A Conversation with Brad Gooch, author of Godtalk: Travels in Spiritual AmericaQ: What was it about the changing face of spirituality in America in the ‘90s that captivated you?
A: As a journalist, I began feeling that spirituality was very much “where the action was” in America; people were discussing God and religion as normally and animatedly as they discussed movies and TV. Also, personally I’ve always been drawn to spirituality, yet have always taken a largely “freelance” approach. I guess I was just longing to go on a post-modern pilgrimage.
Q: Your book is part travelogue, part social history, and part religious history. Did your own religious or academic background have much to do with your interests here?
A: I’ve had my own personal “awakenings” in this area over the years. When I was a kid I had myself baptized, was obsessed with watching Mass for Shut-ins, and even came forward at a screening of a Billy Graham film, The Cross and the Switchblade, at my junior high. In my early twenties, I had a burning desire to be a monk, and joined a group called the Trees, a semi-monastic community of men and women connected to the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. These flare-ups in interest, though, have always been followed by dips as well. So, in that sense, I’ve always been a bit of a spiritual tourist.
Q: In your Introduction, you say that one of the trends of the last few years is the increase in world religions: American Tibetan Buddhists, American Sufis. What do you think is the reason for this?
A: I think globalism would be the reason. You don’t have to be T. E. Lawrence or G.I. Gurdjieff to be exposed to other cultures. Lots of Americans have traveled to India in the past forty years. Important, too, was the repeal of the Asian Exclusion Act in the sixties. The immigration to this country of Tibetans, Indians, and Pakistanis has led to the casual presence of what Diana Eck has called “The Mosque Next Door.” We’ve become much more sophisticated about other cultures than we were even in the sixties. Likewise these religious expressions have been changed by being lived in America. The current crisis in the Roman Catholic Church has only highlighted the way in which there could be an “American Catholicism” as well that is culturally different from the Vatican brand.
Q: How did you first hear of The Urantia Book? Did it strike you how similar it seemed in style to other organized religions, given its rather unusual “origins” in the early 20th century?
A: I first heard of The Urantia Book when I was writing a travel piece for Harper’s Bazaar on Sedona, Arizona, the New Age capital of America. My tour guides turned out to be readers of The Urantia Book. I was struck by the notion of a text that came as an anonymous revelation in the early twentieth century–supposedly from otherworldly beings–and inspired a sort of religion to grow spontaneously, and then split into more fundamentalist followers and more free-spirited heretical followers. Here was a sort of convex mirror in which was reflected many aspects of religious development.
Q: You talk about the early 20th-century trend in America towards a healthier life: exercise crazes and homeopathic remedies (as personified by Dr. Kellogg of those famed corn flakes; and later sent up in T. C. Boyle’s comic novel The Road to Wellville). Did this have an impact on the spiritual trends of that time, including the appearance of The Urantia Book?
A: Yes. The Urantia Book caters to two trends strong in American spiritual movements–nutrition and science fiction. The first trend can be seen in the Seventh-Day Adventists, in the Urantia Book’s leader Dr. Sadler, who was a popular self-help doctor-writer of the 1920s, up to today’s Deepak Chopra and Andrew Weil, or the connection between “health food stores” and New Age spirituality. If there is an American asceticism, it’s more about the discipline of exercise and diet than the mortification of the Desert Fathers.
Q: In your chapter on Deepak Chopra and Gurumayi, you said that you suspected that in order to really “get” Boulder, or Ojai, or Woodstock, one needed to have at least passed through the Indian subcontinent–that India has, in spiritual matters, been “a most-favored nation.” Can you say why?
A: I think that when the first Hindu leaders came to America in the late 19th century, they were just the men that the Transcendentalists, like Emerson and Thoreau, were waiting to see. They provided an alternative to organized Christian religion that seemed more philosophical and inward. Just last week a fellow professor at the college where I teach said that, after watching the burial service of the Queen Mother, he understood how Eastern religions became so popular. The service seemed so stiff and remote to him. India, like America, is a country almost obsessed with religion. (They were the two ranked highest in this concern, in a recent poll.) At the moment, though, India seems to attract Americans less for philosophical reasons than for yoga, which has become a standard exercise at spas and gyms.
Q: How much of a contradiction, if any, did you find in the somewhat lavish “club med” scenes of certain spiritual retreats you describe as meant to focus on purifying the spirit?
A: Well both Deepak Chopra and Gurumayi are similar in their refusal to tie spirituality to poverty. Indeed, Siddha Yoga is a path honoring Lakshmi, the Hindu goddess of prosperity, often pictured as spreading gold coins from her outstretched palm. Such a gesture has obviously appeal to Americans who are engaged in a culture of material prosperity and physical health and well-being. Obviously this is not the path of the Desert Fathers, or the monks and nuns of the Christian tradition, or the Sufis in their simple woolen garments, but it’s certainly not harmful.
