Genuinely Open
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I’m presenting a theory about a big discrepancy
between what Subud really is and its image as presented to most people—and why this presents a
critical problem, at least in Australia.
Frankly, I would like profound changes in both how Subud tends to be
regarded by its own members and how the latihan is portrayed to the wider
world.
A fundamental claim about Subud is that it is
compatible with all major religions. I
find this true in principle, but not in practice, due to the internal
‘culture’ of Subud. This displays many
religious peculiarities, including: recommending Bapak’s talks as inherently
spiritually edifying; vigorously celebrating Bapak’s birthday; referring to
supposed prophecies of Bapak; attributing the status of ‘holy person’ to Bapak
and Ibu Rahayu; treating Bapak as alive and/or present; prominently recognising
Ramadan; prominently observing third, seventh, fortieth, hundredth and
thousandth day selamatans; attributing mystical power to names; asserting the
literal existence of spirits, jinns, levels of reality and of heaven; doing the
latihan to ‘cleanse’ premises; doing the latihan for sick or dead people,
especially one’s ancestors; and modelling reality, non-allegorically, in terms
of Javanese cosmology.
Above are just some of the activities involving
powerfully religious themes and overtones in
which members of Subud groups (including me) regularly indulge. These behaviours are guided by specific
religious beliefs that are shared by relatively few people in the broader
community. As religious perspectives
are inclined to be exclusive, these Subud norms are generally just not compatible with the religious sensibilities of most
non-Subud people. Although rarely given
official endorsement by the Subud organisation, our common practices of this
kind are obviously liable to be offensive to practising Baptists, Catholics,
Muslims, Buddhists and so on.
Such religious, ‘spiritual’ or cultural elements are
almost always described by Subud members as non-compulsory and purely
incidental to membership—emphatically labelled as completely voluntary. Nevertheless, a few customs that are
traditionally regarded throughout Subud as spiritual in their basis, like
appointing chairpersons through testing, are even officially endorsed. While most are indeed optional, the overall
tolerance of these themes and overtones is so prevalent and pervasive that they
are widely seen as de rigueur.
In my opinion, this is caused by peer pressure, combined with the desire to appear suitably
respectful of the ‘received wisdom’. Though religion as such is hardly ever discussed among Subud
members, I have always noticed a strong bias in favour of collective
piety. The peer pressure itself is
natural, stemming from the human desire to belong to and be accepted by some
sort of close community, but within Subud groups it tends to get mixed with the
hope of being acknowledged as ‘spiritual’—in other words, evidently pious and
‘in tune’ or spiritually well-informed. I recognise this kind of hope in myself
all the time, but while it’s a very normal human attitude, it is the basis of a
serious difficulty for Subud.
To me it seems plainly impossible for any organisation
to be open to all religions while itself resembling a religion. Since most people are fairly sensitive about
the relevant differences, compatibility with all religions can exist only for
an organisation that is culture-free in religious terms. Can Subud can ever be free of seeming to be
religious? I doubt it, unless Subud
members far and wide can drop the emphasis upon Bapak’s world-view and ‘vision’,
which I would argue has been devoutly carried too far. However, I believe that a major issue of
loyalty opposes any prospect of reversal:
loyalty to the institution that provides many of us with a sense of identity
and direction—the father figure of Bapak.
I don’t see myself as anti-Bapak. I continue to find his advice and
explanations very valuable, but I have no problem with views that are contrary
to his in various ways. I feel certain
that Bapak's words (like anybody’s, due to the very nature of language) are
fallible and sometimes potentially misleading.
Yet often in small talk among Subud members, for instance, there is an
unwarranted assumption of shared reverence
for Bapak’s every statement.
Regardless of how each individual personally views
Bapak, in the context of Subud activities and interactions between members,
whether social or procedural, I believe that Bapak needs to be removed from the
pedestal on which we have placed him. Then the peer pressure effect would
diminish, the religious connotations of Subud group culture would eventually
fall away, and we could honestly portray Subud as compatible with all major religions. Furthermore, there
would surely be far fewer people who join Subud and subsequently leave because
they cannot put up with all the peculiar religiosity that they discover.
This consideration may point to a highly significant
factor in Subud’s looming disappearance—the subtle but potent sense of
dishonesty associated with declaring that Subud is non-religious. In thus
describing Subud to the rest of the world, there is frequently, consciously or
not, a certain accompanying twinge of embarrassment. This feeling exists because, despite our respective
protestations, deep down we all know that sooner or later each Subud newcomer
is bound to stumble across all the various religious oddities listed above. I
believe we thus find ourselves often automatically inhibited about announcing
the latihan’s existence. I suspect this will remain the situation unless and
until we cast off the incongruous baggage inherited from Bapak’s culture, the
Javanese complexion he imparted to Subud in founding it.
Accordingly, while Bapak’s injunction against
proselytising supplies an excuse for not shouting out loud that the latihan is
freely available, a crucial reason for being so quiet about it, I suggest, is a
subliminal fear of ridicule or disdain by our non-Subud fellow citizens. And perhaps rightly. As long as Subud is in the situation of
likely being disdained for its extraneous
religious elements, maybe we should not feel free to announce the latihan’s existence! Perhaps it is
inappropriate for the latihan to be heralded by an organisation that paints it
largely in such a bizarre light.
