In reading about Acceptance & Commitment Therapy (ACT), mindfulness, and other subjects, the concept of the watcher comes up often. The terms vary; other names for this entity include the observer, the true self, and simply consciousness. Quakers call it the still, small voice within.

Isn’t it odd the way something important about yourself can be discounted until you’re finally ready to deal with it? For years I’ve recognized that part of me is aware of my mistakes even as I make them. Often, when I’m about to do something ill-advised, an inner voice will comment: “that’s a dumb move, but you’re going to make it anyway, aren’t you?” Long ago, back when I still consumed alcohol, I would watch myself pour another drink knowing full well that my behavior was already out of control. Or I would say something unkind to a lover, knowing that it was uncalled for and would lead to a big blow-up. This observing part of my mind has always been wise, but until recently it remained largely passive. It seldom took the reins and averted disaster. As a result, I disregarded the watcher within. It seemed like a prudish and annoying sibling, quick to point out my folly but slow to assist. Only recently did I recognize that this watcher is my truest and strongest self.

Early on, I heard the watcher as a voice speaking words because nothing else penetrated my awareness. But the soul’s natural language is stillness. These days, by listening to its silent voice, I understand the observer better, and I am able to more frequently align myself with its resonant peace. Unfortunately, in my most despairing moments I still feel locked in a mind that convulses with regret, fear, and self-loathing, while the watcher seems far away and unable to help. In the midst of severe emotional upheaval, I have yet to find reliable refuge in my calm, silent center. Even so, I am glad that in lesser states of distress I align with the observer fairly often.

Surprisingly, the occasionally intense pain I feel in my neck has helped me find solace in my soul. As I’ve explained in past entries, severe spinal arthritis ended my surgical career. Physical pain has plagued me for years, and the experience is made worse when the discomfort reminds me of how I lost my former occupation. When that happens, I feel a hollow, nauseating sensation in my stomach in addition to the hot, gnawing ache in my neck. The pain is almost never completely absent, and sometimes its severity makes it difficult to concentrate on anything else. For several years I used narcotic pain relievers; they lessened the discomfort, but caused a new suite of problems. Before long the only time I felt good (physically or emotionally) was shortly after I took the pills; my life revolved around waiting for the next dose and the next relief. These days I take only Tylenol, and the pain is unending, though variable.

I describe the pain so I can show how it has taught me to adopt an observing stance. In times of severe neck discomfort, identifying with the watcher allows me to sidestep a lot of suffering. I can feel the pain, but in a detached and accepting way. There is a point at the very top of my head where the pain doesn’t reach, and I observe my body’s discomfort from there. Although the shift in perspective is difficult to describe, watching the pain from a distance is far better than living in its midst. For some reason, the observer stance is easier for me to adopt when the pain arises from physical rather than emotional sources, but having learned watching skills with physical pain, I can apply them to emotional distress.

Although I still get swept away by the most powerful emotional storms, I’m improving in my ability to watch feelings without losing myself in drama. The other day I found myself in a whirlpool of distress. Because I am taking fewer psychiatric drugs, my emotions are more easily and more powerfully triggered. Shortly after an upsetting situation, I found myself awash in tears and practically convulsing with anguish. Then, for a short time, I moved into what I call the ‘watchtower.’ From a safe distance, I observed the emotional turmoil. I fully acknowledged the frustration and fear, yet I did so from a wise and detached perspective; my awareness centered in the observer, not the observed. Because it was the first time I’ve successfully established a watching stance in such despair, the moment was brief, and I was soon swept back into the roiling currents. But I enjoyed a moment of peace and quiet clarity.

Without doubt, if I stay committed to watching rather than living emotional distress, my skills will improve. My practice of detaching from physical pain will generalize into an ability to separate myself from all forms of suffering, including the emotional hurricanes that have always been features of my psychic weather patterns. Who would have guessed that the neck disease that ruined my old life would provide me the key to peace in my new one?

About four years ago, the mental health providers who were helping me suggested I take up meditation. Since then, I’ve found settling into the mind that lies beneath surface turmoil to be very helpful to my emotional balance. No doubt many readers will find what I write to be naive, which is unavoidable given that my practice began so recently. Still, meditation helps my state of mind so much that I can’t resist commenting on a recent realization.

