I prefer vanilla ice cream.
There. I said it.
I do not dislike pistachio because it has sinned against me. I do not believe pistachio is part of some vast frozen-dessert conspiracy. I simply prefer vanilla.
I also prefer classical music to heavy metal. Give me Mozart, Beethoven, or Vivaldi. Heavy metal sometimes sounds to me like several large appliances falling down a staircase while someone screams for help. I recognize that others hear something in it that I do not. Perhaps they have more spiritually advanced eardrums.
I prefer hybrids to gas-guzzlers. That does not mean I believe everyone driving a large pickup truck is personally responsible for melting Antarctica. Sometimes people need large vehicles. Sometimes they simply like them. Sometimes they are compensating for something, but that is another essay.
These are preferences.
They are not necessarily judgments.
That distinction may seem small, but from the perspective of A Course in Miracles, it is significant.
We appear to live in a world of choices. Vanilla or pistachio. Mozart or Metallica. Hybrid or Hummer. Paper or plastic. Window or aisle. Early bird or someone who believes morning should begin around noon.
The Course does not ask us to pretend that these differences do not appear to exist. It does not require me to eat pistachio ice cream while listening to heavy metal in the passenger seat of a monster truck just to prove that I am spiritually neutral.
That would not be enlightenment. That would be punishment.
The Course asks us to look beyond the form of our choices to the purpose we have given them.
A preference says, “I enjoy this more than that.”
A judgment says, “This is better than that, and therefore I am better because I chose it.”
A preference says, “Classical music is more peaceful to me.”
A judgment says, “People who listen to heavy metal are clearly less evolved.”
A preference says, “I would rather drive a hybrid.”
A judgment says, “Anyone who drives a gas-guzzler is selfish, ignorant, and probably kicks puppies.”
The outward choice may look exactly the same. The difference is in the mind.
The Course is always concerned with content rather than form. It is not the ice cream, the music, or the automobile that creates separation. It is the meaning I attach to it.
As Workbook Lesson 2 reminds us, “I have given everything I see all the meaning that it has for me” (W-pI.2).
The vanilla ice cream has no spiritual meaning of its own. Neither does pistachio. The hybrid is not inherently holy, and the gas-guzzler is not inherently sinful. Mozart cannot carry me into Heaven, although on a good day he may get me part of the way to the driveway.
The meaning comes from me.
That does not mean worldly choices have no apparent consequences. A hybrid may use less fuel. A large vehicle may be necessary for work. One food may be better suited to a particular body than another. One kind of music may calm me while another makes me want to call the police.
The Course does not ask us to deny our experience within the dream. It asks us not to confuse the dream with reality.
This is where spiritual students sometimes get tangled.
We begin to think that being nonjudgmental means having no preferences at all. We imagine that a truly advanced Course student should be equally delighted by every meal, every song, every temperature, every political speech, and every person who blocks the grocery aisle with a shopping cart while examining the nutritional information on seventeen brands of mustard.
I am not there yet.
I may never be.
Fortunately, the Holy Spirit is not asking me to enjoy everything. He is asking me not to condemn anyone.
That is a very different lesson.
I can prefer quiet without making noise wrong.
I can prefer punctuality without deciding that a late person has failed morally.
I can prefer kindness without hating those who appear unkind.
I can choose one thing over another without turning the choice into a courtroom.
Judgment is one of the ego’s favorite occupations. The ego does not merely choose. It ranks, compares, labels, convicts, sentences, and then congratulates itself for having such excellent standards.
The Teachers Manual asks, “How Is Judgment Relinquished?” and explains that judgment is not the wisdom we imagine it to be. We do not know enough to judge accurately because we cannot see the full chain of causes, consequences, intentions, fears, lessons, and relationships involved in any situation (M-10).
That does not mean we become incapable of functioning.
I can decide that one road appears safer than another. I can choose not to eat a food that makes me ill. I can decide that a person’s behavior is not something I wish to participate in. I can even leave a room when someone begins playing heavy metal at a volume usually reserved for airport runways.
Discernment recognizes what seems helpful or unhelpful in a particular situation.
Judgment assigns guilt.
Discernment says, “This is not right for me.”
Judgment says, “There is something wrong with you.”
Discernment permits a choice.
Judgment demands a verdict.
The ego is perfectly capable of taking an innocent preference and turning it into specialness. It begins with, “I prefer vanilla,” and soon becomes, “People of refinement choose vanilla.”
Then comes, “Pistachio people are ruining the country.”
Before long, we have formed political parties, written angry Facebook posts, and refused to attend family gatherings where green ice cream might be served.
That is how quickly preference can become identity.
The problem is not that I chose vanilla. The problem is that I used vanilla to separate myself from you.
The Course does not ask us to surrender every preference. It asks us to surrender the purpose of separation.
I can bring any preference to the Holy Spirit and ask, “What is this for?”
Am I choosing this because it is practical, pleasant, or helpful?
Or am I using it to establish superiority?
Am I expressing a preference?
Or am I defending an identity?
Am I simply choosing what seems best at the moment?
Or am I collecting evidence that I am right and everyone else needs professional help?
That final question has saved me a great deal of time.
The Course tells us, “Seek not to change the world, but choose to change your mind about the world” (T-21.In.1:7).
That does not mean I cannot purchase a hybrid, vote for environmental protections, reduce waste, or encourage responsible choices. It means my peace cannot depend on forcing everyone else to agree with me.
I can act without attacking.
I can care without condemning.
I can make choices without making enemies.
I can prefer vanilla and still love the person holding the pistachio cone.
In fact, that person may be doing me a favor. As long as they are eating the pistachio, there is more vanilla for me.
This world is a dream of differences. Bodies appear different. Personalities appear different. Cultures, foods, customs, music, politics, and lifestyles all appear different.
The ego uses those differences to prove separation.
The Holy Spirit uses them as opportunities to teach that differences in form do not change equality in spirit.
You and I may disagree about music, cars, food, clothing, theology, or whether pineapple belongs on pizza. None of those differences can alter what we are.
Preferences belong to the dream.
Love belongs to eternity.
The Course does not require us to become flavorless, opinionless, personality-free spiritual mannequins. It asks us to remember that none of our worldly preferences defines us.
I am not more holy because I enjoy classical music.
You are not less holy because your music frightens my houseplants.
I am not spiritually superior because I drive a hybrid.
You are not spiritually condemned because your truck can be seen from space.
We are both still exactly as God created us.
So yes, I will continue to choose vanilla.
I will continue to prefer classical music.
I will continue to admire hybrids and other vehicles that do not require ownership of a private oil field.
But I will try to remember that my preferences are merely choices within the dream. They are not measurements of anyone’s worth.
The moment I use a preference to make myself better or another person worse, I have handed it to the ego.
The moment I can choose without condemnation, smile without superiority, and allow another person to choose differently, I have offered it to the Holy Spirit.
And if the Holy Spirit ever asks me to eat pistachio ice cream while listening to heavy metal, I will know I still have some serious forgiveness work ahead of me.
If this essay touched something true in you, please feel free to share it freely and widely. Truth was never meant to sit quietly in one room.