Sean Reagan

I’m working my way through a close reading of Rules for Decision. Yesterday’s post mused on the relationship between new beginnings and the rules. Today I’m wandering just a few sentences in, thinking about how utterly uncompromising A Course in Miracles is when it urges us to leave the decisions to Jesus and the Holy Spirit. Thanks for reading. 

The first time I read Rules for Decision, I got sort of obsessed with its promise that there was a way I could have the day I wanted. Greed entered. I wanted a day when my students stood up and cheered when I walked in the classroom. I wanted a day when strangers would hand me fifty dollar bills and thank me for the radiant Christ-like glow that emanated from my being. I wanted to leave my little house in the morning and come back at dusk to a mansion.

In a lot of ways, my early approach to A Course in Miracles was like that. It was in the nature of horse trading. I was always asking “what’s in it for me?” I figured I’d do the lessons, give the Course a certain amount of attention and in return God would deliver a grandiose and enviable life, as if Heaven were a package you could wrap and Jesus the divine equivalent of the Fedex guy.

If that sounds familiar, don’t worry about it. Wanting salvation on our own terms is part of being human. Very few of us get to skip that particular issue. In a lot of ways, it’s just that challenge for which Rules for Decision is directed.

The decision to see ourselves as bodies and act accordingly causes us a lot of unhappiness. In general, we associate bodies both with ultimately insatiable desire (appetites for food and sex and comfort and so on) and weakness (they hurt, grow decrepit and die). And we associate the world through which they stagger with scarcity and loss. We can’t both eat the same slice of apple pie.

In that light, a lasting joy and peace are impossible. We can scrap a little bit of happiness here and there, and we do, certainly, but we all know that it won’t last. We all know what’s coming. And really, that’s the whole point. The ego survives by keeping us tethered to the physical and the external. It throws us bones and feigns friendship even as it condemns us to misery and hopelessness.

What is particularly vicious about the ego and its condemnation is the false hope that we can get away from it. It’s Orwellian, really. In Orwell’s dystopian classic 1984, the government holds lotteries that few – if any – people actually win. Yet the shred of hope that they someday might keeps them from rebelling or looking for hope and meaning elsewhere. They are pacified by scraps.

That’s the ego’s m.o. too. We think we can beat it with a bigger house. We think we can beat it with formal religion. We think we can beat it with a diet, with meditation, with the right yoga teacher. We think we can outsmart it.

But any plan that accepts the ego’s premise that the world and bodies are real is doomed. The way out – as Rules for Decisions cheerfully observes – is to heed Jesus’ instruction and surrender our decision-making power to the Holy Spirit.

The outlook starts with this: Today I will make no decisions by myself (T-30.I.2:1-2).

Easy enough, right? We know the Holy Spirit is there to handle the decision-making for us. We know that Jesus is ready to point the way and model the path and even hold our hand if necessary. What could be more simple?

The thing is, there are two aspects to this making-no-decision-by-myself thing. The first – and I think for many of us, the easier – is in checking our responses to situations as they arise.

So, for example, we get a flat tire while driving home and as soon as we step outside to fix it the Heavens open and a cold rain starts falling and then when we get a look at the spare tire we see that it’s flat too.

And we think: this is a crappy situation but you know what? I’m not going to freak out. I’m going to let Jesus decide for me. I’m going to ask the Holy Spirit what to do and then do it. I’m not the boss; they are.

There is a lot to be said for that sort of response. Refusing to respond to negative external situations before checking in with our internal teacher, our inner guide, is very important. It can head off a lot of guilt. Indeed, Rules for Decision is clear that we are supposed to do precisely this.

But.

There is another level to that process and – at least for me – it is the harder. Not only am I to refrain from judging what my response should be to a given situation, I’m also not supposed to judge the situation. So in that flat tire scenario, I’d never get around to deciding “this is a crappy situation.” I wouldn’t judge it all.

Do you see the difference? In one scenario, we say life sucks but I’m turning to Jesus. In the other, we say I have no idea whether this situation is good or bad so I’m just going to let Jesus handle it. He’ll tell me what, if anything, I should do.

Our resignation as decision-maker has to be total. We’re not hiring someone to help us make decisions. We’re handing over the reins entirely, holding nothing back.

This means that you are choosing not to be the judge of what to do. But it must also mean you will not judge the situations where you will be called to make response (T-30.I.2:3-4).