When I first began to meditate, my instructors cautioned me to toss out the idea of emptying the mind of thought. They taught me to observe thoughts, sensations, and emotions without trying to influence them. Of course, those first classes were all presented from a medical perspective; they followed the Jon Kabat-Zinn formulation. Other schools place more emphasis on achieving a mind less dominated by verbal thought streams. But that early teaching held, and for a long time I assumed that achieving silence in the mind would be difficult if not impossible.

Being a newcomer still, it’s no surprise that I’m finding my early understanding to be incomplete. More and more, I’m finding it easy to shut down verbal thought, and not only while formally meditating. It’s becoming a bit of a refuge, in fact. When I find myself starting to obsess, and especially when the thoughts take a negative turn (as they almost inevitably do), I find it easiest to just stop thinking. Cognitive Behavior Therapy taught me to challenge my assumptions, and recognize the distortions in my interpretations. To do so is still useful at times, but often the quicker route to relief is to simply shut down the thought apparatus. It takes a bit of effort, and it certainly requires that I remain conscious and alert, but it’s not as hard as I believed. If I were to dissect the experience, I would probably find a few echoing words deep in my awareness, but the loud and intrusive thinking is becoming relatively easy to turn off.

I sleep better as a result. It used to be that worries or even pleasant fantasies kept me awake; there was always something that seemed interesting to attend to. If I shut down the thinking apparatus, in contrast, then if my body is tired sleep soon comes. If sleep eludes me it usually means I’m not that tired, and I either get up for a while or I lay on my back and simply experience the peace in my mind. It’s another opportunity to meditate.

Once on my Twitter stream I wrote, “If you can’t think anything nice, don’t think anything at all.” Although I think this phrase was my own creation, it’s possible I heard it somewhere; it is a variation, in any event, on the old line: “Don’t believe everything you think.” Regardless of its origin, the statement was meant more as a joke than true advice, but now I’m taking it to heart. I’ve added the technique to my chest of tools for building peace and sanity.

Looking back, I realize it has taken a bit of discipline and practice to get to this point, and that my ability to achieve tranquility has gradually increased over time. Recognizing how my understanding has progressed makes me realize that meditation must have many surprises in store for me. The recent trend in mental health toward emphasis on mindfulness (seemingly the preferred label for meditation in clinical circles) appears to be well founded. Especially for someone like me with a history of substance abuse, who once pursued favorable mind states so vigorously that I became addicted to mind-altering chemicals, the discovery of self-generated tranquility is profound. Anyone dedicated to improving mental health probably already knows the value of meditation, but if you have delayed putting that knowledge into practice, I highly recommend meditating regularly.

After being called on the negativity in my recent posts, I’m questioning my philosophy. To date, I’ve committed to being open about my true spiritual and mental condition; when I’ve been excited and confident it has come through in my writing, and when I’ve been discouraged and pessimistic my words have reflected those feelings. Between May of 2009 and January of this year, my only public forum was this blog. Since I’ve looked at this site as an online journal, it has made sense to report the ups and downs of my mental condition. It seemed consistent with what I read in other mental health blogs, and it fit the pattern of all my personal interactions: throughout my entire adult life I’ve been very open about my problems and struggles.

More recently, I’ve started writing for the Bipolar Advantage blog on PsychCentral, and I also gave a public presentation about mental health and consciousness. I see now that presenting a message of growth and recovery to the world may mean accepting the burden of being a good example. Is it fair to write about how well one can do by attending to humility, acceptance, ego suppression, etc., and then spill out all my neurotic fears and insecurities? Am I undercutting the message by my own inability to live it perfectly? Until recently few people read this blog or knew my name. But one of my Bipolar Advantage posts went through a short run of being viewed over eight hundred times a day. Although that is a pittance compared with the kind of readership truly popular voices attract, it still makes me far more public than ever before. I’ve been getting comments and personal emails that show me people appreciate my message. Is my greatest obligation at this point to the elevated consciousness that I hope to maintain and help others reach? Or do I still have the luxury of admitting that I’m a flawed, insecure person who sometimes feels enlightened and sometimes doesn’t?

