For this chapter, let’s ignore the issues of chapters 3 and 4 and simply assume that mystical experiences are not delusional and that there is some cognitive substance to these experiences independent of a mystic’s prior belief-system. Do these experiences then dispel any of the mysteries surrounding what in the final analysis is real? These experiences give an overwhelming sense of direct awareness of fundamental reality—a reality that is one, powerful, immutable, permanent, and ultimate (i.e., not dependent on another reality). The experiences also give the experiencer a sense of selflessness—i.e., that the everyday ego is not part of the true makeup of reality. A sense of experiencing the source of one’s consciousness or of all phenomenal reality, accompanied by a sense of bliss, may also be added to this list.
This leads to one common thread in both extrovertive and introvertive mysticism: realism. What is real is what grounds experiences and what we cannot get around in our final analysis of things. This realism contrasts with solipsism or with everything being a dream or an illusion with no underlying reality. It is not the opposition in Western philosophy between realism and idealism: its only claim is that something exists that does not depend on our individual, subjective consciousness. That is, if we remove all subjective illusions, something real abides, whether this something is conscious or is material. (Indeed, even if everything phenomenal had the nature of an illusion or a dream, there is still something there that we would have to account for, even if it is only affirming its dependence on something else.) Classical mystics of all stripes were realists in this general metaphysical sense. They typically made a distinction between “appearance” and “reality” and dismissed appearances as unreal in some sense, but they always affirm a reality behind the appearances. In introvertive mysticism, the entire phenomenal realm may be downgraded as only appearance in favor of a transcendent reality. In Advaita, Shankara dismissed the phenomena of the universe as illusions (mithyas) generated by our root-ignorance (avidya), but he affirmed the reality “behind” the appearances (brahman) as real—the “clay” behind all the different states of the illusory “pot.” Indeed, he said that we can deny the existence of something only in favor of something else being real (Brahma-sutra-bhashya 3.2.22).
Among extrovertive mystics, the unreal appearance is the disconnection of entities from other phenomena that we generate by our conceptual differentiations. The Buddhist Perfection of Wisdom texts use analogies of mirages, dreams, optical illusions, echoes, reflections, and magicians’ tricks to explain that the phenomena of the world are empty of anything that would give entities any type of permanence or independence and to explain how phenomena can be mistaken to be independent “real” things. The Buddhist Nagarjuna’s doctrine of emptiness (shunyata) leads many to portray him as an antirealist. And he can be seen as a linguistic antirealist: he believed the world does not correspond to the conventional entities (bhavas) that we carve out of the phenomenal world through our conceptualizations (see Jones 2014b: 136–43). But he was not an ontic nihilist who argues that in the final analysis there is nothing real. That is, there is something real, even if the discreteness of entities that we project onto it is not real. Entities are empty of anything giving them independence and self-existence (svabhava) and thus are unreal in that sense, but there is something real there (tattva), and it can be known and seen as it truly is (yathabhutam), even if there are no real borders in the phenomenal world for our concepts to mirror. So too for other extrovertive mystics: the world of appearances is not irreducibly real, but it is not completely unreal either. However, an extrovertive mystical experience is needed to see things as they really are.
Moreover, there is tension between all mystical experiences and all doctrines of what is real: mystical experiences require an emptying of the mind of all conceptual content—for Meister Eckhart, all “images” are to be destroyed—and yet mystics advance doctrines about what is experienced both so that they themselves can understand what they experienced and to lead others to the new awareness. Not all mystics are particularly interested in doctrines, let alone the details of religious theory, any more than most members of any religious tradition are. Jiddhu Krishnamurti believed that we are weighed down by such doctrines as rebirth—his only concern was in inducing a “choiceless awareness.” He avoided reading religious literature to protect himself from beliefs. But, as discussed, classical mysticism is about more than special “mystical experiences”: it is about trying to align one’s life with the way things really are. And this means having the correct view of the ultimate nature of things. The nature of three things in particular is central: a human being, the world in general, and any transcendent realities. Mystical metaphysics thus is not about what is beyond experience but about the most general nature of reality.
A tradition’s worldview outlines the nature of reality in a way that makes the other components of its religious way of life (the values, action-guides, rituals, and goals) seem plausible and reasonable to the practitioner. No religion has only one such worldview—different traditions have different ideas on the metaphysical questions, and all worldviews evolve over time. For example, Christianity has embraced Platonism, Aristotelianism, and more modern metaphysics as its “official” metaphysical framework at different times in its history; today it does not have only one metaphysical frame. The metaphysical frame of reference presents a picture of reality within which the religious way of life makes sense; one’s way of life thereby seems grounded in reality. Thus, such metaphysics affect how one lives. Indeed, William James went so far as to say, “The question is not whether the theory of the cosmos affects matters, but whether, in the long run, anything else does.” He added, “A man’s vision is the single great fact about him.”
