Keeping Track of Reality
by Merin
Nielsen
Again and again I hear it said that Pak Subuh is the
‘Spiritual Guide’ of Subud. Funny: it’s not stated in the WSA constitution. And
when people join Subud, they are not required to see any person as Subud’s
Spiritual Guide. If it was the case, you’d think it would be mentioned in the
Wikipedia article about Subud, but nope! And I’ve been practising latihan with
apparently real personal benefit for decades while viewing nobody as the
Spiritual Guide of Subud (or of me). I realize that lots of Subud helpers do
insist on referring to Pak Subuh that way — but hey, the dewans can be
seen as simply a kind of ‘devotee club’ that also lacks any official
recognition. So, it seems to be no more than an idea that some people like to
believe. Subud has no Spiritual Guide.
Seen from another standpoint, Pak Subuh was not ‘holy’
in any way. He was just a bloke who had strengths and weaknesses, like anyone.
He was apparently expert at silat when younger, and was trained in the
arts of a dukun. He was fond of big cigars and kreteks till he
started getting older. It appeared to most observers that he carried himself
quite charismatically, especially in the presence of numerous admirers — which
is not surprising, as revered individuals are frequently endowed with ‘allure’
through the social atmosphere of adoration around them. Pak Subuh does seem to
have had a strong connection with the latihan state. Nonetheless, seen from
this angle, his accounts of an ascension and other ‘spiritual’ developments
were no doubt selectively embellished and exaggerated, while, similarly, the
experiences themselves were obviously interpreted by him in line with his Sufi-kebatinan
mystical background. A person having much the same experiences as he did, but
coming from a disparate cultural perspective, would in all likelihood provide
an account which sounds completely different. So, while Pak Subuh’s great
familiarity with the latihan state probably gave him a relatively clear picture
of both its prospects and limitations, this doesn’t mean he ever had it totally
‘figured out’. (For those interested, ‘silat’, ‘dukun’, ‘kretek’,
and ‘kebatinan’ each have entries in Wikipedia.)
From this point of view he may have been remarkable,
but he was never any more than an essentially normal person who simply had a
well-developed flair for a certain psycho-physiological state which appears at
times to be powerful and potentially somewhat beneficial. It’s a state that is
apparently acknowledged among various traditions, under various
interpretations. Pak Subuh espoused a new form of engaging with that state,
namely, the exercise of entering and deliberately sustaining it, in a
concentrated dose, for thirty minutes twice a week. Meanwhile, coming from a
culture that still maintains traditional affiliations with mysticism for its
social cohesion, he had an understandable propensity to aggrandise himself, all
the more as others aggrandised him. But he had no divine mandate, and will have
no major or even long-term historical significance. Painting Pak Subuh in this
light may be regarded as derogatory, but only by those who have already put him
on a pedestal, attributing status to him beyond other ‘merely remarkable’
individuals. Yet this picture isn’t at all derogatory to someone who initially
views Pak Subuh as a person like any other.
Still, many who encountered Pak Subuh had immediate
experiences of something ‘really and truly there’, something special and apart
from everyday reality. Anecdotally, the same goes for reading or listening to
Pak Subuh’s talks. Epiphanies in abundance. Virtually all long-term
practitioners of the latihan constantly affirm how it affords proof of
something spiritual outside the mundane. Moreover, throughout the ages,
mystics, meditators and subjects of ‘divine madness’ have testified to
experiencing realms beyond the physical world. At the same time, there are many
approaches toward interpreting such experiences, all more or less useful in
various ways. It would seem that their applicability largely depends on social
surroundings — not just intellectually, but
subliminally. This factor is so significant, in my view, that the intrinsic
nature of our inner experiences is profoundly affected by what our
socially-acquired mental maps of reality — particularly of our own spiritual
realities — are ‘primed’ to be receptive to.
For a metaphorical comparison, consider an Australian
Aboriginal who’s an expert at, say, tracking animals through the bush. You can
learn it from her, but will probably never be as good as someone who has
acquired the skill from childhood in a culture that focuses on it. Still, over
the months and years you’ll get reasonably competent. In the meantime you
continue to be amazed at the ability of this individual. And when she talks,
you listen. When you listen, she feels a responsibility to explain things the
best way she can, reciprocating the honour to her culture that you demonstrate
in being interested. The more reverently you respond to her, the more she
relates to you in solemn tones, steadily letting you in on more intimate
aspects of her culture, which you soak up attentively, even though they totally
cease being related to actual tracking.
In addition, much of ‘what works’ when tracking is
usefully envisaged in terms of Dreamtime stories. That is, the ‘reason why’
some technique happens to work is often primarily presented in terms of
‘fictitious’ beings, relationships and events. In the Aboriginal culture, their
fictitious nature is taken on board without batting an eye, but as you are not
from that culture, you transpose these narratives very poorly to the context of
your ‘modern’, more intellectually oriented culture. You watch in awe as the
tracking techniques produce effects resembling magic to the average Westerner,
while hearing corresponding accounts of the Dreamtime. Before long, what with
the ongoing reverence and solemnity, you begin to suppose there must be
substance to them in some non-fictitious way. You soon get caught up in a false
aura of mystique or sense of glamour that you yourself have generated and
bestowed on the Aboriginal culture. Once you start to see tracking as
validating all those Dreamtime stories, you fail to see that the stories were
meant only to facilitate tracking.
