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Spiritual Connectedness and Healing

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David Tacey, La Trobe University, Melbourne

 

The Australian context

In 1953 the Sydney anthropologist Bill Stanner wrote an essay called “The Dreaming”. In this essay he quoted an Aboriginal elder whom he had met on an excursion into central Australia. The elder said:

White man got no dreaming,
Him go ‘nother way.
White man, him go different.
Him got road belong himself.[i]

 Stanner said these words were uttered with a cadence that reminded him of verse. The words are true. European-descended Australians appear to have no dreaming, no shared story that gives meaning to life, no cosmology that bestows identity in relation to a larger whole. Non-indigenous Australians are suffering from this lack of cosmology and spiritual grounding. This has now become an issue that demands the attention of therapists, counsellors, social workers, psychiatrists and psychologists. Australians are godless, and sometimes we glory in this condition, and even boast about it. This comes from our larrikin, sceptical and rebellious streak. But this is the same streak that has produced xenophobia, sexism, racism, and lack of concern for indigenous people. It is still a strong side of our national character, but it is under scrutiny.  Sometimes, when we are sick or vulnerable, or require healing and recovery, we find our godless condition hard to tolerate, and want to do something about it. But what?

Officially, Australia is still refusing to talk about these issues. Issues of spiritual identity do not have general support, and there are no public forums for discussion of these matters. I try to bring up these issues whenever I can, in publications, conferences, and on radio, and some are grateful for what I do, while others find me a pain and bothersome. I have been called brave and courageous for bringing spirituality into the public arena, but some intellectuals have referred to me as a weirdo or unAustralian. I have learnt to expect verbal abuse as part of the field. In trying to defend the blokey, ironic and debunking side of our national character people can become quite irate. It is a kind of xenophobia expressed at the level of ideas.

Soul and spirit as private experience

Spirit and soul have fallen off the social radar and into the private sphere. When a culture fails to have the conversation it should have, it is the individual who ends up burdened by problems of meaning. The individual has nowhere to discuss his or her spiritual problems, and that is why this has become an issue for several fields that were previously secular, including mental health, education, business and industry. When I was a boy in the 1950s, Australians discussed spiritual issues with priests, ministers and rabbis. But during the 1960s and 70s, this country secularised, and the old religious structures and authorities fell away. The secular society did not take spirit or soul into account, and now it falls to the healing and health professions, and to educationalists and teachers. The problem is that many of these professionals have no training in spiritual matters, and are flying blind. Such professionals are being asked to take on important issues in which they have not had training or preparation.

Therapists often rely on intuition or instinct, and educationalists have to do the same, but neither profession has an adequate preparation in these matters. This, too, is the result of the secularisation of the professions. Medicine tries to allow for the bio-psycho-social dimensions of the person, but the spiritual has been left out. Even though the United Nations Charter for Human Rights, and the edicts of the World Health Organisation state that the spiritual has to be included as a factor in health and wellbeing, this is operating at the level of rhetoric, and has not filtered down to the level of training programs or professional preparation. In Australia it is hard to know how to integrate the spiritual into our understanding of health and wellbeing, precisely because of the strongly secular biases of this country.

Personally I think that a secular society is a good thing, and Australia was right to adopt a secular constitution at the time of federation. But in 1901, when Australia was formed as a federation of states, the term ‘secular’ did not mean what it means today. Back then, secular implied a separation of church and state, and a decision not to allow religious views to have influence in politics and government. But over the course of the last century, “secular” morphed into “secularism”, an ideology that is radically materialistic in its outlook. Secularism is hostile to religions and to the expression of spiritual feeling. The very idea of Australia and of being Australian began to be defined in a godless and ideological way. But if we could recover the original meaning of the secular, we might find that the spiritual and religious side of human nature can coexist with the nation state, and complement the state by paying attention to questions of meaning.

White and Black Australia

But we aren’t there yet, as a nation. As the national anthem proclaims, Australians are “young and free”; a secular anthem indeed, as young and free often means we have not considered matters of spirit. These matters are connected with age and maturity, not with youth and freedom. I have witnessed Aboriginal people being urged to sing the national anthem, and it is a tragic cultural situation. In his historic and moving Apology to Indigenous Peoples, Prime Minister Kevin Rudd indicated that Aboriginal peoples are “the oldest continuing cultures in human history”.[ii] Aboriginal Australians are not young and free, but ancient and wise, and their wisdom derives from their awareness, unknown to non-indigenous Australians, that they have responsibilities to unseen forces, to ancestor spirits, to powers greater than themselves. When white and black Australia came into collision the results were tragic. An ancient, wise, but technologically undeveloped culture came face to face with a technologically developed but spiritually impoverished culture.