All forms of classical introvertive mysticism conflict with naturalism, i.e., the belief that only what in principle can be studied by science is real (see Jones 2009: 191–202). Transcendent realities are by definition either beyond the phenomenal realm or, if immanent to this realm, beyond empirical checking or worldly characterization.1 Classical introvertive mystics are transcendent realists. What is transcendent is not merely an infinite amount of something natural or some part of the natural realm that we cannot know, such as “dark energy,” but something of another type altogether—something that in principle cannot be open to scientific study in whole or in part. Nor is it in a space beyond our spatiotemporal realm that encompasses it, although philosophers often treat it that way: it is something to which any phenomenal categories such as “space” would not apply. It is in an ontologically unique category. Naturalists deny any transcendent realm or transcendent explanation of natural events.2 They consider explanations in terms of natural entities and processes as the best available explanation of all events, including mystical experiences, given all our knowledge. Against the naturalists, all classical mystics insist that introvertive mystical experiences involve direct access to a reality that is beyond any scientific testing in at least some regards. However, beyond rejecting naturalism, introvertive mysticisms disagree among themselves on the three central topics of mystical metaphysics noted above.
Mystics can also be philosophers or theologians—it is not an either/or choice. Meister Eckhart is an example of a mystic who was a philosopher (McGinn 2001: 21–22). But mystics are not typically speculative metaphysicians constructing systems for the intellectual comprehension of the universe—Plotinus’s elaborate Neoplatonism being the prime exception. Rather, they typically are religious practitioners trying to live a life attuned to reality. Transcendent realities are not presented as explanatory posits but as realities that have been experienced. However, as discussed, mystics themselves must go beyond the experiential evidence given in a mystical experience to a fuller understanding of what is experienced. Thus, mystical accounts of what introvertive mystics experience must be “speculative” in one sense—i.e., the accounts must go beyond the experiential content—but the speculation must be grounded in what is experienced. However, any theoretical posits or unexperiencable noumena in mystical doctrines would be the result of input from nonmystical sources, and mystics may dismiss much of such input as worthless human rantings. Still, even mystical doctrines are the result of the interaction of mystical experiences (if constructivists are wrong) and nonmystical considerations within a religious tradition, with ideas from multiple sources.3 Theologians and religious theists in nontheistic traditions often have very unmystical concerns, but they end up shaping the doctrines that mystics accept as the orthodox standard for understanding their own experiences. In the extreme, the unenlightened end up deciding the doctrines that mystics accept, although mystics may adjust their understanding of those doctrines in light of their mystical experiences.
This leads to an interesting fact: most mystical knowledge-claims are the same as some nonmystical religious and philosophical claims. Virtually every claim that mystics have advanced has also been advanced in nonmystical forms by nonmystics for philosophical reasons totally unrelated to mystical experiences. Indeed, many mystical claims are, from a metaphysical point of view, unexceptional.4 So too, mystics quote mystics and nonmystics alike on philosophical and theological issues. In sum, there is nothing particularly mystical about many “mystical” claims. Many claims come from simply working out the logic of, for example, the idea of a “wholly other” creator god who alone is ultimately real. Nor do we need to hold any particular metaphysical belief to have mystical experiences. One’s understanding of the experiences can be fitted into any metaphysical system (including naturalism, as noted in the last chapter). The fact that some claims about a creator or sustainer or an idealism are congenial to both extrovertive and introvertive mystics does not transform them into inherently “mystical” claims. But this makes it difficult sometimes to tell whether a particular thinker actually had mystical experiences of the oneness and power of a transcendent reality, or if he or she is only a speculative thinker. It also leads to asking whether such early philosophical figures as Pythagoras, Parmenides, and Plato were mystics.
Consider a few examples. Parmenides argued “All is one” on logical grounds. He also argued that all change is an illusion, despite appearances to the contrary. John McTaggart and others have argued that time is unreal, for philosophical reasons.5 Nonmystics have also argued that “All is impermanent” ever since Heraclitus first noted that we cannot step in the same river twice—part of what constitutes the river (and part of what constitutes us) will have changed by the time we try stepping into it a second time. Alfred North Whitehead’s “process philosophy” has been likened to Buddhist metaphysics. Immanuel Kant maintained that we can be certain that a transcendent reality-in-itself exists, but we cannot know anything of its nature because of the antinomies that reason produces. So too, the problem of how language operates if there are in fact no permanent entities in the world to denote is now prominent in philosophy. And even the via negativa has returned to contemporary theology without any reference to mysticism.