The most important question is: what will most help others? Do people get more out of believing in a teacher who never falters, or out of seeing that another struggling human manages to find moments of clarity? Am I on the road to becoming some kind of leader, of all things? In the past I looked at myself as a loner, a tormented soul who thinks a lot about life and then writes. Do I need to rethink my role in the world? Does the gift of speaking publicly about growth comes with a price tag?

These are all questions I am asking myself today. I don’t expect to answer them right now. My hope is to gradually gain enough emotional maturity that a state of insight will predominate, and I can write honestly about my feelings while sustaining a positive message. I appreciate those who have confronted me about my recent complaints (you know who you are), and set me thinking about what path to take from here. It may turn out that the best way for me to achieve the improved state of mind I aspire to is to edit out the negativity in my thoughts and writing. Maybe maintaining a positive message will help me maintain a positive direction. This is not to say I want to write only things that are sweet and light; it’s not a question of unvarying happiness. But it might be best for both me and my audience if I at least remained committed to looking at life as a worthwhile adventure, in spite of its pain and disappointments. Like I heard someone say recently, no matter how dark and cloudy the weather, the sun is always shining.

Many people have pointed out to me that depression and spiritual growth do not exclude one another, and the fact that I keep getting this message shows that it has not yet really sunk in. Because spiritual awareness erases the bulk of my anxiety, whenever I’m in touch with it I feel incredibly free and light, and it seems like depression should vanish too. But although being more awake to the deeper structure of reality eases worry, it does not necessarily lighten sadness. If one understands the true nature of life, one realizes that most daily concerns are petty; but tragedy remains very real. If anything, transcendence heightens awareness of how living things suffer on this earth, and increased sensitivity can readily spawn depression or something like it. So on the one hand I agree: one can remain depressed and still grow in terms of conscious presence.

On the other hand, it is hard to feel truly enlightened when life seems unlivable. Embracing the reality of grief and sorrow is consistent with—and necessary for—spiritual advancement, but when one feels so oppressed by disappointment and loss that life loses all value, then one has been derailed from the spiritual path. When I gave my presentation Saturday I quoted Tom Wootton’s immortal phrase ‘Depression is Beautiful’, and I believe the words. But feeling so defeated and disgusted with one’s story that suicide sounds perfectly sane is not, I submit, a very spiritual condition. At those times, depression is anything but beautiful.

The goal has to be to feel sadness and grief, and see tragedy and injustice, but still yearn for life. Maybe the word that best describes my mood during my sickness is ‘despair’ rather than ‘depression’. In my experience, despair only leads to spiritual growth when it triggers a transformation in consciousness: in that case despair disappears. Unfortunately, my recent feelings of hopelessness have not pushed me to the point of breakthrough, and I suspect that such an easy way out will not be available to me this time around. Somehow, bit by bit, I have to rebuild belief in myself and my life.

Ten years ago I had a job that brought me status, provided a reliable income, and kept me busy. After arthritis and poor decisions ruined that situation, I’ve tried graduate school, informatics, teaching high school, public speaking, writing, and a few other minor pursuits; all ultimately led nowhere. These days no one has any reason to look up to me, my finances are crumbling, and I have far too much free time. If I could magically build a new career, many of my problems would vanish, but magic is in short supply. Many have suggested I work again as a doctor, but that would entail far more than people outside medicine realize; I would need to retrain, which means securing and completing a residency. After ten years of not working in the field, both of those steps would be challenging, to say the least. Even if I managed them, after adding in the several years post-residency required to master and get established in a field, by the time I was done I would be sixty years old. It is simply not realistic, and after the failed enterprises listed above, most other possibilities are also looking rather unlikely. I will probably need to find self-esteem that does not depend on my having productive work, at least in the short run.

On a positive note, I have recognized one important fact about my old work that seldom occurred to me before: it could be done by anyone with proper training. I was good at it, to be sure, but so were many surgeons. There was nothing about me that made me particularly suited to that work, or enabled me to do things that only I could do. Nowadays, I have a history with childhood trauma, mood disorders, and recovery that could (in theory) be leveraged into helping others in a way that would be uniquely mine. Unlike a surgical procedure, which if done well can seldom be traced to a particular surgeon, I could write or speak or in some other way produce a message that could only be delivered by me. Not that it would be better than all the other helpful sources of inspiration and advice, but it would be identifiably mine. It would be my creation and my expression.

