The way of religion, the way of the spirit

It is now more common than ever for people to call themselves 'spiritual'; a term which seems to signify a person's desire to be religious, but to do so in a style which is dis-organised and spontaneous rather than structured and formal. This perhaps is a present day manifestation of what was historically known as 'the mystic tradition', within this tradition (if we can call it one) would-be mystics sought to express their spiritual libido through the chaos of everyday life as opposed to the more traditional outlet of the religious institution. Unlike in the past where displays of religious non-conformity were fiercely condemned however, today we generally find that such errant forms of worship go by more or less unpunished.

Unfortunately for those who hold tradition close to their heart however, where stigmatism counts for social exclusion, in todays world it is more often the origanised religion rather than disorganised one which finds itself left out in the cold. This has not of course, gone unnoticed by the church, and periodically a Dean or Archbishop will come out to remind us that although going against convention can be fun, to depart from religious convention will ultimately lead us down a series of blind alleys culminating in a spiritual 'dead-end'.

If a person has in fact left all the old methods of religious navigation behind to pursue a faith entirely uncharted, such warnings are no doubt fair and right. However what the Churchman often tends to overlook, is that the spiritually-minded person is not someone recklessly wandering off into unknown territory like the mystic of old, but is in fact following a well-worn religious path with a slightly alternative set of props– the 'weekend retreat' is simply what the spiritual-person calls his church, the 'support group' is no more or less than what amounts to the church-goer's parish community, and the Christian God who art our father in heaven, is simply exchanged for the more forgiving figure of the Mother who listens rather than lectures. Once we fully compare the spiritual and religious movements in fact, whether the religions we have selected happen to be Islam, Hinduism, or Buddhism, it seems we have little more to contrast but superficial differences in style underlying a common aim – to connect with others in the communal act of experiencing something far greater, wise and more bewildering than anything ordinarily admitted by habitual experience.

To conclude from this that there is no real division within spirituality or religion would perhaps be somewhat pre-emptive however; although both movements stand mutually undivided in their common aims and beliefs, both movements through their practice have managed to divide themselves from something infinitely more significant - their object of worship. By informing us that religious observance is something that goes 'here' but not 'there' or that spiritual practice is something that takes place under 'these' circumstances but not 'those', all traditions unwittingly segregate us from the spiritual nature of all other circumstances. Mecca, Jerusalem or our weekend retreat may well be 'sacred ground', but if this is all we find sacred than we have by effect 'secularised' the ground upon which we walk everyday. The activity or drama of being religious or being spiritual becomes something we only feel comfortable doing at a designated location while modeling our beads, cassock or Kippah.

If the habitat and dress of the spiritual-theist really are little more than the props of a highly elaborate performance however, what then are we to make of the Buddhist monk who wears her orange robes, or the weekend-monk who strolls about in his smock and sandals? Would it be fair to insist that such a person is merely playing at being the sage and that; following in the footsteps of the mystic, they should lay all symbols and rituals aside? This surely would be a mistake. Aesthetically we do not lose anything by wearing what would be unconventional if we wore it on the high street, while conversely we do not become any more spiritually authentic because we have chosen to wear a dull knitted jumper. Moreover we often tend to overlook the fact that most forms of ceremonial dress were originally devised not for their 'religious colour' but for their practical convenience: The Samue of Zen Buddhism for instance comprises no more than a pair of draw-string trousers and a vest which can be quickly and easily taken and off again. While the dyed orange and yellow robes of traditional Theravada and Hinayana Buddhism often understood to impart subtle differences in doctrinal understanding, were originally dyed these colours simply because these were the dyes most easily attainable in their respective regions.

Most religious wear in this way did not originate for the purpose of segregating people from the ordinary unenlightened masses, but rather took its origin in the simple desire to be practical, thrifty and if at all possible 'elegant'. All of this is easily forgotten with the passage of time however and the outer-garments and props of religion can easily come to embody all the practice and virtues that were supposed to be independent of anything to do with culture, fashion or tradition. In fact even when we do not observe any rituals or dress up in any particular 'garb' in order to engage in the spiritual, we can still make the mistake of diluting divine feeling down to that which is transient and superficial. We might say “I am a spiritual person” or “At heart I’m a deeply religious person” and here we reduce the expansive mystic experience down to something we might put down on a dating questionnaire – 'I'm also a huge romantic and have a great sense of humour'. To identify our ego with the divine in this way is surely far more debasing of our beliefs than the monk who simply happens to worship in a monastery because it is nice and quiet, and who shaves his head and wears his robes for no other reason than his dislike of hairdressers and his practical need for something easy to move about in. Such a person does not identify his clothes or his place of worship as anything other than incidental to his spiritual path, whereas the individual who identifies the divine with his persona (that is to say his 'mask') believes his social veneer to represent the full depth of his spiritual conviction.

Whether we identify our spiritual sensibilities with a specific part of ourselves, our wardrobe, or some part of the world is perhaps irrelevant however since in the final analysis all of these forms of reduction always amount to the same thing – we unwittingly fuse the sacred with the singular and discrete when if there is any common basis to all theology, it is that the divine is not something particular but something universal. This does not of course mean that there is nothing sacred to be found in the personal or particular – beyond their aesthetic appeal or functional practicality, we may naturally find our religious symbols and icons to be both expressions of the complete order as well as expressions of our own divine feeling. But we surely distort the common theme of religious-spiritual teachings when we attempt to assert that any of these things have an exclusive claim or 'right' to this status. If we wish to be spiritual or religious in the authentic sense of accepting everything as sacred without prejudice or preference, it seems we cannot afford to consign the spiritual to any single object or event;  all events and objects must stand equal in their intrinsic value. Whether anyone in human history has actually managed to adopt such a broad and undiscriminating mind as this is another story. If however on our journey through life we ever happened to encounter an individual who is happy enough to wear beads of dried dung as he is of polished ebony, or to take a toilet stall for his chapel rather than a well-ventilated cathedral, we might well assume we had already met him.