt me. And, besides, breaking with the Baba People it gave me time to reflect on Religious Philosophy from a more critical standpoint -- particularly that many of the most famous Saints and Gurus would adopt a type of Spinozian Pantheism -- Blissful in the extreme -- but centered on an Impersonal Divinity within a Universe It had no power or concern to effect. All vague allusions to ‘Realization', ‘Nirvana', or ‘Liberation' seemed always to revolve into this acknowledgment of final annilhilation into either ‘non-being' or a merging into a type of Universal Soul, that in any case, is certainly no continuation of a personal immortal soul. When Buddha was asked about Life after Death, he picked up and candle and blew it out. It occurred to me that knowing that the Universe was penetrated with Life — a happy thought, and that all my troubles and concerns would come to an end with the death of my body as the annihilation of my Soul— in those terms, I was every bit as ‘Enlightened' as those cryptic mystics. And just like they all say in their cliches, "there is nothing to it" — that the knowledge isn't anything special or obscure — the World can be taken at face value. They would tell their devotees that the only thing in their way was ‘Illusion' — and now I've come to understand the ‘illusion' as being Religion itself. Why were these mystics so cryptic? Well, ever been burnt at the stake? Why is it that the mystics left the Priests to the Cities and the Temples, and they themselves sought out the jungles and the mountains, the deserts and the private cloisters?.. and the Priests so willing to let them go? The final Religious Realization is fundamentally anti-religious. And, until this glorious age of free-thought, considerably dangerous to vocalize. --SW