Q: Do you believe in what Deepak calls “synchrodestiny”?
A: Deepak’s “Synchrodestiny” is a retooling of Jung’s “Synchronicity.” Deepak is a great packager. I have certainly had experiences of thinking of people and having them call five minutes later, or walking down the street and meeting someone who tells me something or gives me information I need at just that moment. I talk in my Introduction of running into playwright John Guare at the Jefferson Market the night before I was set to go to a Trappistine convent, where one of the founding sisters, he revealed to me, was his cousin. Such a chance encounter has that “synchrodestiny” feel to it. Indeed, much of Godtalk was written by following through on such hunches and introductions. So, yes, I’d have to agree that at least anecdotally there seems to be something to that concept.
Q: When you talk about Trappist monks and Trappistine nuns, you say that, while there are fewer people committing to this lifestyle than when it peaked just after WWII, there are now more “tourists” coming to sample the lifestyle of a monastery. Why is that?
A: I think that lots of people are in the same position as I am. They’re drawn to the experience of spiritual life, but not necessarily to the choice of one path as being the one, final true way. So they are sampling. You could put this tendency down as the Pope has as “cafeteria Catholicism.” But you could also see this as a process in making connections between the common ingredients in these traditions, and in wanting to include the contemplative spirituality perfected by these monks in daily life. Indeed, “lay brother” programs are the most successful at the moment for Trappist monasteries: having committed “secular” brothers visit a monastery regularly, then applying the principles to their own lives.
Q: With Vatican II breaking down the walls between the Catholic church and the real world in the ‘60s, a lot of monks, who’d joined to escape the pressures of life outside, left. Why?
A: Some of the monks joined after the traumas of WWII to escape into a capsule of silence, alone with God. They didn’t sign on for openness or group therapy sessions. I think they felt the rules had been changed on them mid-game. Also the sixties and seventies introduced the siren call of sexual liberation. A tug developed for straight monks to leave and get married and have a family. For gay monks, who were sometimes motivated by having found a spiritual closet in the cloister, here suddenly was a much more inviting society for gays out there.
Q: One of the seminal texts for so many people, even non-Christians, seems to be Thomas Merton’s The Seven Storey Mountain–even the Dalai Lama came to visit Merton’s grave at the Abbey of Gethsemani in Kentucky. What is it about his story that so inspires people?
A: I mentioned The Seven Storey Mountain when I was teaching Augustine’s Confessions last week. Both works have an irresistible formula: a guy who’s living a sophisticated city life with sensual and intellectual pleasures, a sinner like you and me, who then decides to make a right-turn into the most extreme of lifestyles. The reader gets to imagine taking the same trip. It’s Extreme Spirit, much like the lure of extreme sports.
Q: Father Matthew Kelty, an 87-year-old priest at the Abbey of Gethsemani, believes that gay men who can live without sex make the best monks. Why? Also, apparently celibacy is not the hardest vow to observe: the greater obstacle to a sustained vocation is the vow of obedience. Why?
A: Matthew Kelty has a sort of Jungian theory, outlined in his essay “Celibacy and the Gift of Gay,” that marriage is a way for men and women to balance their masculine and feminine principles. But that gay men are often in touch with their feminine principal and could do well living with other such men following a purpose of love within a community, under the direction of a rule and abbot. The point in the comparison of the two vows of chastity and obedience is that the first is simply a matter of self-discipline, while the second really means giving up control of lots of basic life decisions, and indeed being subject to decisions by a “boss” who might not always be entirely wise. Some of Merton’s Seven-Storey Mountain, and even more of his letters and later writings, express frustration in his dealings with his abbot as he tried to push the envelope of monastic life by becoming a hermit and exploring Eastern spirituality. Merton had trouble with the vow of chastity, as well, but conflict on that score seemed to take up much less of his recorded thinking and writing.
Q: One monk, Brother Paul Quenon–whom you write sleeps outside in a sleeping bag all year long–says “I’m not an ascetic, I’m an aesthetic.” Is that connection with nature a large part of the allure of monastic life?
A: I’m not sure that all monks are on as much of a Thoreau trip as Brother Paul. But it’s certainly true that monasteries tend to be located in some of the most beautiful, inaccessible locations, and that Nature is very much a part of the contemplative experience–especially for Trappists, for whom farming and manual labor is a part of the order.
Q: You say that in the ‘70s, the utopian idea of living as a hermit sort of came and went as a trend. Is it because the comfort of a community, even in monastic life, is critical to well-being?
A: Abbot Timothy explained to me that hermits tend to get “a bit funny.” There’s a conviction in monastic life that community life, even with friction, tends to keep everyone grounded and down to earth, and that pure contemplation can easily blur into pure fantasy.