Would writing a memoir, or speaking, or just blogging make up for the career I once had? Frankly, I doubt it. But at least I can see how the old line of work did not give me as much opportunity to express myself. Also, if I had not been through the past ten years of loss and recovery, I would not know nearly as much about the deeper currents of life as I believe I now do. So there are a couple of possibilities here that could only have arisen with the collapse of what went before.

When I can begin to see ways in which my new life offers things my old life could not, then maybe my despair will transform back into mere depression, and I can once again claim spiritual awareness. At the moment, all I can do is write about the possibility, but many times since I started this blog what I’ve written as speculation has gone on to become my reality.

Now, fortunately, I am feeling better. A bit chagrined at having sunk so low after weeks of touting spiritual enlightenment, but whether you call my condition ‘bipolar disorder’, ‘chronic depression’, or just moodiness, it evidently far outstrips in vitality whatever transcendence I had attained. Given the opportunity of my feeling physically ill, the demons defeated the angels within days. So I’m back at the beginning, facing once again the task of reaching that point of consciousness where life makes complete sense. Whether I can get back there is not at all certain, but the alternative path—staying in a funk—is unacceptable.

The fact that I’m finally writing again, even if just briefly, is a good sign and an indication that I’m trying. I will try to get something longer posted soon.

In my upcoming talk this Saturday, I hope to establish three central points: 1) People have the capacity for elevated, selfless modes of consciousness that go a long way toward easing psychic distress. Higher mind states do not lead to perfect happiness that never ebbs; rather, they make life enjoyable despite inevitable trials and jagged emotion. 2) Contrary to the standard model of mental health care, which expects emotional growth to be slow and arduous, people can abruptly transcend despair. 3) There are steps we can take to make such decisive transformations more likely.

My last blog entry touched on what’s been learned about elevated consciousness, and later I will come back to the issue of gradual versus sudden change. For today, let’s skip ahead to consider how we can promote ‘awakening’ experiences. To cover this territory in depth would require an entire book, and many texts and even bibles have been written to help people attain transcendence. Fortunately, my intended audience limits the scope of my endeavor. My goal is to provide suggestions that people can incorporate into ongoing programs of recovery from depression and anxiety. Even at my best, I don’t believe my elevated consciousness rivals that of a true spiritual leader. All I can claim is that regret, worry and despair no longer plague me. It would make my entire stormy life worthwhile if I could help one or two people transcend their labyrinths of remorse and terror, and ascend to a new state of mind.

Probably, those most prone to benefit will be those with long histories of misery, who feel like they can’t take much more pain. It was only because my desolation had become nearly unbearable that I finally saw the light. It seems probable to me that less wretched anguish would be less likely to push one to the precipice of decisive change. Certainly, most people who have described abrupt, transformative experiences had first descended to abject despair. By this reasoning, my audience will be people with severe dysphoria, who will likely have already explored a number of different pathways to relief. Many will have undergone therapy, many will have been prescribed medication, and many will have turned to spiritual programs. Prior work is important, because I believe one needs to build a foundation before one can fashion a spire into the heights of understanding.

Coming as I did from a catastrophic childhood, one necessity was time spent sorting through the conflicts and confusion bequeathed me by the dead past. My guess is that the greater the turmoil in one’s history, the greater the need to expend effort coming to grips with it. Probably most people with life-ruining depression will have had the benefit of at least a little therapy aimed at exploring the circumstances that predisposed them to such problems. This is a bit elitist of me, I realize, since it takes financial resources to get psychotherapy in our unjust society. I am not saying that one needs to spend many years and thousands of dollars hashing over one’s upbringing, but a bit of assistance from someone knowledgeable about the lingering effects of childhood trauma seems vital.