I grew up in Alice Springs in central Australia, a place where the clash of cultures is vividly on display. Like the anthropologist Bill Stanner, I had a number of conversations with Aboriginal people which had a profound impact on my life. After high school, I spent a gap year doing unskilled labouring on properties on the outskirts of town. One day in 1971, an Aboriginal elder called Owen stopped in the orange orchard where I worked and said:

You whitefellas are a curious people to us. It seems to us blackfellas that you are not initiated.

He went on to explain that white people seemed to live like grasping children, from an infantile level of personality. He said he found it strange that we did not grow up and make something more of our lives. He said we lacked “culture”, but he was not talking about “culture” the way it is used in white societies. He was talking about the Dreaming as a spiritual experience of transformation. I found this a startling remark. I also found it ironic, as my father used similar terms to talk about Aboriginal people: he thought they were like children, and had not grown up to become responsible citizens, with jobs, houses and professions. Clearly “growing up” meant something different to Owen to what it meant to my dad. Owen went on:

You whitefellas put a lot of effort into gathering material things, to make yourselves comfortable. But you don’t seem to us to be happy; you are always striving for more. You grasp at things like children but it doesn’t make you happy. For Aboriginal people, the important things are not bought or sold.

He asked if my society had any ceremonies to break open the childhood state, and to reach beyond it to an ancestral core. I asked what he meant, and he said that the initiation ceremony in Aboriginal cultures was designed to terminate the childhood state and turn young people into adults, making them responsible members of society. They reach this new state, he said, by realising who they really are. They are not just physical beings in time and space; they are incarnations of ancestral spirits, and as soon as this knowledge is passed onto them in ceremony they are changed. He said he could not say any more about it, as this was secret sacred business. I was thus, as a teenager, introduced to the idea that there was another reality inside this one.

But I tried to answer his question from my Christian background. I mentioned that we did have Christian ceremonies of baptism and confirmation. These were intended to break the childhood egotistical state, and in these ceremonies we claim to give up our worldly identifications, renounce the evils of Satan, and devote ourselves to a higher purpose. Owen looked concerned and unconvinced. He said:

Those ceremonies must not work anymore; otherwise you people would act different.

This was the first moment in my life when I became aware of the difference between religion and spirituality, or between religiosity as outward show and ritual, and a truly spiritual attitude as exemplified by Aboriginal people.

After this conversation, I began to look on my own culture with a new sense of critical detachment. What he had said seemed right. The Christian ceremonies don’t work the way they are supposed to. They do not terminate the ego state, but seem to have little or no effect. These ceremonies are not initiatory, do not terminate our profane selves and open us to the sacred. Perhaps, I reflected, they worked once, but are no longer effective because too much in society is designed to reinforce the ego, not to transcend it. Forty-five years later, I often think about this conversation with the Aboriginal elder, and try to figure out where Australians go from here.

The universal nature of the spiritual impulse

What I think now is that the spiritual aspect of human nature is found in every person, whether he or she knows about it or not. Regardless of whether one is religious or not, believes in God or not, or is a reflective person or not, we each have to deal with the spiritual aspect. This is especially the case at times of personal crisis, relationship breakdown, mental illness, or at any time when we are transitioning from one stage of life to another. There is something in the human being that reaches out for connection to forces beyond itself, and asks for healing and renewal from those forces. At this stage, science has not progressed far enough to understand this process in detail, and that is why we still rely on the religions to provide their interpretations and explanations about what goes on when we call out for the mystery that heals. The problem with the religions is that they speak in an archaic, mythological language that few modern people can understand; that, I take it, is why traditional religions are radically disintegrating in our society. But even as these ancient systems collapse, what they pointed to, what they enshrined and stood for, is still very much alive in us at the existential level, and has to be dealt with in whatever ways we can find.