And that distinction really matters. When we decide that a certain set of circumstances is bad, then we have effectively decided what the solution ought to be. If I say the flat tire is bad, then the solution is fixing the tire. If I say the rain is bad, then the solution is an umbrella or better yet a sunny intervention. And then when those things don’t show up, I get angry because God is letting me down.

And all the while, that is not how God sees it. The problem is not what I set up, but that I bothered to set at all. Jesus says in the text that when we judge our lives in advance this way, we

have set the rules for how you should react to them. And then another answer cannot but produce confusion and uncertainty and fear (T-30.I.2:5-6).

So this is the reason that we are so unhappy right now. This is why we can’t seem to ever break free of pain and sorrow. This is why we always fall back to pain and anguish.

You still make up your mind, and then decide to ask what you should do. And what you hear may not resolve the problem as you saw it first. This leads to fear because it contradicts what you perceive and so you feel attacked (T-30.I.3:2-4).

Thus, we have to engage decision-making at two levels. First – importantly – we have to refuse to judge what is happening in our lives. Divorce, job loss, too much snow, a headache, tulips that won’t grow, not enough time to ourselves – whatever it is, we have to leave it to Jesus and the Holy Spirit. We have to accept that we don’t whether the situation is good or bad. We have to refrain from seeing it in that light.

That’s hard! It feels very natural to judge our lives this way. And we – or I anyway – can be quite stubborn about giving it up. You know, we have the flu and we spend a couple of hours retching and vomiting and we’re supposed to pretend that we don’t know whether it’s good or bad?

So we say, “Newsflash Jesus. The flu is bad. And you know what else is bad? Cancer. School shootings. Tsunamis.”

Doesn’t that sound logical? Reasonable? I felt righteous just putting it down.

And yet the Course doesn’t equivocate. Jesus doesn’t say, “okay, sure. We’ll carve out a few exceptions. You get to decide what’s good and bad in terms of physical illness, but the rest is off limits.”

It’s all off limits. We aren’t supposed to judge any of it. And it’s only when we don’t judge it, that we learn what, if anything, we’re supposed to do in response.

I’m not saying that if you get a diagnosis of cancer, you should do back flips. Or refuse treatment or something like that. But I am also not suggesting that you smother yourself with ashes and wail in lamentation. As hard as it is, if we can let it go just the tiniest bit, we start to see that life is not about us. It’s bigger and it’s more beautiful and it’s also more certain.

For example, when I teach, I often slip into the space of thinking I’m the sole judge of what is working or not working in the classroom. Some days I walk out with my head hanging, thinking, “well that sucked. They didn’t get the point I was trying to make. What a waste.”

And then an hour later, some student will come by and thank me for teaching the way I did because they really needed to hear such-and-such. Or whatever. And I remember: oh right. It’s not all about me. I don’t really know what it’s about. That’s why I’m such a terrible judge.

And if it’s not all about me – and if I know I’m terribly at making decisions- then maybe it’s okay to chill out on trying to decide what’s good and what’s bad and what’s helpful and what’s not. Maybe I can relax. Maybe Jesus really does have everything under control.

In the end, it becomes a question of trust. Perhaps that what it always comes down to. When I trust that I don’t have to decide where we’re going, decide what route to take, decide when to go, and even drive the bus . . . well, life gets simpler. Even though I don’t do this perfectly yet, I can assure you that not making decisions by yourself – by letting Jesus and the Holy Spirit make them for you – is vastly relieving. You wouldn’t believe how funny and easy and lovely life can be when you realize you’re not the boss of it.

And once we’re there, then it’s relatively easy to just accept instruction as to what we’re required to do. You learn that you don’t have to do as much as you thought. A lot of life goes on just fine without our intervention. And the things that the Holy Spirit asks of us – the response to a given situation – is always easy and natural. There’s not a lot of effort involved.

Indeed, this waking up thing – this not making decisions on our thing – can actually be playful. It can even be fun. In a way, it’s like catching snowflakes on your tongue. All you have to do is open your mouth.

Rules for Decision is one of my favorite – perhaps the favorite – section of the text of A Course in Miracles. It is clear and structured and it promises that adherence to its steps will bring us the peace and joy for which we so long. No fluff. No shades of gray.

This section is premised on the fact that we are always making decisions. Our senses are in a state of continuous perception. Our brains process that data, organize it according to the past, and then make decisions – hopefully optimized for the future – about present behavior. At the level of the body, there is a certain amount of sense in this. When it rains, we open an umbrella. When we are hungry, we eat some bread and cheese.