Even if mystical experiences lie at the historical root of our ancestors’ initial sense of a cosmic “wholeness” or “unity,” nevertheless that all things share the same one beingness, or that the natural universe is a structured organic whole free of ontologically distinct entities (especially no “self”), or that the natural universe is constituted only of interconnected and impermanent parts, are points that nonmystics can easily accept today. Different nodes within the whole can be conceptually separated in order to live in the world, but it is an “illusion” to think that they are ontologically distinct and independent entities. Indeed, the impermanence and interconnectedness of the external world is obvious to anyone on some reflection. Even naturalists can readily agree that everything is interconnected, impermanent, and dependent on other things, although they see no point in emphasizing this since this general metaphysical observation does not help scientists devise new theories. In fact, naturalists argue that we, along with everything else in our solar system, are connected natural products made only of the refuse of some earlier supernova and that all of our universe in fact came from the same matter/energy of a Big Bang.6
That this world is dependent on a transcendent reality is not a claim unique to mysticism, nor do we need to be mystics to follow the analogy of the dream and its dreamer to envision that there is a reality underlying this world and giving it being. Talking about “beingness” is difficult since there is nothing real to contrast with it.7 But Milton Munitz can say things about “being-in-itself” that sound very mystical, even though his ideas are based on analytical philosophy alone (1965, 1986, 1990; also see Jones 2009: 24–27)—indeed, he borrowed his preferred term (“Boundless Existence”) from Alfred Lord Tennyson’s description of his extrovertive mystical experience.
So too, we need no mystical experience to realize that there is no permanent substratum to a “person”—the mind and body are constantly changing, giving rise to the perennial issue in philosophy of personal identity over time. To Albert Einstein, the sense that we are each a distinct, self-contained entity is an “optical illusion of consciousness.” Many philosophers since David Hume have rejected the idea of a unified center to consciousness—the sense of a “self” separate from the rest of the world is merely a point of reference concocted by the brain to help us deal with the world and does not correspond to anything real. Many psychologists and neuroscientists claim today that there is no “self” in our mental makeup—i.e., no one unified center of awareness, and no one locus in the brain to our sense of “self.” Rather, there may be multiple “selves”—i.e., each conscious type of mental functioning can produce a self-awareness of that activity, but there is no one command center overseeing all such acts of self-awareness.
Extrovertive or introvertive mystical experiences are not needed to devise these philosophical points, nor will having such experiences help us to understand the philosophical arguments for them. Thus, there is no need to credit mysticism as their source. Mindfulness highlights impermanence and interconnectedness, and all mystical experiences highlight beingness, but experiences of beingness are not necessary to validate the naturalists’ points. Nor will adopting any of these ideas by itself aid in inducing any mystical experience—we can remain as unmystical as before. The philosopher Derek Parfit finds the neuroscientific denial of any “self” within our mental makeup quite liberating without any resulting hint of mysticism.
But it is important to remember that mystics may well understand these claims differently, since they see the concepts in terms of experienced realities and not explanatory posits. Introvertive mystics experience the oneness of being and may say “All is one,” but they do not mean that “All things have the same substance” if what is meant is that “substance” is a type of objective thing, although that may be how the unenlightened understand the claim. Mystics do not see transcendent realities as objects distinct from them. The difference with extrovertive mystical states of consciousness is that the beingness of things is brought into awareness, and then the impermanent and interconnected beingness of all of the everyday realm of becoming is seen more clearly and becomes prominent. In short, mystics realize something experientially and make it part of the framework of their lives; they do not merely see some logical points about everyday phenomena that nonmystics also may acknowledge as true. Thus, their understanding may be significantly different even when using the same language that nonmystics use to depict what is real. Conversely, the unenlightened, who look at mystical doctrines through the lens of various philosophical “isms”—idealism, monism, and so on—may well be distorting the mystical ideas by thinking in terms of distinct entities, selves, and other nonmystical philosophical ideas. (The issue of the limit of the unenlightened’s understanding of mystical claims will be discussed in the next chapter.) This at least raises the issue of whether mystical claims are substantively different from nonmystical ones, even if the same words are used by mystics and nonmystics.