Science may end up affirming what the religions have long known – that we are not isolated atoms in a fragmented universe, but part of a much larger reality that we cannot see and fail to understand using normal logic. There is a spiritual reality that “passes understanding” as the religions used to say, and our relationship to this larger reality is somehow integral to our health, identity and wellbeing. When this subtle link to the larger reality is threatened, cut or severed, then we languish in ill health, depression, anxiety and mental illness. As it says in Proverbs: “Where there is no vision, the people perish”.[iii]

Alternatively, when the subtle link to the mystery of the world is strengthened, our identity is renewed and we feel able to move on with our lives in meaningful ways. What spirituality teaches is that our deeper identity, our true sense of self, is given to us by something other than the self, by forces beyond the ego. This is what all indigenous societies know and what makes them wise. But secular society knows nothing of this, because it has traded wisdom for information and is driven, motivated and defined by the ego. However, since traditional religions use the archaic language of Heaven and Hell, God and Satan, miracles and wonders, angels and devils, none of this makes sense in our scientific world and has been roundly rejected.

The spiritual crisis of modernity

Today we are caught between a secular order we have outgrown, and a traditional religious order that has become obsolete. Antonio Gramsci puts our situation well in Prison Notebooks:

The cultural crisis consists precisely in the fact that the old is dead and the new has yet to be born; in this interregnum arise a great many morbid symptoms.[iv]

Part of the crisis stems from the fact that individuals who are broken, isolated and in need of healing have no shared social meaning to support them. It is every man and woman for him or herself. The spiritual safety net has disappeared, and we are no longer contained or held by a common story. This is where the absence of a Western Dreaming begins to bite. The secular condition, with its emphasis on what is seen and empirically verifiable, is never going to discern the subtle threads that bind us to the universe in mysterious ways. Indigenous cultures can provide inspiration in this crisis, but we cannot appropriate their spirituality, thus adding to the sum total of misery brought to these cultures by the colonising powers. The New Age movement invites us to prey upon indigenous cultures, and use their wisdom to fill our void. I have never felt that this was a viable option, but this does not mean Westerners cannot hold conversations with indigenous peoples and learn from their ideas. We can benefit from their insights, but the substance has to be supplied by ourselves, otherwise we are stealing cultural property and engaged in yet another colonising project.

In society today, spirituality is often personal, individual, even private. This is ironic, because spirituality is defined as “a search for connectedness”. Scholars of spirituality tend to agree there are four kinds of connectedness: to the inner self or soul; to society and others; to nature and environment; and to a creator spirit or sacred source. But how can this search lead to connectedness if it is carried on in private? Personal spirituality can be self-defeating and lead to alienation, and therapists have to be on the look-out for those who speak of a search for connectedness, but whose lives demonstrate increased disconnectedness. This is not the fault of clients or patients; they are simply operating in a society where cultural conditions force such isolation upon them. As one of my students said, “I have never known spirituality apart from a private pursuit. People say I should do it communally, with others, but how, and where? I don’t want to attend church, I don’t want to join a New Age group, I don’t wish to become part of an ashram”. Such people are right; there is nowhere to go to practice what we might call secular or non-religious spirituality.

Spirituality in the professions

Spirituality has become secular, and as a term it has dissociated itself from the religions. Naturally religious traditions are not happy about this, since they thought they held a monopoly on spirituality and yet what they have nurtured for hundreds of years has suddenly been taken over by the secular world. In the therapy and healing professions, spirituality as a term has become synonymous with wellbeing, health, happiness and personal integration. And yet there are still echoes of religion in spirituality: the very word “spirit” inside “spirituality” indicates that the term includes connectedness with an unseen, life-supporting power. This power may not be the Holy Spirit of dogma, although it is in the same street as religion, even if it is removed from any creed and does not respect religious hierarchies or authorities.

In psychiatry and medicine, spirituality is increasingly referred to in positive terms,[v] and in some areas of psychology as well.[vi] This represents a reversal of previous attitudes, because not long ago spirituality was frowned upon in medical discourses as delusional and more likely to be a cause of – rather than a cure for – mental illness. But the rationalism of modernist science has been rejected by some thinkers in postmodern times, who freely admit that humanity is not a product of chemicals and materials but a complex field which is directed toward meaning. Such a reversal is evident, for instance, in the statement on the website of the Royal College of Psychiatry in the United Kingdom:

Spirituality involves a dimension of human experience that psychiatrists are increasingly interested in, because of its potential benefits to mental health.[vii]

What was regarded with suspicion twenty or thirty years ago is being viewed with new eyes today. But note the pragmatic tone of this: spirituality is of value if we discern “practical benefits” in it.

