Catherine Rathbun on Healing Self, Helping Others

In a culture in which we have days, weeks, or months dedicated to raising awareness and funds for a variety of diseases and conditions—March, in Canada, for example, is National Kidney Month, National Epilepsy Month, and Help Fight Liver Disease Month—we are conditioned to think of healing in terms of the physiological.  Even when health observances are devoted to matters of mental illness or disorder, they expose us to perceptions of health and healing that are bound up in medical terms and perspectives which focus on the somatic aspects of our lives and well-being.  In such terms, the concepts of suffering and healing are evaluated along a physical continuum based on factors of etiology, pain or malady, and medical treatment.  

There is much to be grateful for when we have such access to medical knowledge, research, and remedy; yet, our cultural focus on physiological health points to weaknesses in the importance we place as a society upon other expressions of our well-being.  As Catherine Rathbun, Lama Jetsun Yeshe, contends, there are four factors that contribute to our overall health: the physical, emotional, psychological, and spiritual. Yet, when we spend so much time, collectively, speaking about one or more layers to the exclusion of the others, it seems we deny ourselves the space to discuss and share knowledge of holistic approaches to well and healthy lives.  

There are, of course, several reasons for this imbalance. We live in a progressively medicalized society that seeks to pathologize just about every human condition and behaviour under the sun—from birth to death, from child-bearing to sex. Not only does this affect the way we perceive our lives and actions as deserving of or appropriate for medical treatment., it also has repercussions for the other layers of our health.  Despite increasing trends, for example, that seek to open a dialogue around the emotional or psychological fallout of the challenges individuals might face in situtations of crisis, trauma, or chronic stress—circumstances wtih complications much less easily pathologized—lingering stigmas continue to impart a sense of personal accountability in suffering that places blame on individuals when they might not have any immediate culpability. We might frame this as a matter of character defect, and in healing, of pulling up one’s bootstraps, buckling down, and getting on with business.  In cases of mental health, for example, this implies inaccurately that mentally ill individuals are not really ill, but that they have at some level a weak character or that they are inevitably dangerous or “crazy”. Thus, whether a prescription for an SSRI may help make life just as liveable for someone with Major Depression as regular insulin injections help keep diabetics alive and healthy, there is a sense of shame or personal failure that precludes meaningful opportunities for collective approaches to healing in matters of mental health or emotional well-being.

Perhaps the least discussed layer of our health, however, is that of the spiritual—the conceivable rationale here being that the spiritual is so deeply private, personal, and rooted within individual choice, that it is not a subject for the public forum. We pride ourselves on the separation of faith and state; on our freedom of belief and the freedom of religious practice.  Like sex, politics, and income, we’re groomed not to inquire about or comment upon our religious or spiritual inclinations in a way we’ve deemed appropriately well-cultured and tolerant.

Yet, as a consequence, the stuff of spirituality, when it has become personally troubling or lacking, is frequently left unattended because of that same lack of community support. Many people I know, even when self-labelled as an adherent of one religion or another, also label themselves as lapsed or non-practicing, largely because they feel institutions, community groups, or other networks inadequately meet their spiritual needs. Worse perhaps, is their feeling that when they find themselves questioning their faith or going through a particularly difficult time, that they experience a lack of sympathy or security in turning to someone for guidance. When times are good, it seems, spiritual fitness is taken for granted in a way that diminishes its significance to our overall health and suffering.

As a result, the health of our souls and spirits is at risk of falling by the wayside, and with the danger, ultimately, of leaving us spiritually bankrupt. The danger arises, as I perceive it, from the very language of describing one’s care for the soul—whether one identifies as a non-practicing Catholic or as someone who is spiritual and not religious—as lapsed. We are bombarded by the government, the media, our doctors and peers to avoid lapses in the prevention or treatment of our physical health.  Stop smoking, we are told, lose those extra pounds, eat healthfully, and get regular check-ups. There is great social investment in our physical well-being, at least in terms of healthcare expenditures, physical appearance, or the tolls our poor health may take on the community at large. Nobody, it seems, wants to be the carrier of contagion at the office, nor the coffee-break smoker who inflicts his colleagues with killer particles of second-hand smoke. Yet, when we let our spirituality lapse, it’s seen as a matter of personal choice with no effect on anyone else.  And the effect it has on the individual is not open for discussion.  These days, very few are likely to question our declining attendance at church or meditation group; to do so is perceived as socially intrusive or out-of-order.

While there's no doubt that spirituality is personal and not to be governed by the state or other institution, it’s not correct to say that one’s spiritual health is exclusive or independent of others.  In fact, it is quite the opposite, and as Catherine reminds us, tending to the health of our spirit is not only crucial to our own holistic sense of well-being, but it is also beneficial to the whole of the community.  As “threads in a woven blanket”, when we seek to fill our own spiritual hunger, or when we turn to something divine, something beyond ourselves, for healing that is not medical in nature, we begin to heal others in the process.

Much of this long-term, incremental process is based on unravelling what Catherine refers to as the “different time envelopes” that encapsulate the variety of factors that make up who we are.  By proxy, when we heal internally on this level and at this depth, we begin to see things that are external to our selves and internal to part of a greater whole. When we begin to trace back along all of the paths and roots to see how we became what we are, we begin to acknowledge our blessings, amass a sense of gratitude, and acquire a generosity that enhances our appreciation and desire for a similar flourishing within others.  In paraphrasing Thich Nhat Hanh, Catherine says, "We practice meditation to become 100% present for another."  It is in this capacity for healing, that we can help others heal themselves

Catherine Rathbun has been studying meditation since 1969, and began teaching in 1976.  Since then, she has taught in several countries around the world, and has also recently published, "Developing the World Mind."  Her new book, "Clear Heart, Open Mind", will be available soon.