These days, the trend in psychotherapy is toward focusing on thought and behavior in the present rather than getting bogged down by the past. Although this is a positive and empirically supported development, I suspect that those with really difficult pasts may yet need to examine what happened. Running from the past is not the same as escaping it. On the other hand, in addition to therapy that addresses childhood trauma, recovery from depression and anxiety requires major changes in how we think and act. For this reason, it is helpful to learn the techniques of cognitive behavior therapy (CBT) and its many spinoffs. Whether these skills are learned from books, or from therapists, it is important to recognize the fundamental role of thought in despondence. When the mind does little but cycle through hidebound regrets, worries and obsessions, mental anguish will persist, impeding the journey to higher consciousness.

Today’s post begins a discussion of how psychotherapy, self-examination and thought management provide a foundation for steps toward transcendent awareness. I’ve tried to emphasize that my comments are directed to those with severe depression and anxiety, most of whom probably have histories of both childhood trauma and negative obsessional thinking. In one way or another, the childhood needs to be looked at; if therapy is out of reach, then journaling and reading might well suffice. In addition, one must learn to discipline thoughts, and cut down on negative rumination. The next post will continue this discussion of the groundwork that facilitates a journey to an elevated frame of mind. We are fortunate to live in an age when much has been learned about the roots of misery, and about how we can prepare the field for a blossoming future.

There is a state of mind, known to religious men, but to no others, in which the … time of tension in our soul is over, and that of happy relaxation, of calm, deep breathing, of an eternal present, with no discordant future to be anxious about, has arrived.

William James, The Varieties of Religious Experience, 1902

James describes exactly the condition that I’ve been enjoying since the middle of January. However, he must be mistaken when he concludes that this state of mind is available only to religious men, because I am by no means religious. Setting that important discrepancy aside, the psychologist’s numerous case studies prove that a profoundly wise and peaceful state of human existence awaits us; our task is to find ways to achieve and retain this higher mode.

James’s classic compilation and analysis of spiritual growth experiences exerted a major influence on Bill Wilson, the founder of Alcoholics Anonymous. It helped Wilson and his compatriots as they created a system to facilitate spiritual transformation in alcoholics. Here is Wilson’s description of his own awakening (from the ‘Big Book’ of AA, 1939):

All about me and through me there was a wonderful feeling of Presence… A great peace stole over me and I thought, ‘No matter how wrong things seem to be, they are right’.

This transformative experience helped Wilson, a hitherto hopeless drunk, remain sober for the rest of his life. There was a time when I doubted that such a change was possible; I may even have questioned Wilson’s sincerity. But in the year 2000, after returning to AA following a long absence, I went through a series of experiences very similar to his. Here is a description of one of them, taken from a previous essay on this site:

I stood at a locus from which I viewed creation arising from subatomic scales to fill the entire span of the modern universe, in a near-instantaneous ‘vision.’ As I saw these things, I inhaled the atmosphere of all-encompassing love and ‘rightness’ that animates everything. I heard a chorus of celestial voices, and felt myself basking in a divine affection that erased all doubt that God existed, that life had meaning, and that I mattered.

Although that episode and others like it had an enormous impact on me ten years ago, I did not know how to maintain elevated states of understanding; as a result I sank back into a stubborn and miserable depression that crushed me for at least six years. Fortunately, as long term visitors here have read, transcendent awareness returned in January. As before, it was my work within the AA framework that made my heart receptive to transformation. Here is the result, once again quoting from an earlier piece (Note that this time around the experience did not feel referenced to ‘God’ or any other overtly religious concepts.):

I perceived the evanescence and formlessness of the human mind, the interplay between humans and nature, and how everything intertwines in the awesome depths of creation. The way the human spirit dwells amidst vast spreads of time, space, and scale became clear to me in ways that surpass words…The scope of this new perspective crushes into triviality many of my prior concerns.

Recently I’ve mentioned Quantum Change: When Epiphanies and Sudden Insights Transform Ordinary Lives, by William Miller and Janet C’de Baca. Like William James, these authors document many awakening experiences. Although James presented some transformations that came on gradually and others that were sudden, Miller and C’de Baca focus on ones that happened abruptly, as acute life-altering events. They cite many spiritual and secular leaders who have described swift openings of consciousness. The Buddha, Mahatma Gandhi, Mohammed, George Fox (the founder of Quakerism), Malcolm X, Florence Nightingale, Joan of Arc, Leo Tolstoy, C.S. Lewis, and saints Paul, Augustine, and Theresa of Avila all underwent rapid and profound transformations of consciousness. The list could go on and on.