From perfection to wholeness

The keynote of spirituality today is wholeness. In Spirituality and the Secular Quest Peter Van Ness defines spirituality as “the desire to relate oneself as a personal whole to reality as a cosmic whole”.[viii] Theologian Sandra Schneiders defines it as “the experience of consciously striving to integrate one’s life”.[ix] She goes on to say that spirituality “is an effort to bring all of life together in an integrated synthesis of ongoing growth and development”.[x] Her description of spirituality is close to some of the goals of psychotherapy and counselling: personal wholeness, and the integration of one’s life. As therapy becomes more spiritual in its directions, religion and theology are becoming more therapeutic. Although conservative thinkers condemn such developments and see the “triumph of the therapeutic” as a sign of increasing narcissism in society,[xi] I disagree. It seems to me that therapeutic culture has done much good in the wider community, and has actually served to reshape the goals and directions of spirituality itself.

Under the aegis of traditional religion, spirituality served the impossible and persecutory ideal of perfection. Scripture says, “Be therefore perfect, as your father in heaven is perfect”,[xii] and many took this literally. Much religious spirituality set out on a trajectory that was too high, too difficult to reach and self-defeating. Some celibate priests, ministers and church officials who set out on this high path are now serving time in gaol.

So one of the advances, so to speak, of the shift of spirituality from the religious to the secular is that it serves a different master: from perfection to wholeness. Religion had its chance to dictate terms, and it has ended in an international criminal scandal (in the Catholic Church(. Australian sociologist Peter Murphy made an important statement in his study of the secularisation of spirit when he said:

The [new] sacred takes the sanctimonious out of religious life. It resists and expels, and often satirises, the moralising and morbid dimensions of traditional religion.[xiii]

Secular sacredness refuses to construct spirituality in a persecutory mode, as something that limits and distorts the personality. Instead of a constriction of life, spirituality is a celebration of life and our physical embodiment.

But here we find one of the spectres hovering over spirituality. If we look up the dictionary meaning of spirituality it points to “that which is other than physical”, that which is not of this world. The Collins Dictionary refers to the spiritual as “the fact or state of being incorporeal”, and the Macquarie Dictionary defines spirituality as “pertaining to the spirit or soul as distinguished from the physical nature; non-material”. Either the dictionary definitions are out of step with current usage, or the grassroots movement has identified itself with the wrong term. It seems odd that a movement that strives toward wholeness and tries to overcome the dualism of spirit versus body should have settled on a term that carries a strong dualistic legacy. This worries me; if this dualistic background is ignored or suppressed, it is likely to re-emerge in ways that subvert the project of wholeness. Is there some other term that might more closely express the aspirations of our time? Perhaps it is too late to find another term, and we are stuck with spirituality for good or ill.

The healing presence within

According to research, it is often the suffering patient who brings the question of spirituality into the clinical setting.[xiv] Spirituality has arisen as an item on the agenda of the health professions, not because professors of medicine have had conversion experiences, but because suffering clients want to bring this often vaguely formed concept into the therapeutic setting. John Swinton speaks of a client-led or grassroots recovery of the spiritual in health and healing.[xv] The person suffering from a neurosis, mental illness, addiction or compulsion, may express the view that a lack of spiritual meaning in his or her life could have something to do with their malady or despair. People often have inadequate language to express this feeling of spiritual absence, but they grope toward it, using intuition and whatever resources they can find from popular music, movies or conversations.

The task of the therapist is to listen deeply to what the client says, and act as midwife to what needs to be born in the soul. If the practitioner has a religion or faith of his or her own, it is widely acknowledged that this can be shared but ought not be imposed on the client from above. If there is an imposition of belief from the therapist, the healing experience unique to the patient may not be realised and may be thwarted. One’s own beliefs have to be bracketed, and one has to resist the temptation to impress on the patient one’s own cherished worldview.

Healing is ultimately self-healing, although most of us have no way of knowing that. The “self” that heals is not the ordinary self, but something mysterious which is part of our interiority. It sounds contradictory, but there is an objective presence at the core of our subjectivity, and whether we call this deep subjectivity, soul, spirit or “god within” makes little difference. Healing begins when a patient has sensed the presence of an other at the core of his or her being, and makes an attempt to contact that presence. This is the basis, I take it, of the claim about the healing power of prayer. When we contact the universal source at the core of our being, it seems to respond in some way; perhaps discernible only to those who listen attentively and are closely attuned. The contemplative attitude helps in the healing process.

