Fall, 2 0 0 4                                                                     VOLUME 1, NO. 2

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Mysticism Mania?
by Robert Corin Morris

Interview with 
Oct. 9 Keynoter
Virginia Phelan

Remembering Andy

Interweave, Inc.  
P.O. Box 1516, Summit NJ
Phone 908-277-2120 
Fax 908-277-2283.

Robert Corin Morris,
Executive Director  
Suzanne Morris,
Center Director
Lisa Green,
Assistant Director

Mysticism Mania?
by Robert Corin Morris

What has kept Dan Brown’s The DaVinci Code on the New York Times best-seller list for 74 weeks? To be sure it’s a page-turning, suspense-filled plot perfect for beach, patio or fireside leisure reading, but mere potboilers usually come and go much more quickly. Or, more amazingly, why was Elaine Pagels’ Beyond Belief on that list for over three months this past year? This theological analysis of the early Christian “lost Gospel” of Thomas had none of the drama or sensational revelations of Brown’s novel, yet readers are still flocking to it, and critics have nominated it for a Pulitzer Prize. 

I think the secret is this: both books claim to penetrate the façade of conventional religion, and reveal hidden realities that can bring a sense of mystery and spiritual power into everyday life. They fuel a kind of “mysticism mania” that is percolating through many people’s souls. 

Is there a hidden Truth? 

Code had hardly been published when I began to get phone calls: “What do you think of The DaVinci Code?” people asked. “Is it really true?” As the months went on, the buzz only grew in intensity. These questions didn’t come from mere curiosity, but from a deeper sense of spiritual questioning — a seriousness which brought a record number of participants to my spring 2004 course on the book, and an astounding 200 registrants to a similar offering from Drew University’s Continuing Education. I’m still getting requests to speak on the subject. (Interweave plans to offer a number of informative events about this spiritual quest this fall. Offerings will include: Living Beyond Belief, New Directions in Mysticism, Goddess Quest.) 

Just under the surface of American life these days there’s a passionate yearning for what I’d call “the truth behind the façade.” One sees it in the revelations of financial dishonesty in business, sexual impropriety in religion, and spin-laden hypocrisy in politics. But it’s also there in a more intimate and personal way, as millions seek to find some deeper “Truth behind the truths” of conventional religion. 

It’s not so long ago that spiritually adventurous people were exploring “alternative” spiritualities. Many Jews explored Zen meditation, lots of Christians fell in love with Islamic Sufism through the poetry of Jelaluddin Rumi, some feminists and deep ecologists rediscovered the ancient Goddess and many others, churched or unchurched, adopted pop versions of Native American spirituality. 

Where have they been hiding it? 

If this cultural trend had a motto, it might be “What have they been hiding from us?” Both Brown and Pagels assert that institutional religion has suppressed many vital truths of Jesus’ teachings in the name of a narrow-minded orthodoxy.

The suspenseful plot of The DaVinci Code is created by a step-by-step revelation of a sinister conspiracy by the Roman Catholic Church to suppress the truth of Jesus’ sexuality as a man married to Mary Magdalene, a related underground cult of Goddess-worship celebrating the sacredness of the feminine, and the alleged “doctoring” of the New Testament by the Emperor and Bishops. While Brown’s admittedly fictional tale is made out of a questionable blend of legend and historical conjecture, the issues he points to strike deep chords in many serious spiritual seekers. They are looking for a spirituality that affirms the sacredness of the earth and sexuality and celebrates the power of human love, and of the equality of men and women. A married Jesus would be a powerful symbol of these values.

These seekers also want a spirituality that doesn’t suppress doubt, questioning and exploration—just the kind of people who will rejoice in the “lost sayings of Jesus” from the late 1st-century Gospel of Thomas—a book excluded from the New Testament. In this collection of sayings, Jesus says that if his followers “seek” they will not only “find” but also “be troubled” and “marvel.” In Zen-like epigrams, he urges them to the spiritual discipline of seeing what is in front of their faces clearly as a pathway to immediate, personal “knowing.” He invites people to an inner process of “making the two one, and the male like the female,” overcoming the splits in human nature. And says, mysteriously, that we, like him, have come “from the Light” and have the same potential for divinization as he. (Click here for the text of the Gospel of Thomas) Pagels contrasts Thomas’ invitation to intimacy with the Divine to her reading the conventional Christianity of the Gospel of John, which she feels puts Jesus on a pedestal as exclusively divine, prizes obedience over inquiry, and expects conformity in belief. 