Citing work of James E. Loder, Miller and C’de Baca tell us that such experiences unfold in a characteristic sequence. “Something disrupts the way in which the person has been perceiving reality and making sense out of life…’an insight, intuition, or vision appears’…frequently accompanied by a great emotional release and a deep sense of relief. Then, with time, the person integrates and interprets the experience…and new patterns of thought and action emerge.”

It is likely that these psychic events are generated by novel patterns of neurologic activity. In fact, patients with temporal lobe seizures recount rather similar feelings. In Phantoms in the Brain by V.S. Ramachandran and Sandra Blakeslee, the authors paraphrase such patients:

I finally understand what it’s all about. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for all my life. Suddenly it all makes sense…I have insight into the true nature of the cosmos.

These patients have demonstrable anomalies in their brain waves, so in at least these cases the new consciousness can be traced to altered neural activity. Often such people retain their elevated understanding of cosmic significance even between acute episodes. The authors speculate that new neural channels are opened that “permanently alter—and sometimes enrich—the patient’s inner emotional life.” These patients have seizure disorders, but there is every reason to suspect that even the brains of people without electrical abnormalities can be decisively transformed by powerful spiritual episodes.

In the five weeks since the onset of my altered consciousness, I have indeed observed major alterations in my ‘inner emotional life’. As I’ve mentioned in recent posts, the change has by no means left me in an unwavering state of bliss; the heightened and peaceful awareness comes and goes. Sometimes despair threatens to reassert control. On the other hand, I am learning that by taking some simple and concrete steps I can bring myself back into alignment and sidetrack my old neurotic patterns.

My message today is straightforward: humans have the capacity for elevated states of consciousness that reduce psychic distress. These psychological modes open the mind to broader ways of seeing life, reveal order and refuge in the cosmos, and often increase one’s desire to behave altruistically. Because they remove people from the narrow, egocentric and damaging patterns that society encourages from birth, these improved frames of mind may represent a natural maturation of the human mind. They can occur as religious epiphanies, but they can also develop as completely secular insights. Subsequent posts will explore the ways a person can make such transcendence more likely and more robust.

On this coming Saturday, the 27th of February, I am slated to give my first presentation about mental health. The talk will only last fifteen minutes, so it’s not a big deal, but the location and timing are unusual. The venue will be a hospital about an hour’s drive from my home, and it happens to also be the institution that confined me when I suffered a manic psychosis almost exactly a decade ago. In fact, my last full day at the medical center where I performed oculoplastic surgery was the 27th of February 2000. (It was the loss of my career—due to severe arthritis in my neck—that led to my psychiatric breakdown.) I wonder if there is a bit of serendipity in the fact that this first chance to speak publicly about my new domain of interest falls on the ten-year anniversary of my prior career’s collapse.

Off and on throughout my life synchronicity has seemed to play a role in the major turning points. In my more open-minded states I wonder if there exist complicated cause and effect relationships that result in such remarkably timed opportunities; some events seem to ‘fit’ too perfectly to be explained by happenstance completely unconnected to my trajectory through life. At this moment, I’m uncertain and feel more inclined to dismiss the possibility of ‘cosmic’ meaning. Maybe it’s because my luck has been dismal for so long that this oddly timed opening doesn’t stimulate a feeling of: “Wow! How perfect!” Instead, my thoughts are more along the lines of: “It’s about time something went right!”

Either way, my task now is to clarify my message. Visitors to this blog have seen my philosophy evolve over many months. At one time I started to argue the thesis that neither science nor logic rule out the possibility of a Universal Consciousness permeating the cosmos. (I had planned to cite the frequent occurrence of serendipitous events as one support for this assertion.) The several posts I wrote on that topic primed me for a profound ‘breakthrough’ experience in January, which made completing the argument unnecessary. The ‘awakening’ also had the effect of sharply reducing my psychological distress; worry and depression faded to a mere fraction of their former intensity. So one point I want to make in this upcoming talk is that there exists a state of consciousness that greatly reduces psychic suffering.

