Spiritual But Not Religious?

When engaged in casual conversation with someone I have just met, I am often asked what I do for a living.  I'm sure you are, too. When I say I am an Episcopal priest, however, I usually get one of two responses: either a sudden, distant look, followed by an awkward pause in the conversation, then a "That's interesting," and a quick change of subject... or a vaguely guilt-tinged confession, "I don't go to church," followed by the justification, "I am spiritual but not religious."

While I hear it used with ever greater frequency, I have never really known what to make of the phrase.  People seem to be saying that they are sensitive souls, aware of a transcendent reality beyond the realm of matter that shapes and directs their lives, but that they do not find an adequate or helpful expression of that awareness in religion.  If, however, you accept the premise--as I do--that we are all spiritual beings, then everyone possesses a "spirituality" of sorts.  Your spirituality is simply your disposition toward spiritual reality, even if you deny it or fail to perceive it.   You therefore cannot distinguish yourself by describing yourself as "spiritual."  What will distinguish you is your practice of spirituality, what you do to express and integrate your spirituality into daily life.  And that, of course, is precisely where religion comes in.  The word religion is derived, appropriately enough, from a Latin verb meaning "to bind together."  Religion is that which binds together the experiences of our lives in a grand vision of the whole, including our connections to the reality that lies beyond, and offers us the means by which to enter more fully into that reality.

I know that, to many, "religious" implies rigid conformity to an arbitrary set of rules, intolerance of those who live differently, and immersion in hidebound institutions that stifle creativity and label nonconformists as heretics.  These stereotypes are rooted in a certain degree of truth.  Some religious people do obsess over rules, some are intolerant, even to a murderous degree, and religious institutions can be stifling.  Like all human practice, be it business, government, or family life, religion is messy.  Human beings are deeply flawed.  We lack vision, we lack clarity.  Our motives are mixed and often confused.  We screw up.  Few would suggest, however, that we abandon our businesses because business often is blighted by greed and corruption.  Few would argue that we should give up on democracy because it is inefficient, tainted by nasty rhetoric, and suffers from all the shortcomings of a beauty pageant or popularity contest.  And despite all the snide remarks we make about marriage and family, and all the wounds we suffer through our families, we nonetheless always return to them, hoping for comfort, healing, and love.  And yet, religion--perhaps because it allows us a higher degree of choice regarding our participation, or because it purports to embrace the highest good--we feel free to reject out of hand when it doesn't meet the standards we set for it.  To be sure, we can go about our daily lives religion-free if we so choose.  It is much harder to go about one's life shunning all business, avoiding all governance, or untethered by family ties.  I would argue, however, that religion, despite all its flaws, is as vital and necessary to us as economic activity, governance, and family life, and that in our practice of it, we need to demonstrate the same kind of forbearance we show to these other human endeavors, simply because it is a human endeavor, however divine its inspiration may be. 

Religion is important in that it gives us a framework, a skeleton, that lends shape and structure to our spirituality.  This is necessary in the same way a curriculum or teaching plan is necessary for our academic and intellectual development.  This is not to say that we cannot make spiritual discoveries on our own, any more than to say that learning cannot go on outside a structured classroom.  But religion does present a discipline, a path of exploration, that allows for a greater possibility of discovery and encourages regular growth and development.  It is worth noting that every figure the world has deemed a great spiritual leader--Francis of Assisi, Mother Theresa, the Dalai Lama, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Martin Luther King, Jr., Abraham Heschel, Rumi, Gandhi--has been firmly rooted in one of the great religions of the world.  Though there have been great spiritual figures who have stood outside the circle of religion--Albert Camus comes to mind--they are very few and far between.  And even Camus was constantly in dialogue with Christianity, attempting to embrace its values while rejecting its dogma.  Indeed, toward the end of his life, some scholars believe he was on the verge of embracing the faith he had for so long kept at arm's length.  Most of the spiritual greats were quite open to the insights of other religious traditions and they came to remarkably similar understandings of how human beings should treat one another and the non-human world that surrounds us.  Compassion, kindness, honesty, integrity, simplicity, courage, and faith characterize the spiritual practice of all the greats.  And yet, each would argue that it was precisely their practice of their particular religion as a daily discipline that enlivened and deepened their capacity for all of these glorious virtues.  Again, this is not to say that virtue cannot be present in those who do not practice a religion, or that there are not religious people who are decidedly unvirtuous, but only that religion provides a disciplined, coherent, and demonstrably successful  means for cultivating virtue on a very deep level.

Far too many who say they are spiritual but not religious seem to be dabblers, people who have superficially explored a variety of spiritual traditions, but have never fully engaged any of them.  I am reminded of an experience of the Methodist minister and writer Tex Sample, who was told by a woman at a party he attended that she used to be a Methodist, but not anymore.  Now, she said, she was "into" Native American spirituality.  The pastor challenged her by saying he didn't really understand what she meant when she said she was "into" Native American spirituality.  Which Native American spirituality?   Mohawk?  Navajo?  Lakota?

The woman looked baffled.

Well, okay, did she study with a particular shaman?

"Oh, nothing like that," she said, dismissively.

"Well, then," said Sample, "I just don't know what you mean when you say you are 'into' Native American spirituality."

"Oh," she said, "I saw Dancing with Wolves, read a book about it, and thought it was very nice."

While it might be argued this woman once identified with the particular religious tradition of Methodist Christianity, she clearly never fully engaged it, but merely dabbled in it, as she dabbled in Native American religion later.  No deeply held convictions, no ongoing discipline or practice, just a flirtation of the moment, flitting from one tradition to another, avoiding any binding commitment.

Binding commitments, of course, are risky.  They force you to struggle, when things don't go quite as planned.  You are forced to confront the ways you messed up.  It is true with marriage, with business contracts, with citizenship... and with a deep religious commitment.  It enforces a discipline.  Sometimes people who assert they are spiritual but not religious do so to avoid that discipline and the judgment that comes with it.  Perhaps the most notorious instance was when Barbara Walters confronted Monica Lewinsky, in her interview, regarding the former intern's affair with Pres. Clinton.  Lewinsky had claimed to be a spiritual person.  Pres. Clinton had said that he had sinned in having the affair.  Did Lewinsky believe she had sinned?  Lewinsky, visibly uncomfortable, squirmed in her seat and then said, "I'm spiritual but not religious," as if that dispensed with the issue and exonerated her behavior.

Spiritual but not religious?  This says nothing to me.  Everyone is spiritual.  We are spirit wedded to flesh, to matter.  What I would much rather know is that you have a discipline to your professed spirituality, that you work to live it on a daily basis, struggling to grow into the ideal it envisions.  I want to know how your spiritual impulses are bound together into a cohesive practice.  In other words, I would much rather hear that you were spiritual and religious.