Cultic Studies Review, Vol. 5, No. 1, 2006, Page 90
Although thankful to finally be able to leave Meher Baba‘s Ashram in Ahmednagar in India,
where her parents had taken her when she was seven, Ms. Brown is not engaged in a
crusade against Baba worship. She seems to view her religious involvement as an ordeal of
her childhood, which she had to go through, and which she now looks back on as something
alternately tedious and amusing. Readers may be somewhat reminded of other writers‘
accounts of their strict upbringing in Orthodox Jewish, Roman Catholic, or Protestant
Evangelical families. In any case, the author does not view her quirky upbringing as a cause
célèbre. She appears to view it as primarily an opportunity for a literary exercise. Her
narrative is quite entertaining.
For those readers who are not among the cognoscenti, Meher Baba was an Indian spiritual
master who claimed to be the ―Avatar of the Age.‖ Baba died, or rather ―dropped the
physical body,‖ in 1969 yet, according to the author, he still has about a hundred thousand
devotees worldwide. Meher Baba, the author notes, became ―moderately famous for
keeping a vow of silence for forty-four years and for coining the insipid motto ‗Don‘t worry,
be happy.‘‖ Ms. Brown does not inform us that Baba first became familiar to the American
counterculture of the 1960s through his denunciation of the spiritual pretensions of some
early psychedelic drug users. Baba‘s influential critique was embodied in his pamphlet, ―God
in a Pill?‖
I ought to acknowledge that from the mid-1960s until the mid-1980s, I was a sort of
hanger-on of the Meher Baba subculture. I never really connected with Baba on a deep
experiential level, but I envied the connection that some of my friends seemed to
experience. I lived for more than a half-decade in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, where there
were many ―Baba-lovers,‖ and I paid several visits to the Meher Spiritual Center in Myrtle
Beach, South Carolina. When, decades later, I moved to the Midwest, I gradually lost
contact with all but two Baba-lovers.
Rachel Brown seems to view religion as a powerful but ultimately arbitrary psychic
obsession. ―We all have mental magnets for obsession,‖ she comments. ―[We‘re] waiting to
encounter an idea or person or practice of the opposite charge.‖ Her mother‘s ―magnet was
an exceptionally strong one, and it attracted her to Baba.‖ But her daughter can only
understand such an obsession by analogy for example,
...when I was a child, I was obsessed with animals. Now I‘m obsessed with
martial arts ...some people are obsessed with Star Trek, ferrets or a person
they‘re stalking. I can understand the fascination even if I can‘t understand
its object.
Rachel Brown has no idea ―why Baba‘s followers picked him over the other thirty flavors of
God‖ or why, when she was three years old, she became fixated on rabbits ―rather than
ponies or parakeets or Komodo dragons.‖ It may be rebellion, she speculates, but she‘ll
never know for certain why she can‘t share her parents‘ connection to Baba, ―why I lack the
God magnet.‖
Rachel Brown‘s ruminations seem to suggest that many of us possess intrinsically obsessive
personalities, and many persons who are not obsessed with religion or involved in a ―cult‖
may have other fixations which are ultimately just as intense, arbitrary, and seemingly
irrational. It should be noted, however, that Brown actually never had the experience of
being a true believer or convert, although she has been in a position to observe numerous
believers and conversions. Growing up in a devout, Baba-loving family, ―I sped toward the
Baba-magnet with everyone else, but I only followed their lead. I never felt the pull.‖
The author describes life at Baba‘s Ashram at Ahmednagar near Pune (Poona) in India. She
is aghast at some elements of life at the compound, such as the inadequate toilet facilities.
Initially taken by her parents to Baba‘s Ashram when she was only seven years old, Rachel
Although thankful to finally be able to leave Meher Baba‘s Ashram in Ahmednagar in India,
where her parents had taken her when she was seven, Ms. Brown is not engaged in a
crusade against Baba worship. She seems to view her religious involvement as an ordeal of
her childhood, which she had to go through, and which she now looks back on as something
alternately tedious and amusing. Readers may be somewhat reminded of other writers‘
accounts of their strict upbringing in Orthodox Jewish, Roman Catholic, or Protestant
Evangelical families. In any case, the author does not view her quirky upbringing as a cause
célèbre. She appears to view it as primarily an opportunity for a literary exercise. Her
narrative is quite entertaining.
For those readers who are not among the cognoscenti, Meher Baba was an Indian spiritual
master who claimed to be the ―Avatar of the Age.‖ Baba died, or rather ―dropped the
physical body,‖ in 1969 yet, according to the author, he still has about a hundred thousand
devotees worldwide. Meher Baba, the author notes, became ―moderately famous for
keeping a vow of silence for forty-four years and for coining the insipid motto ‗Don‘t worry,
be happy.‘‖ Ms. Brown does not inform us that Baba first became familiar to the American
counterculture of the 1960s through his denunciation of the spiritual pretensions of some
early psychedelic drug users. Baba‘s influential critique was embodied in his pamphlet, ―God
in a Pill?‖
I ought to acknowledge that from the mid-1960s until the mid-1980s, I was a sort of
hanger-on of the Meher Baba subculture. I never really connected with Baba on a deep
experiential level, but I envied the connection that some of my friends seemed to
experience. I lived for more than a half-decade in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, where there
were many ―Baba-lovers,‖ and I paid several visits to the Meher Spiritual Center in Myrtle
Beach, South Carolina. When, decades later, I moved to the Midwest, I gradually lost
contact with all but two Baba-lovers.
Rachel Brown seems to view religion as a powerful but ultimately arbitrary psychic
obsession. ―We all have mental magnets for obsession,‖ she comments. ―[We‘re] waiting to
encounter an idea or person or practice of the opposite charge.‖ Her mother‘s ―magnet was
an exceptionally strong one, and it attracted her to Baba.‖ But her daughter can only
understand such an obsession by analogy for example,
...when I was a child, I was obsessed with animals. Now I‘m obsessed with
martial arts ...some people are obsessed with Star Trek, ferrets or a person
they‘re stalking. I can understand the fascination even if I can‘t understand
its object.
Rachel Brown has no idea ―why Baba‘s followers picked him over the other thirty flavors of
God‖ or why, when she was three years old, she became fixated on rabbits ―rather than
ponies or parakeets or Komodo dragons.‖ It may be rebellion, she speculates, but she‘ll
never know for certain why she can‘t share her parents‘ connection to Baba, ―why I lack the
God magnet.‖
Rachel Brown‘s ruminations seem to suggest that many of us possess intrinsically obsessive
personalities, and many persons who are not obsessed with religion or involved in a ―cult‖
may have other fixations which are ultimately just as intense, arbitrary, and seemingly
irrational. It should be noted, however, that Brown actually never had the experience of
being a true believer or convert, although she has been in a position to observe numerous
believers and conversions. Growing up in a devout, Baba-loving family, ―I sped toward the
Baba-magnet with everyone else, but I only followed their lead. I never felt the pull.‖
The author describes life at Baba‘s Ashram at Ahmednagar near Pune (Poona) in India. She
is aghast at some elements of life at the compound, such as the inadequate toilet facilities.
Initially taken by her parents to Baba‘s Ashram when she was only seven years old, Rachel