This enlightened condition has been described many times, both by individuals and investigators such as William James. I mentioned the book Quantum Change in my last post; William Miller and Janet C’de Baca demonstrate that people can attain this elevated consciousness swiftly, and sometimes almost instantaneously. Contrary to the western mental health model wherein years of strenuous psychotherapy are intended to promote slow and gradual improvement, Miller and C’de Baca show that change can occur as a more-or-less sudden event. That will be my second point in this upcoming talk: elevated mind-states can develop abruptly.

The third point will revolve around ways we can make such sudden elevations of consciousness more likely to occur. In fact, there is already a well-known mental health treatment system designed to do just that; since the 1930’s Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) has been guiding people to spiritual awakening. The DSM (a manual used by mental health professionals to classify psychiatric conditions) lists substance abuse disorders as mental illnesses, so it is appropriate to consider AA as a mental health program. However, the 12 steps of AA are not directly applicable to pervasive psychiatric issues like depression and anxiety. They have a number of phrasing problems that make them inappropriate for that purpose. In my talk, I hope to point out ways that the 12 step system could be streamlined and modified to make it work for emotional distress.

In coming days I may elaborate on each of the three points just presented. Not only will discussing them here further spread the message (a little), it will help me prepare for my brief talk. This would be a great time for me to receive comments, since I could incorporate suggestions into my upcoming presentation.

Prayer draws us near to our own souls. (Herman Melville)

Last time, I made the point that (at their best) most religions promote a state of mind that dethrones ego. This elevated condition goes by many names: Christ-consciousness, selfless awareness, enlightenment, etc. Anyone following this blog knows that I have been blessed with this frame of mind off and on since mid-January.

When I am fully installed in it, my petty concerns melt away, and my heart feels full and grateful. I don’t worry about my future, or fret about my past. Criticism goes silent. In its place comes a nonverbal belief that life is acceptable in every way. Not that I’m unaware of the need for improvement; in particular, working toward greater selflessness becomes more important than ever. But life seems calmer, easier, and more beautiful.

When I give up all resistance, and settle into this accepting and loving mode, the world feels sacred. It is easy for this awesome feeling of peace to take on a religious character. The first time I experienced it, in 2000, I felt embraced by God. At one point, Jesus spoke to me, directly and in person. It was a profound religious moment that led me to convert to Catholicism.

In the years that followed, I read a lot about spiritual experiences. In particular, I educated myself about the neurological underpinnings of transcendent consciousness. I found out that there are regions in the brain (e.g., the temporal lobes) that seem to be activated during profound states. Others (e.g., the left parietal lobe) may become quiet. Learning these facts led to a series of changes in my outlook. At first, I concluded that these brain structures must be the portals through which God operates. Later, doubt crept in, and I started wondering if the experiences were simply seizure-equivalents; perhaps ‘it was all in my head’. Over time, regardless of what I believed, I settled back into egocentrism, more depressed than ever.

This year, after I again encountered Peace of Mind, I realized it doesn’t much matter whether it is a purely biological condition versus something of divine origin. These are the important points: 1) this state of mind has been experienced by many people; 2) it does not depend on any particular belief system; 3) it erases my depression whenever it is active; and 4) it makes me want to be a better person.

In Quantum Change: When Epiphanies and Sudden Insights Transform Ordinary Lives, William Miller and Janet C’de Baca describe many swift transitions from common ego-bound human neurosis, into exactly the state of grace I’m describing. The transformations felt like gifts (often in the midst of crisis) rather than earned rewards. The authors maintain neutrality about the origin of these changes, but they emphasize that many lives were permanently improved.

In my case, the improvement has not been exactly permanent; my feelings of transcendence wax and wane. A few days ago I suffered food poisoning, and selfless consciousness evaporated. Within hours I felt as miserable and depressed as ever. I’ve been working to realign myself ever since. At first I tried meditating, walking in nature, exercising, reading and writing. Nothing seemed to help.

Then I did something new: I prayed. Not to God, because my atheist upbringing makes belief in God challenging for me. I needed to pray to something that I knew existed. So I prayed to that deeper part of my mind that is so much wiser than me. I know, from firsthand experience, that something within me understands the world in a holistic way that erases anxiety and depression, so I prayed to that part of myself, and asked it to rise again. I begged my deeper ‘Spirit’ to come to the surface and take over. My ‘Will’ admitted that it was making a hash of things. It surrendered.