Perhaps this ‘constructing of reality’ is just how a
human mind naturally works. The process possibly starts in infancy from noting
what to do in order to satisfy this or that need. Then we map each useful
‘pathway’, thus building up a mental map of reality. And of course we are our
own map-makers, but not in isolation; we do it in conjunction with the
map-making that goes on among other people immediately around us, from whom we
learn new possibilities and with whom we constantly interact. Maybe 99% of this
map-making process is subliminal. Even when it involves words, there has to be
an underlying social or collective appreciation of what any concept ultimately
‘points to’, which cannot possibly be reviewed consciously moment-to-moment. I
doubt that anyone’s map of reality is principally grounded in the physical
substance of the world. More likely our maps are fluidly constituted on the
basis of myriad, subliminally witnessed pathways toward resolving our
respective fundamental biological and emotional needs. If valid, this view
would have significant implications in psychology and sociology.
For the last ten years or so, cognitive scientists
have been exploring a certain model of conscious perception often known as the
‘predictive brain’ model. In my opinion it’s largely on the right track, though
it calls for lots of ongoing research and development. With this approach,
perceiving is very much tied in with the brain predicting what is there — even
when ‘there’ refers to internal experiences. Logically, furthermore, what the
brain tends to predict, in terms of some experience in any known context, is
closely tied to what it has previously interpreted as being relevant in that
same context. In this view, attention gets directed to any sensation in the
first place only because of some expectation of relevance to the whole person’s
current situation. Since the brain is always therefore making a kind of
prediction at the same time as querying the crucial data-content of any
sensation, it automatically somewhat limits the parameters of that experience.
It begins in early childhood. As we become
‘responsibly socialized’, reality gets more and more encoded for us in words,
morals and ideals — the human-proprietary
‘shortcut’ method of mapping reality. Given the necessity of this verbalization
process, the notorious loss of innocence seems unavoidable. Most people get
through it without too much distress (as otherwise we’d have no functioning
societies) and readily adopt their respective quasi-natural, social world-views
without obvious inner tension. For others, ‘fitting in’ may be spiritually or
existentially uncomfortable. Most of us seem to locate an adequate source of
solace in, say, a religion or ideology, while others feel obliged to look
further afield. But perhaps all we can reasonably do, assuming we’ve become
sufficiently stable as enculturated adults, is to some extent smooth over the
inevitable side-effects of having been perforce assimilated into the
socio-cultural collective.
We all self-observe. It’s fundamental to every
spiritual tradition and path, and so we notice things happening inside
ourselves, but it’s pretty aimless until we accept some purpose in interpreting
or picturing these things. Any purpose is bound to mesh with whatever we’ve
been told about the inner life, which depends on the tradition or path that we
happen to have connected with, either culturally or through ‘spiritual
seeking’. This amounts to adopting some ‘scheme’ of understanding which will
naturally encourage self-observation as spiritually healthy, and offer a
starting point for selecting what inner processes to focus on. Once we’ve got
some picture of what could be going on inside us, we can use it to look for and
attend to specific sensations.
As a result, though, this background picture also
delineates the things we tend to notice. It influences both how we pay
attention to the relevant sensations and how they’re interpreted. We anticipate
noticing certain things going on inside us, and of course these are useful to
observe according to the scheme that we are relying on, but the interpretive
picture leads us to focus specifically on particular sensations in a
predetermined manner. Since we naturally expect them to correspond with the
overall scheme of understanding, this is liable to deeply affect how they
appear if and when we sense them. If this is the case, it could help to explain
how humanity has ended up with so many firmly supported, all apparently
beneficial, yet clearly diverse accounts of ‘spiritual’ reality.
Introspection is arguably a form of art. Like any art
form, it takes its motivation from the cultural milieu and reflects the social
influences giving rise to it. Introspection creatively explores interpretations
of the integral relationships that the artist encounters, but less in terms of
the outer world than the inner one, with its ‘hidden’ layers of socio-linguistic
psychology, archetypal imagery, physiology, neurotransmitters and other
biochemistry. This amounts to an often confusing inner landscape, and of course
we look for descriptions to help navigate our way through it. In this regard,
many sorts of map are more or less useful, largely depending on the cultural
pictures that have been built into our own private landscape. Hence, any person
who claims to have skills for navigating this inner world, and offers some
supposedly useful description, tends to be readily welcomed by those feeling a
little lost. Whatever the guide’s own personal background though, he or she is
really just one of us — another inner backpacker with a possible knack for
tracking.