But in another way, this is not a very functional way to live our lives at all. In fact, it is the source of a lot of pain and confusion. We look around and see people living in big houses or driving fancy cars or eating at posh restaurants every other night. We decide it’s unfair or unjust and end up festering in envy. Or we decide that we want a piece of that lifestyle and we decide to pursue it all costs, family and ethics and peace of mind be damned.

At the deepest level, we have decided to accept the ego’s judgment of what we are and of what we are capable. We decide not to challenge the notion that we are bodies wending their way through a cruel and violent and depraved world. We have decided against God and thus live in a state of guilt and fear. This is not a metaphor! The ego supplants God. Nothing good can come of it.

When we talk about ontological guilt and fear, we are talking about something that is grounded in our being. It is not fear of the barking dog or guilt for eating too much ice cream. It is the ocean of fear and guilt upon which the fragile egoic self perilously floats. It is this level to which the healing in A Course in Miracles is ultimately directed. We work our way slowly backward – or downward or inward if you prefer – to that roiling mess of ontological guilt and fear. We face being at its ugliest and most sordid depths.

Making contact with all of that is very difficult – especially when you realize that there is no way out but through it, and so you can’t just glimpse it quickly and then move on. We aren’t tourists on this journey; we are travelers. We are pilgrims. We really have to sustain your focus. It’s that moment in the course when you realize that the solution to your so-called problems really and truly is not outside you at all but is instead that darkness, that shadowy mess of snakes and demons, that tangle of murder and death, that bilious muck that swirls in your heart like hell’s own hurricane.

It is discouraging and frightening, to say the least. You feel as if you have done all this work and it’s been going swimmingly and you’re so happy and then . . . it’s like you thought you were just about to hop, skip and jump right through the pearly gates into Heaven and Jesus says, uh, actually, we have to pay some attention to all this terrifying and ugly material first.

I work constantly in my own practice not to intellectualize it too much. Part of being a beneficiary of good psychotherapists, and being well-read and studious, and raising your own food, and praying a lot when others are asleep and so forth is that you start to think you’re just the tiniest bit special. You’re humble about it and you know that Jesus doesn’t play favorites but deep down you believe that he does play favorites with at least one person: you.

We all do this in our own ways. For me, it tends to manifest in this attitude: “Because I intellectually understand what is happening, and can write about it, and because I’m such a sweet and honest guy, I do not actually have to go through all this. I am exempt.”

You may have your own version of a reason not to go all the way with A Course in Miracles, for thinking that you get a pass. But once we’ve caught even the faintest hint of the path, then there’s nothing left to do but walk it. We can delay, postpone, reconsider, encourage others to take the first step while not taking it ourselves . . . sooner or later, we have to look at the fear and the guilt.

It is like the old Woody Guthrie song which I used to play so happily when wandering around Ireland with a guitar and harmonica.

You gotta walk that lonesome valley,
You gotta walk it by yourself,
Nobody here can walk it for you,
You gotta walk it by yourself.

He is riffing off the classic hymn describing how Jesus became Christ.

Jesus walked this lonesome valley.
He had to walk it by Himself;
O, nobody else could walk it for Him,
He had to walk it by Himself.

Really, you just have to take the first step by yourself. After that, Jesus is there to help. But still. That first step can be mighty hard. I suspect some of us spend lifetimes with one foot lifted, never quite bringing it down.

It is this space to which Rules for Decision is directed. It’s helpful in other contexts, of course – when we’re just beginning, when we’re just figuring out what ACIM metaphysics are all about, when we still want to have the world and release it too. But it becomes most fruitful when we are ready to go deep – when we are ready at last to plunge into the interior horror show and – come hell or high water – see what’s on the other side.

That is why this section shows up in a chapter entitled The New Beginning. These rules become most powerful tools after the goal of awakening is at last clear and we have mustered the willingness to do the work, however challenging or tedious or useless it appears.

The speed by which [awakening] can be reached depends on this one thing alone; your willingness to practice every step. Each one will help a little, every time it is attempted. And together will these steps lead you from dreams of judgment to forgiving dreams and out of pain and fear (T-30.In.1:3-5).

Our goal is to begin integrating these rules – or steps, if that is a more comfortable word – into our lives in a habitual way. There is a transition in which our practice of the course gradually stops being one part of our life and instead becomes a cornerstone of that life, a virtual bedrock. We accept it as our path and we accept at last the necessity of following it. We see that the style of our following doesn’t matter – Jesus isn’t giving points to the most enthusiastic course student or the most earnest. We can stumble and fumble all we want so long as we are following. And we do.