The circumstances need not be this way, though. There are simpler ways of looking at the
latihan. It can be regarded as just an exercise that might be spiritually
healthy. Practising the latihan would
then be analogous to attending the gym for the benefit of one’s physical health,
our human faculties representing the equipment with which the ‘soul’ exercises.
Of course, certain precautions should be taken—just as at the gym where certain
pieces of equipment could cause injury if used incorrectly. Yet there is no expectation of needing to
adjust one’s world-view or embellish one’s culture merely for the sake of
getting some exercise.
There are several other similarities between doing the
latihan and attending the gym. First,
it’s usually optimal to practise both kinds of exercise in sessions according
to a schedule. Second, although the
‘fitness’ results are proportional to input, calling for some sense of
discipline, exercising can be overdone.
(Whereas the physical input involves determination and calories, the
latihan input is along the lines of trust, patience and sincerity.) Third, for each person, the most suitable
regimen is uniquely distinct, and indeed, working-out is simply not for
everybody. Fourth, working-out with a
group is more motivating and better regulated.
Fifth, the exercise has no ranking of competence, so no-one can ever be
counted as ‘better at it’ than anyone
else. Lastly, attending the gym is
never an end in itself. The idea is
essentially just to maintain a state of fitness from which benefits might
follow for one’s life outside the gym. No guarantees—simply whatever blessings
subsequently fall into place.
If the latihan is seen in this light, as an exercise
that helps to maintain spiritual health, then it’s a pity that billions of
people never hear about it. It doesn’t matter how many people ultimately join
Subud—the pity exists only if people never get the chance to consider
joining. Moreover, if we mention the
latihan only to people whom we meet in our daily lives, then the number who
hear about it will remain small. So I
believe we should do more. I think we
definitely should not promote the latihan or Subud by attaching any persuasive claims to them, but we
should freely mention them in various, suitable public forums. The latihan could be very valuable to many,
many people. Therefore its availability deserves to be proclaimed deliberately
and openly in places that are widely accessible. Otherwise we are unnecessarily
increasing the pity.
Here’s a metaphor. Imagine this village half way up a
mountain, where each day everybody makes a one-hour journey to collect water
from the valley. Then one fellow—named
Fred—discovers a wonderful spring in a cave just five minutes' walk away.
Should Fred inform only his family members or his neighbours or his
workmates, or only the villagers who notice that he no longer goes down to the
valley? No. Fred should tell everybody
in the village.
Some villagers might prefer not to enter the cave and
would continue to collect water from the valley. But many would take advantage of the spring in the cave, if only
they were to hear about it. If Fred
tells everybody, then at least they can all choose. If Fred tells only a few people, then the others never get the
chance to choose. And that is
unnecessary. Fred has no personal motive
for promoting the spring in the cave, since he does not own it, he can’t sell
it, and he should not take credit for it.
But he could, for example, put a notice on the local notice-board,
thereby mentioning it to the whole village.
People might accuse Fred of spoiling village
tradition, or they might try the water from the cave, but say the valley water
is superior, calling Fred a fool for wasting their time. If I were Fred,
though, I would feel better if more people could enjoy the spring, should they decide
to try it and find it beneficial.
To make this story apply to Subud, however, I must add
that our Fred simply cannot bring himself to tell the whole village about the
spring in the cave! This is because he has an odd secret that people going
there are bound to notice. In short, Fred has dressed up the cave in ritual
symbols, and treats it as having magical glamour—a belief which he knows is
quite likely to be mocked. Hence he feels reticent to tell everyone about the
spring!
Likewise, Subud inadvertently imposes an awkward
requirement upon its members: they must either endure or embrace Subud’s
internal culture, introduced and reinforced by peer pressure, with its undue
emphasis on Bapak and sundry Javanese religious notions and habits. Our niggling
awareness of this fact makes us altogether shy about Subud.
In reality, as most Subud members appear to understand
anyway, it does not make sense to care about the growth of Subud for the sake
of the organisation, whereas it is legitimate to care about making the latihan
more available. These are entirely different. Without the latihan, Subud would
be nothing, but without Subud, the latihan would still be wonderful. Thus we
should focus on the spring water (the latihan), not on the magical glamour (the
cultural baggage).
In summary, I’m afraid that if Subud is to survive,
then it simply cannot continue to harbour all those practices and
presuppositions indicated above. A
possible answer would be to split Subud into two organisations—one that is
willing to entertain the religious themes and overtones, and one that is not
willing. These organisations could remain together in principle, but be
physically distinct in terms of practising the latihan separately (while
perhaps using the same premises). If
this were to happen, then in my opinion, the first would almost certainly
dwindle away, while the second one just might flourish.
That prospect, however, represents much pain, sorrow
and confusion. Is there another way to
help the world take seriously our claim of having no belief system? A different response would be for Subud
members as a whole to confront the internal culture of well-intended but
detrimental religiosity, and officially undertake to subdue it. This course
also comes with significant turmoil, but if a consensus were established, then
the inevitable anguish might be temporary.
The probable alternative is Subud’s demise and the latihan eventually
being forgotten—until some future society perhaps appreciates it for the
natural, unencumbered source of well-being that it really is.