The idea of a spiritual presence at the core of our subjectivity is new to Western medicine, which tends to externalise the healing process, seeing it as the result of one’s encounter with the doctor, or the result of medical interventions and pharmaceuticals. The inward healing presence is often absent in Western religions as well, where it is felt that only the saint or the monastic, and not the ordinary person, has access to spirit. If ordinary people claim this kind of experience they are treated with suspicion, or regarded as cranks, blasphemers or frauds. In the West we have downplayed the healing resources of the body-mind-spirit, which is why so many of us are at the mercy of the external forces of healing. It is also why so many are heading to the East for inspiration and insight.

Let me say that we are not talking about miraculous cures through the spirit. Such might indeed happen, but if they occur, it is due to the workings of the divine, and not to our asking for a cure. I have argued with some in the healing profession, including psychiatrists with interests in spirituality, who seem more concerned with cure than healing. But I am otherwise inclined: to me, healing is more important than cure, and by healing I mean a reconciliation within a person to the suffering that has befallen him or her, not necessarily a getting rid of the symptoms. Healing may lead to cure, but it may not. If the illness is confined to the mental domain, there is more chance of a cure through contact with the numinous. However, if a neurosis has been somatized, there could be less chance of recovery, since once the body has somatized the illness, working with the mind or spirit might be less effective.

Our twofold nature: particles and waves

But how does contact with the numinous bring about healing? Many of us imagine the self to be solid, discrete, formed. But this could be an illusion of our making. Researchers of the unconscious have found that the self has no definite boundaries, and at its depths it trails off into mystery and the unknown. Physics has discovered that the smallest bits of matter have a double aspect; in one sense they are particles, and in another sense they are waves. I think the human self has a similar double aspect: as particles, we are distinct, discrete and formed, but as waves, we are not so distinct. We are fluid, open-ended and connected to other waves. The particle is the ego or conscious self, and the wave is the infinite expanse of the unconscious. The purpose of the Aboriginal Dreaming, for instance, is to maintain connections between the particle and the wave, to link the separate self to the cosmos and to currents that flow through it. It is the maintenance of this wave-like aspect that brings healing, that releases us from egocentricity and connects us to what is more than human.

The wave-like connection is precisely what we call spirituality: the capacity to feel connected to the entirety of life. My sense is that as soon as we experience ourselves as waves, this has a healing effect. When this connection is restored, we overcome ego-bound existence and feel ourselves to be part of a larger whole. The ego’s concerns and worries are dropped and we feel renewed. It is burdensome to be confined to the ego and its tiny world. As Freud observed, the ego is “the seat of anxiety”, and when we move outside the ego our anxiety – which is productive of disease and neurosis – falls away. We are not designed to dwell forever in the ego. This has long been known to spiritual wisdom, but today we have lost this wisdom and the practices that it inspired: ritual, liturgy, prayer, contemplation, meditation. Today we have lost these practices and are more inclined to turn to chemicals and drugs to deliver us from our ego-bound state. Addictions to mind-altering drugs are in inverse proportion to the extent to which we are incapable of finding natural ways of transcending the ego.

There is a core dimension of us that is not about material causation and mechanics, but about the cosmos at large. I do not see this as romantic or far-fetched, but as realistic. From a spiritual point of view, mental illness might be described as alienation from our source. Religions have long known this fact, and that is why their core rituals are about communion, that is, binding back to the divine. When we transcend ego boundaries in rituals, psychotherapy, art or meditation we return to the ocean of being and are restored. Sometimes our intellect gets in the way of such experiences. We deny ourselves this release, in an effort to maintain the solid and well-formed self. But in neglecting our wave-like nature, we fall prey to sickness and neurosis.

The tranquillity that we experience as we walk beside the ocean, or the calm that descends as we look across a landscape, or move through a ferny gully, is related to the experience of the particle returning to the wave. The therapeutic effect of music or dance, which takes us outside the ego into “waves” of sound and movement, give rise to joy. The word “ecstasy”, from the Greek ek-stasis, or to be “outside the self”, points to the pleasurable experience of transcendence. But it is hard to find self-transcending experiences in a secular society, which has no respect for our spiritual needs, and can only offer us addictions or drugs to satisfy our longings. A society addicted to drugs is a society unconsciously craving for spiritual experience.