Q: You write that America’s nun population seems to have peaked in 1965 with 181,000, compared to today with 84,000 (and a median age of 70). Why the reduction and what did you mean when you said “the line between cloister and the real world is dotted rather than solid”?
A: The situation with nuns parallels that with monks and priests. The Catholic Church is obviously in transition. The Vatican council in the sixties did much to open things up. But then subsequent popes have tried to push the lid down again. The result in America has been lower numbers. The notion of the monastery or convent as a citadel separate from the world has definitely been modified in the process. As I point out in my Introduction, the Internet has put cloisters on the map, in terms of accessibility. And monks and nuns alike seem much more involved in the vocation of welcoming guests from the “outside” world than before. Rarely is a rule of total silence enforced.
Q: Are the UFMCCs (Universal Fellowship Metropolitan Community Churches)–of which there are now 300 in 16 countries–the first primarily gay churches?
A: Yes. Though there have been gay groups such as Integrity and Dignity, within established denominations, and obviously lots of gay priests, ministers, choir directors, monks, nuns, and organists.
Q: Architect Philip Johnson’s nearly completed Cathedral of Hope in Dallas–the largest MCC in the country with 3,000 members–will be taller than Notre Dame in Paris. Do you agree that, like the Guggenheim in Bilbao, it will stand as one of the first great examples of 21st-century architecture? And, given the Fundamentalism of much of the South, is Dallas the best location for such a church?
A: I think since Bilbao is already there, that Philip’s church will not be as much of a signature statement architecturally. But certainly the building is important, and the whole notion of its being curved and organic, rather than straight and angular, is metaphorically fitting to its purpose. . . . Dallas is a good location for such a Cathedral. Gays in the South, many brought up Baptist, seem much more involved in the notion of displaying and advertising a Gay Christian identity than their gay siblings in the North. Culturally, church is more important a social activity in Dallas for gays and straights alike than in Manhattan. And in Manhattan, there are many churches of all denominations that are gay-friendly. MCC and Soulforce thrive much more in the South than the North.
Q: Was it surprising at all to discover straight people attending the weekly services of this church? And do you think the Cathedral’s Rev. Mike Piazza’s wish that it feel like a “traditional church” for those who’ve been “a spiritually disempowered community” is important?
A: Yes, I was surprised at the number of straight people. I gradually came to understand, though, that a gay cathedral became a draw and a haven for those with more liberal opinions in a city where many of the traditional churches were also politically conservative as well. . . Piazza’s notion of making a virtual “traditional church” is quite smart. As I mentioned above, many southern gay Christians feel this need to return to the scene of the crime of abuse from the religions and ministers’ messages of their childhoods and reclaim the turf.
Q: Do you think the fact that Troy Perry founded the UFMCC the same year (1968) that Stonewall (or, as you say, the “big bang” of gay liberation) took place, is significant?
A: Yes. And indeed, now that much of the secular political agenda of the gay activists of the Stonewall era is being implemented, or at least advanced and discussed, the churches are really the next frontier.
Q: Given the fact that in the last 25 years, 18 MCCs were set on fire, resulting in 33 deaths--despite praise from Governor Reagan in the ‘70s and later from Presidents Carter and Clinton--are things getting any better? And do you think that Mel White’s new political group, Soulforce, who take the nonviolent approach of Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr., will be of much help?
A: One can only hope. I did come away though feeling that the fight-or-flight dynamic between MCC, Soulforce and the Southern Baptist fundamentalists, like Falwell, was very much a closed system, like the Hatfields and the McCoys. It was a family struggle. I’m not sure that the approach will do as well elsewhere in the country or the world. Will and Grace and Rosie probably register more powerfully in the popular culture.
Q: In your chapter about the muslim community, you mention the absence of a pope or a chief rabbi-type who can speak for one and all–is that a good thing or a problem?
A: I feel a bit over my head opining about such subtle geopolitical questions. But that saidÉ Yes, I do think that getting rid of the Ottoman Empire and the Caliphate, which had the short-term effect of cutting the legs out from underneath the Muslim world community, did have the long-term effect of leaving no one to speak responsibly for religious Muslims. So there’s no single authority figure to question a fatwa of Bin Laden’s, for example.
Q: It’s interesting to learn that mosques, or masjids, don’t need to have anything official or consecrated about them, and that in New York City alone there are 110 mosques, with 100 of them opening in the last 25 years. Did you find a favorite among those you attended?
A: I was most drawn to the Tribeca mosque, which was built with funding from Philippe De Menil and attracts more Sufis to j’ummah on Fridays. Architecturally, though, the East 96th Street mosque is quite impressive, with its streamlined version of a Middle Eastern mosque. And an ethnic mosque such as the Turkish mosque I visited in Brooklyn, or the Iraqi mosque in Queens, is quite exotic for a American-born type like myself.
