There is a new(ish) cafe in Greenside. It is draped in banners proclaiming ”Go Veg! Save The Planet!” which, once I got past the Annoying Use of Capital Letters, appealed to my bunny-hugging nature.
As it happens, this vegetarian café is run by devotees of ”Supreme Master” Ching Hai, a Vietnamese woman whose organisation has been described as a ”transnational cybersect” and, if you believe www.cultnews.com, it ”fits the classical definition of a destructive cult”.
This is what I found out. Being a follower of hers does not involve locking oneself away in a remote compound or anything that clichéd. Instead, her followers around the world practise something called the Quan Yin Method, a form of meditation ”revealed” by her, for many hours a day, and become vegetarian. That doesn’t sound so bad, surely? Maybe this, taken from the FAQ at God’s Direct Contact (her other website) will make you think twice. ”For some, Supreme Master Ching Hai is their Mother, for some She is their Father, and for others She is their Beloved. At the least, She is the very best Friend you could ever have in this world.”
Ah. It would be almost beautiful, if it weren’t so obviously deranged. And that is, I suppose, why it is considered a cult. Not to mention the fact that devotees feel the need to fork out cash for whatever the Supreme Master creates, because, when she is not teaching people the way to enlightenment, she is designing jewellery, clothing lines and creating artworks. And opening restaurants. Hey, everyone needs a hobby.
So I was in two minds as I wolfed down my tofu. I mean, all the messages about going green and saving the environment had some merit, surely? Morbid curiosity had led me there, but now that I was adding to Ching Hai’s coffers by ordering something at her restaurant, were people watching me to make sure I choked down her ideology along with my lunch? And, if I agreed with all the tree hugging, did it matter that some of her followers were duped into buying her bad art?
And, although this woman and her organisation are an extreme and ridiculous example, it pretty much sums up the conflict I face every time I embark on any discussion about organised religion.
Organised religion may have been subject to derision and scorn by cynics and skeptics and those who, ironically, think they can provide all the answers, but those arguments never, to me at least, seem to address the many examples of good work done by religious organisations and individuals, work that, it often seems, no one else can be bothered with.
A friend told me he had resolved this conflict by concluding ”religion and faith are different things” and ”a good person will always do good deeds, even if they think they are doing it because of their religion”. He had a point, even though he was sitting on a beanbag with a mug of chamomile tea. I would like to think it is true. But if it isn’t? How do those who litter the internet and newspapers with obvious and lazy criticisms of religion reconcile the fact that, for all its flaws and hideous history, it can truly inspire people to devote time and resources to making the world a slightly better place?
In case I sound like I religious apologist, let me assure you that I am not. I have a healthy and fashionable sense of cynicism when it comes to religion, and I am endlessly amused by the hysteria inspired by both sides of the argument. I may have used the ”brainwashing” cliché once or twice, but I find it impossible to dismiss the fact that some of the kindest, most charitable people I have ever known have been the ”brainwashed”. And that sounds nasty and does them no justice, so where is the middle ground?
Take Christianity, as a huge, obvious, and all-encompassing example. I have a problem with a religion that, on paper at least (and what else do you have to go on?) tells me that my gay friends haven’t got the right to draw breath, that I’m not supposed to be wearing a garment made from two types of cloth (no, really, it’s all there) and that has, for the last millennium, been an excuse for intolerance, violence and corruption.
I realise this is hardly a revolutionary position, and it has been discussed far more eloquently and with much greater consequence by philosophers like Nietzsche and naughty, naughty writers like Andre Gide. But, as they point out (for varying reasons), that same religion (again, on paper), tells its followers to Love Thy Neighbour and preaches compassion, charity and forgiveness. It’s all a bit, well, inconvenient. Especially when it’s taken to heart and acted on.
So what to do about it? Do I defend the bits I like, and continue to criticise the sum of the parts? To put it frankly, God knows. And I bet even God is a little bit confused. Maybe God didn’t realise his instructions were so unclear. But then again, I am no expert. Unlike this guy: ”Whether you believe in God or not does not matter so much, whether you believe in Buddha or not does not matter so much. You must lead a good life.” — The Dalai Lama
And that, I suppose is the point.
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