Praying worked: before long I felt the warmth again. I watched the anxieties fall away, the depression lighten, the smile and the love return. I found that surrendering to this deeper part of myself, through the mechanism of verbal prayer, brought me back to my center.

There are those who will believe that God must have played a part here. Why rule that out? Perhaps God is open-minded enough to accept my ego’s surrender, even if the surrender was not specifically directed toward God.

But it is also possible that this act of prayer merely allowed my deeper nature to step into the driver’s seat. My ego admitted it needed to hand off the wheel, and that allowed my heart to start directing things again.

Whatever the mechanism, the transformation was effected, and I feel more contented, more accepting, and more motivated to be a better person. Isn’t that all that matters? And if orthodox religions can bring others to this place of comfort and growth, then shouldn’t we respect them for it?

Yesterday an editor from a philosophy magazine sent me an email. How he got my address is a mystery, since he seeks a priest, which I obviously am not. He wants an essay to counter the arguments of the ‘New Atheists’ (e.g., Richard Dawkins, Christopher Hitchens, and Daniel Dennett), specifically by advancing the thesis that religion is a positive force in modern society. Although this editor reached me by mistake, I responded to his email by suggesting an opinion piece that would address the value of nonverbal states of consciousness, and how their attainment is one of the main benefits of religious activity. Although I have not read every book by every New Atheist, it is nonetheless clear that their arguments largely neglect this important reason why humanity seeks (and needs) ’spiritual’ solutions.

A common theme in New Age philosophy is that problems arise when ‘ego’ gets out of control (Eckart Tolle, among others, does a good job of articulating this concept). More to the point, many of the most ancient spiritual systems arose after their founders discovered ways to shatter the ego-centered mind, and get in touch with selfless states of consciousness. The New Atheists often rebut claims that religions improve human charity, but I do not see them addressing the fact that religions help some people achieve a state of consciousness deeply rooted in selflessness, humility and surrender. Even if the atheists are correct, and on average religious people are no more ‘upright’ than others, it is also true that highly motivated seekers can use spiritual practice to escape the ego’s tyranny and destructiveness. Promoting the attainment of this enlightened state of mind is perhaps the most valuable function of religion, even if it often gets buried under layers of doctrine and hierarchy. Until the New Atheists recognize humanity’s need for ego-suppression, they will fail to win over many people who value spiritual development. They will simply be missing the point.

An oft-repeated New Atheist hypothesis is that religious tendencies evolved to buffer humans from a paralyzing terror of death. This viewpoint reduces spiritual aspirations to little more than fearful magical thinking. I’m often surprised to read long speculations about this proposed origin of religion from authors who claim to value ‘proof’ (and who insist their reliance on empiricism sets them apart from religions). With current information, we simply cannot know why people became religious in the course of evolution. Although fear may have played a role, it is equally likely that spiritual yearning evolved because there is survival value in remaining cognitively balanced. Individuals, families and societies suffer when people base their lives solely on the shallow concerns of the ego.

Personally, having been raised as an atheist and then trained in the western biomedical tradition, I see no need to invoke supernatural forces to explain or appreciate the universe. In that sense, I have no strong objection to the New Atheist opinions about ‘God’ and religious dogma. On the other hand, I see great value in overturning the self-absorbed mindset that is so widespread in our culture. Religion, at its best, promotes exactly this kind of transformation in people. The New Atheists, unfortunately, seem so heavily invested in linear thought that they fail to grasp the value (or even the existence) of any other type of consciousness. One does not need to be ‘religious’ to achieve a state of selfless nonverbal awareness, but it is the primary path available to most people. Because New Atheists seldom address one of the primary roles of spiritual systems, their well-argued views remain shallow and unappealing.

That, anyway, is the argument I proposed to the magazine editor who is putting together an issue about New Atheism. Since he specifically seeks a priest, I doubt he will be receptive to my suggestion. But because I believe these viewpoints to be valid, it makes sense to post them here, in the only forum readily available to me.