Q: You write that “el-Islaam” is a term that means “submission” to the will of Allah, as well as evoking peace. Do you find this message of peace stronger here than in other religions?
A: No. I think the message of peace is part of what Aldous Huxley called “the perennial philosophy,” common in all the world’s religions. Since “Islam” contains in its roots the words for both “peace” and “submission,” another possible translation capturing that nuance might be “acceptance.”
Q: You write that the new news in American Islam is its “suburbanization.” Meaning what exactly?
A: At least in New York City, the Muslims seem to be following the migratory pattern set for them by the Jews. They began as first-generation immigrants with their own “ethnic mosques” in the city. Now second- and third-generation Muslims have moved to the suburbs of New Jersey, Long Island, and Connecticut. The Westbury, Long Island mosque is funded by members who are doctors and lawyers, who often drive a Lexus and live in ranch houses. The new anxiety is whether their children are becoming too assimilated, losing their religious identity. Or, conversely, some of these young American-born Muslims are recouping the beards and turbans of their ancestors, becoming holier-than-thou.
Q: Although there seems to be greater equality in the Muslim faith in some ways–e.g. the first who arrive in a mosque sit up front–there still are areas that aren’t as open-minded: such as sexist rules governing women’s actions and a harsh view of homosexuality. Is that changing at all?
A: American Islam seems to be finding its own way. In Pakistan, for example, women don’t go to mosque at all. But now, in America, Pakistani mosques are allowing women. Many of these matters are cultural rather than theological. Muslim women in Saudi Arabia can’t drive, for instance. Most American Muslim women certainly do. Shayka Fariha is a female Sufi spiritual leader with hundreds of followers, though a woman leading the prayers is still highly unusual. Al Fatiha is a gay Muslim organization, though small. So change does seem to be taking place gradually as cultural adaptation proceeds.
Q: How key did you find Malcolm X, or Malik, as he was later known, to the African-Americans you spoke to, who’ve chosen Islam? You mention that he was the closest thing to an American Muslim saint–why?
A: Malcolm X was not only key to the African-Americans I spoke with, but also to Muslims of all stripes. (Remember John Walker Lindh reportedly became Muslim because of his reading of Malcolm X?) The Autobiography of Malcolm X is the Seven-Storey Mountain of American Islam, giving the tale of a drug-dealer pimp “sinner” who finds his way through the Nation of Islam to traditional Sunni Islam, a transition resulting arguably in his death.
Q: What is the purpose of a whirling dervish?
A: Sufism, or mystical Islam, includes many paths, or tariqah, all of them involving the practice of dhikr, or “remembrance of God.” The Mevlevi order traces back to Rumi, the poet, who practiced dhikr using music, chanting, and dance. The whirling dance is a disciplined practice, much like yoga, to bring about a trance-like feeling of unity with other dervishes (or “disciples”), and with God.
Q: Why is Sufism, the mystical dimension of Islam, so controversial when, as you say, “sweetness” more than any other trait marks a Sufi?
A: Well, mystics have always been a challenge to religions. The average Christian who goes to church twice a year might not be comfortable if faced with St. Theresa or St. John of the Cross. More fundamentalist Muslims tend to feel that the mystical practices of Sufism depart from the simple Five Pillars of Islam. That it’s a sort of heretical departure. Also, governments tend to be suspicious of popular mystical movements that are out of their control. Sufism, therefore, is illegal in both Saudi Arabia and Turkey.
Q: How receptive are the people that you’ve visited at these churches, monasteries, mosques, ashrams, reading groups, and spiritual centers to visitors? And would you recommend people, respecting the rules, visit them?
A: This book was a bit difficult to research because you can’t always go waltzing into monasteries or mosques, or ashrams so easily. You often need to write ahead, find a contact, make a friend, if you want to be welcomed. However, my own experience was that once people felt I was respectful, even if not a follower, they were happy to include a new face.
Q: When you’re at the Masjid al-Farah in Tribeca, you’re asked if you believe in God, to which you say yes, and then are told “well, if you believe in God, then you are Muslim. Any Christians who believe in God, they are Muslim too.” Has your research led you to feel there’s more commonality among these spiritual communities than not, and if so, what is a basic thread throughout?
A: I definitely felt kinship between these movements. Indeed I think that people who’ve actually visited and participated in different spiritual and religious groups or services tend to be more tolerant and inclusive. It’s easier to feel that yours is the one, true way if you haven’t had a positive experience elsewhere, or met people you respect in other traditions. Travel has always been the most powerful form of liberal education. And the classic American book on religion remains William James’ pluralistically titled The Varieties of Religious Experience.