Really, Rules for Decision are rules/suggestions for how to follow Jesus – not in the traditional way of taking up our cross and trailing along behind an executed sage of Galilee and Judea. But literally transforming our minds so that we can say goodbye to guilt and fear and their resultant pain forever. We are learning to think like Christ. Freedom is not repeating the past or honoring the past, however well-intentioned, but rather in meeting existence – meeting being- without judgment.

Thus, following Jesus this way is simply a manifestation of our willingness to think differently about who and what we are. And that willingness is a manifestation of trust – on some level, even if only faintly, we trust that Jesus is there and that even if we can’t accept it or see it or hear it or feel it we really aren’t walking that lonesome valley alone. We are walking it with Jesus. Somehow, we are walking it with Jesus.

And that matters! It matters because that trust that Jesus is somehow practically there – buried so deep as to be all but mythological – is truly a reflection of God’s Love. It is the pinprick of light on the far side of the dense and heavy veils of guilt and fear and hate made and sustained by the egoic self. It is the assurance that far beyond these limited bodies with their limited brains and their limited world lies an indivisible Truth that is beautiful and profound and altogether ours.

Whether you are feeling it today or not, this moment or not, you are the Love of God, and that knowledge is going to guide you out of the hell of this seeming world. There’s a little work left, yes, and it may not be easy, but the end is sure. You wouldn’t be reading A Course in Miracles otherwise. You wouldn’t be reading this (long-winded) post otherwise.

But don’t rush it. Don’t try to leapfrog the way home. Rules for Decision lays out a sure method to heal your mind. Each step lights the way a little more. Each efforts throws another helpful ray before you. We are leaving good ideas behind now. We are heeding the rules by which the attainment of Heaven is assured.

Like all students of A Course in Miracles I make mistakes. I get frustrated with people. I can be very impatient and patronizing. I’m greedy sometimes – for food, for attention, for praise. I allow myself to be casual and lazy in my spiritual practice. I skip walking the dog because it’s raining. You know how it goes. We all do it and we all wish we didn’t.

A Course in Miracles teaches us both why we make these errors and how correct them and – ultimately and most importantly – how to get to a place where there is no such thing as error. In a way, we are learning through the course to be kinder, gentler and wiser people – true examples of radical healing – here in the world while simultaneously learning that it’s all just a dream in which healing isn’t necessary at all.

Our errors – regardless of their seeming magnitude and effect – are all a result of confusion about what we are in truth and what our role is in God’s plan for salvation.

The plan is not yours because of your limited ideas about what you are. This sense of limitation is where all errors arise (T-9.IV.2:5-6).

When we believe that we are bodies – perhaps with souls attached and perhaps not – then we are going to try and defend those bodies. We are going to identify with its appetites and its fears. We are going to look at our brothers and sisters as if they are merely bodies too – sometimes pleasing us, sometimes hurting us – but always with separate and competing interests.

That is why forgiveness in A Course in Miracles constantly urges us to overlook error (T-9.IV.1:2) and to see one another not as bodies engaged in a frantic dance of scarcity and loss but as equal thoughts in the Mind of God bent on remembering that Holy and unified state.

Look, then, beyond error and do not let your perception rest upon it, for you will believe what your perception holds. Accept as true only what your brother is, if you would know yourself (T-9.IV.1:3-4).

Of course, if it were that easy, then we’d already have done it and there wouldn’t be any need for A Course in Miracles. And the course acknowledges as much: “You do not understand how to overlook errors, or you would not make them (T-9.IV.2:2). So what do we do? How do we ensure that our perception will not rest on error but rather see beyond it to the Love that is our singular reality?

Central to the practice of A Course in Miracles is our willingness to accept a new guide or teacher in place of our egoic selves. Seeing the uselessness of our own teaching efforts, we effectively resign and ask the Holy Spirit (or Jesus, if that is more comfortable for you) to make decisions for us.

Forgiveness through the Holy Spirit lies simply in looking beyond error from the beginning, and thus keeping it unreal for you. Do not let any belief in its realness enter your mind, or you will also believe that you must undo what you have made in order to be forgiven. What has no effect does not exist, and to the Holy Spirit the effects of error are nonexistent. By steadily and consistently cancelling out all its effects, everywhere and in all respects, He teaches that the ego does not exist and proves it (T-9.IV.5:3-6).