Revisioning Old Truths

One may question Brown’s facts or argue with Pagels’ reading of John, but I think both writers powerfully represent two intertwined facets of the current spiritual quest, which is part of a much larger revisioning of all the great spiritual traditions on the planet. 

First, they are right that there are indeed “hidden truths” behind the facade of conventional religion. The truth is, most people don’t get much more than an eight-year old’s version of their inherited religion. Some of this comes from past, sometimes vicious, suppression of teachings like the feminine face of God as “heretical.” But much of it is based on ignorance. Many people become disenchanted with the childhood version of their faith and never look more deeply into their tradition. All too many clergy, often through their own ignorance, fail to tell them of the riches that are there. The intellectual boldness, open-minded inquiry, moral wisdom and mystical depths of the great Christian, Jewish and Muslim saints would shock a lot of backbenchers in church, synagogue, or mosque — and delight most readers of Brown and Pagels. 

Second, these authors are in good company in demanding that religion do its first job better than it has: helping people to find a sense of direct connection with the Divine that doesn’t involve endless hoops of agreement with dogma. As a practicing Christian, I’m not against religious doctrine or discipline. But these are meant to clarify and guide our thinking, not to be barriers to our encounter with the Spirit. 

Jesus, much like the Buddha, taught that spiritual enlightenment was available to people in immediate and radical ways. He saw the intimate presence of God in the “lilies of the field,” the compassion of the Samaritan who helped the injured traveler, and the faces of children. He challenged the facade of conventional religion in the name of a deeper truth. 

Religion too easily forgets that God is easier to experience than to understand. Too often it says you have to get your ideas right before you’re worthy of even the slightest taste of the Divine. It’s hard to imagine Jesus agreeing. He might just think a little façade-busting was a good idea.

Interview with Virginia Phelan

Although she has written for the New York Times and scholarly journals, and even has a book to her credit, Virginia Phelan admits she still uses the “w word” tentatively. “I’m a writer when I write,” she says, a perspective she will share as keynoter at Tasting Life Twice: Writing and the Spiritual Journey on October 9. Phelan, director of the Arts and Letters program at Drew University , answers a few questions about how writing has companioned her own journey.

Q:   Many people think they have to be "Writers" to commit words to paper.  Is writing a tool for everyone?

A: People are afraid to write because they have learned that what they have to say is not important enough. But the best writing is in the true voice of the person. I’ve discovered that for me, when I just write as I am—as honestly and simply and puzzled as I may be—writing becomes a form of prayer.

Q:  Were you drawn to writing early in life? Was there a particular person who inspired you?

I was always fascinated by words—I used to say them out loud—and foreign languages intrigued me. I kept a diary sporadically; in 7th grade I used a Girl Scout diary with a broken lock (thanks to my brother). But that felt more like obligation. The writing I cared about was what I did for myself—writing to my godfather and grandparents.

Q: What role does writing play in your life these days?

A: I write every morning—I start the day that way, writing myself awake. But when you need to go public, the fear of being not quite good enough kicks in. So, if I have something important to do (like a keynote address, for example!), then I sneak up on it. I remind myself to trust the process, to trust the path my life has taken so far. I try to remember it’s not about me, it’s about telling others what I’ve experienced so they can go on their own journey. I’m also big on “gathering,” paying attention to what’s around me, rediscovering wonder, staying on the growing edge, saying yes. I’ll just sit there, let it begin, and write whatever comes.

Q: Who are some of the other writers who have accompanied you on the journey?

A: I love Thomas Merton, C.S. Lewis. In the last 10-15 years I have been befriended by Anthony DeMello, Joan Chittister,  Martin Buber, and Anthony Bloom. Of course I’ve had the experience several times of just putting my hand on a book in a library or bookstore and discovering something that speaks to my life at that moment.

Q: What are some of the gifts writing has brought to your own spiritual journey?

Writing has helped me to feel alive, to be aware of the power of words. It has given me a real sense that God works in so many ordinary and truly wonderful ways, and that the universe is a friendly place. I still have more questions that answers, but writing gets me in touch with the person that God hopes I will be. I’m also a runner, and no matter how much I don’t want to run, if I show up and move a foot, my muscles will know what to do. Writing is the same way. I tell people to start by writing a letter—to a friend, to God. Complaining is good as a start, and then get on with : take the risk of being in the moment, beginning to say what you really see, and feel, and fear, and wonder about, and love. Writing is a great companion, a great gift, and I am truly grateful.

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