Healing as reconnection

There is little doubt that, with the absence of official forms of transcendence, the royal road to spiritual experience is suffering. This is the typical pathway to move beyond the ego. With society committed to the ego rather than spirit, nature gets its revenge. Mental suffering is often the trigger to a personal conversion or a spiritual point of view. When life proceeds normally, there may never arise the need to find a relationship to a spiritual core. But when the normal self has been ruptured, the only option, apart from running to others for help, is to seek reunion with the wave-like dimension at our core. By so doing, we turn to what is most profound in ourselves, and ask it, implore it, to heal us, to close our wounds and grant us life. This is why recovery programs, and methods of dealing with addictions, alcoholism, drug dependence, eating disorders, depression and anxiety, as well as techniques to deal with grief and trauma, find themselves moving into the spiritual domain, of which the AA movement is paradigmatic.[xvi]

Our society produces and encourages the myth of the atomised, self-sufficient and autonomous ego, and that is the source of our illness. The socially adapted ego is generally not interested in humbling itself before the sacred. It thinks of this as odd, antiquated, even perverse. It does not make sense from the ego’s point of view. This is why the ego must suffer, because it cannot come to the sacred any other way. In normal life, and in going about our business, we live a “particle” existence. We behave like separate and autonomous entities, each concerned with his or her own self-interest or with a small family group. Beyond these narrow circles of concern, there is no interest in the cosmos at large or in spiritual agencies in our lives. But as waves, we seek connection to that which is beyond the ego. We extend beyond the particular, breaking its boundaries, and reach for eternity. 

Healing occurs when the world is no longer experienced as a collection of objects, but as a communion of subjects.[xvii] This is the formula that underpins the creation of community and it is the formula at the heart of the ecological vision. This is also the formula for healing. Healing occurs when we no longer experience ourselves as isolated particles in a world of objects, but when we experience ourselves as waves interacting with other waves. Although I am too old to go to rave parties or trance dances, I imagine this is the allure of such activities. The prison-house of the ego needs to be opened every now and then. This may have to be painful if it is not encouraged by culture. As Leonard Cohen put it: “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in”. The expression of spirituality in today’s world may depend on cracks opening in the ego, and this is why therapy and counselling often bear witness to the emergence of spirituality in the process of healing and recovery.



 Aboriginal elder, quoted by W. E. H. Stanner, ‘The Dreaming’ (1953), in Robert Manne, ed., The Dreaming and Other Essays (Melbourne: Black Inc. Agenda, 2009), p. 57.

[ii] Kevin Rudd, Prime Minister of Australia, ‘Apology to Australia’s Indigenous Peoples’, 2008. Found at: http://www.aph.gov.au/house/Rudd_Speech.pdf

[iii] Proverbs 29:18.

[iv] Antonio Gramsci, in Q. Hoare and G. Nowell Smith, trans. and ed., Selections from the Prison Notebooks (New York: International, 1971), p. 276.

[v] Harold Koenig, Spirituality in Patient Care (Philadelphia: Templeton Foundation Press, 2002).

[vi] Academic psychology seems resistant to spirituality, but an important exception is Robert A. Emmons, The Psychology of Ultimate Concerns: Motivation and Spirituality in Personality (New York and London: The Guilford Press, 1999).

[vii] Royal College of Psychiatry, ‘Spirituality and Mental Health’ (2009). Found at: http://www.rcpsych.ac.uk/mentalhealthinfo/treatments/spirituality.aspx

[viii] Peter Van Ness, ‘Introduction’, in Van Ness ed., Spirituality and the Secular Quest (New York: Crossroad, 1996), p. 5.

[ix] Sandra Schneiders, ‘Theology and Spirituality’, Horizons 13 (1986), p. 266.

[x] Sandra Schneiders, ‘Religion and Spirituality: Strangers, Rivals, or Partners?’, The Santa Clara Lectures, 2000, 6(2), pp. 4-5.

[xi] Philip Rieff, The Triumph of the Therapeutic: Uses of Faith After Freud (New York: Harper & Row, 1966).

[xii] Matthew 5:48.

[xiii] Peter Murphy, ‘Sacred Icon: Jørn Utzon’s Sydney Opera House’, in Makarand Paranjape, ed., Sacred Australia: Post-Secular Considerations (Melbourne: Clouds of Magellan, 2009), p. 287.

[xiv] Simone M. Roach, Caring from the Heart: The Convergence of Caring and Spirituality (New York: Paulist Press, 1997).

[xv] John Swinton, Spirituality and Mental Health Care: Rediscovering a ‘Forgotten’ Dimension (London and Philadelphia: Jessica Kingsley, 2001).

[xvi] Oliver Morgan and Merle Jordan, Addiction and Spirituality  (St Louis: Chalice Press, 1999).

[xvii] Thomas Berry, The Dream of the Earth (San Francisco: Sierra Club Books, 1988), p. 2. 

 

 


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