Practically speaking, this means that we have to turn to the Holy Spirit. We have to remind ourselves every five minutes – every minute if that’s what it takes – that we need help and that help is here if we are ready.

So talk to the Holy Spirit. Get on your knees and ask to be guided. Light some incense. Read a few lines of the course when and as you can. Get a tattoo that says “help me Jesus!” Whatever it takes to keep in mind that you are not running the show anymore. You are a follower now, not a leader, and Life itself is counting on you to remember that.

Sustained effort in this regard is never without results. The form of the asking doesn’t matter so long as the content – the need itself – is there. We slow down and a sense of calmness enters. Even if we’re scared and uncertain, we can perhaps make contact with the willingness that there is a better way, and that we’re going to find it one way or the other, sooner or later.

As we begin to see the effects of looking at our lives with Jesus and the Holy Spirit, we become more confident that this actually works. We aren’t being led down some primrose path and we aren’t being sold a flimsy bill of goods. And we begin to see that forgiveness is natural – that we can extend Love to one another without worrying about the apparent external details. We start to practice forgiveness all the time.

The Atonement is a lesson in sharing, which is given you because you have forgotten how to do it. The Holy Spirit merely reminds you of the natural use of your abilities. By reinterpreting the ability to attack into the ability to share, He translates what you have made into what God created (T-9.IV.3:1-3).

This is the way out. This is the way to fully recalling our fundamental Oneness. This is the means by which we remember that we are only journeying until we realize that no journey is necessary.

Thus we practice forgiveness. We start with what’s in front of us – the spouse that won’t make the bed, the son or daughter who talks back, the boss who won’t listen. We give it all to the Holy Spirit. We don’t pretend to be spiritual giants and we don’t worry about how messy it all looks. We are not the judge anymore. The new guide is here and so we become devoted followers. In this way, worry and fear end, and Love – which is our natural profession and our one calling – swells in their place.

New and experienced students alike often ask: how does A Course in Miracles define love? The answer is both simple and revealing, and an understanding of it can greatly facilitate our ability to practice and learn from the Course.

The Introduction to the Text includes the cautionary note that A Course in Miracles does not “aim at teaching the meaning of love, for that is beyond what can be taught” (T-in.1:5).

It does aim, however, at removing the blocks to the awareness of love’s presence, which is your natural inheritance. The opposite of love is fear, but what is all-encompassing can have no opposite (T-In.1:6-8).

We can say, then, that love cannot be taught – its meaning lies beyond our limited capacity to understand – and it is also all-encompassing. It is everywhere and in all things.

The introduction goes on to point out (in language that truly does summarize ACIM) that:

Nothing real can be threatened.

Nothing unreal exists.

Herein lies the peace of God (T-in.2:2-4).

Thus, we can say that Love and God are synonymous in the course, and that a real appreciation of this fact is not something that we can grasp merely by intellect alone. As Helen Schucman herself pointed out, the course is meant to be lived. This includes its understanding of Love. Thus, coming to an appreciate of Love as the course frames it is more a function of willingness and insight than reasoning something out. Love is given to us – it is already here. What A Course in Miracles does is teach us how to get rid of all the psychological and metaphysical baggage that obstructs our awareness of this simple truth.

The course also distinguishes between love with a capital “L” – what we have been talking about so far in this post – and love with a lower-case “l,” which is the special sort of love that we tend to feel for spouses, close friends, good meals and artists and so forth. Special love is always premised on individual tastes and wants and it always represents the ego’s efforts to get, which is how it sustains itself. 

The Love of God – in which one remembers a peace that surpasses understanding – is both for everybody and from everybody. It doesn’t know separation – of self from God or you from me or anthing.

Thus, Love as A Course in Miracles contemplates it, includes a contemplation of unity as the fundament of our shared existence. 

It is simple to say “God is Love” or “Love is one.” But to practice that on a daily basis is challenging. Most of us do not simply snap our fingers and wake up in Heaven. We take one step forward, half a step to the side and then two or three steps backward. Yet the call of Love drives both our willingness and desire to continue practicing the course – reading the text, tending to the daily lessons, studying the manual, going to study groups, writing or teaching. It is Love that invites us to remember it, and in remembering it, to extend it.

Love is what we remember, however dimly. Its call has not been totally obliterated. Somewhere in the twisted hatred of ego, a thread of melody – a hint of the great Love that we are in truth – echoes and re-echoes, ever calling us back to Itself. 

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