As noted above, classical mystics in general are realists. It is a caricature of mystics to see them all as world-denying. True, in introvertive mysticism, a transcendent reality is affirmed, but the contingent reality of the world and life is not necessarily denied as an illusion. In extrovertive “cosmic consciousness” and mindfulness, the idea of a world of permanent, distinct objects is seen as an illusion created only by our mind incorrectly seeing what is really there, like taking a rope to be a snake, but there is a reality there, just as there is a rope in the analogy. There are no hard and fast boundaries between objects, and all objects are in flux, but this is not to deny that there is some “objective” reality there that is normally misinterpreted.8 Phenomenal reality is seen as lacking any permanent parts, but it is seen as an interconnected, constantly changing web constituted by impermanent “entities.”9 Entities become merely temporary eddies in the flow of phenomena. In our unenlightened state, we do not directly see things as they really are, but in mindful states the impermanence of entities is central—in Prajnaparamita terms, the “thus-ness” (tathata) of things (bhavas) is seen. In nature mysticism and cosmic consciousness, the glow of beingness or the presence of a god shines forth. In all cases, what is real is a beingness common to all that exists in the universe. How the simplicity of the reality experienced in the depth-experience is related to our vast and complex universe is an issue, but beingness is the “one” and its diverse phenomenal manifestations are the “many.”10 (Thus, phenomena qua phenomena are not identical to each other.) The one common beingness can be seen in a grain of sand or any other object since it is the same in everything.11
Thus, extrovertive mystical experiences eliminate any metaphysical options related to permanent phenomenal entities, including a phenomenal ego. But other metaphysical options remain viable. For example, is time real or merely a phenomenal illusion? That is, is time merely part of the fabric of the “dream” realm and not applicable to what is finally real? Mystical experiences appear timeless in the sense that temporal categories are not part of the experience, but extrovertive mystics could accept that time is part of the fundamental structure of the phenomenal world—beingness is outside of time, but structured phenomena are not. Introvertive mystics treat time the way they treat any this-worldly phenomenon. Mystics also can follow the Buddha in leaving questions about the origin and extent of the universe unanswered as simply irrelevant to their basic soteriological concerns. Extrovertive mystics may also treat the phenomenal realm as the ultimate reality with no transcendent source. They can also accept some types of permanence within an impermanent and constantly changing phenomenal realm. For example, Indian mystics could accept that the law of karma is permanent—what it applies to is impermanent, but it itself is a permanent structure lasting as long as the phenomenal world lasts. The natural structures of scientific laws and any “natural kinds” would also fall into this group. So too, according to Advaitins, the realm of illusion is well ordered. In fact, although creation in Indian thought is the “play” (lila) of the creator, even the creator is bound by rules manifested in creation.
Abhidharmist Buddhists accept the “factors of the phenomenal world” (dharmas) that are to be observed and analyzed in meditative states of mind as merely momentary flashes, but real. Dharmas are not the same as entities (bhavas), which are composite and thus not real in the ultimate sense. They are not atoms of matter, but relate to how we experience the world.12 They exist but are impermanent, and there is no unexperiencable noumena behind them. We create the phenomenal world by giving phenomena “name and form” (nama-rupa), but we do not create in some solipsistic manner the beingness of reality behind the names. Mahayanists emphasize that all dharmas are empty of independence and self-existence (svabhava) and arise dependently on other dharmas, but they do not deny their existence as “unreal” in any other sense (e.g., Mula-madhayamaka-karikas 24.19).13 In the extrovertive Madhayamaka tradition, the phenomena of the world are treated as dependently arisen, and thus the doctrines of “it exists” (i.e., that phenomena are unarisen and thus permanent and eternal) and “it does not exist” (i.e., that phenomena are totally nonexistent) are both denied (ibid.: 15.10). So too in early Buddhism (Samyutta Nikaya 2.17). With a concentrated mind, one knows and sees things as they are (ibid.: 2.30)—one sees their true nature (dhammata) free from any defect. This is considered the highest knowledge (Anguttara Nikaya 5.36) or wisdom (prajna). In terms of the Buddhist “two truths” doctrine, the entities we experience are conventionally real—they are not totally nonexistent like the son of a barren woman (which logically cannot exist) or the horns of a rabbit (which empirically are not found to exist)—but ultimately they are not real in a final sense either because they are not eternal, independent, or permanent. (This criterion for what is real is shared by Advaita.) Buddhists do not discuss the nature of being but leave the subject with noting the thus-ness (tathata) of what we experience—i.e., its impermanence and interconnected dependency.14
In general, for extrovertive mystics only the “illusions” arising from misreading what is real by our conceptualizing mind are denied. Thinking of a tree as a distinct reality is erroneous, but there is a reality behind the concept “tree,” even though it is impermanent, dependent, and connected with the rest of reality: a tree is not identical to the earth, water, and sunlight that it depends on for its life, but neither is it an entity totally distinct from these; its configuration of elements remains a unique and identifiable part contributing to the interconnected whole of reality. And so the concept “tree” is still useful for directing attention to part of reality—the world does not become a featureless blob simply because things share the same one beingness and are interconnected. So too, modern extrovertive mystics could treat matter, energy, and consciousness as different manifestations of one cosmic “stuff.” From cosmic consciousness, the bliss of the experience may lead one to see the universe as fundamentally compassionate or that an innate self-giving love is the driving force underlying all of the world—a theism or deism with pure love as the source. Richard Bucke saw the experience as revealing that the universe is not “dead matter” but is a “living presence” based in love; everyone and everything has eternal life; God is the universe and the universe is God, and no evil ever entered into it or ever will; and the happiness of everyone in the long run is absolutely certain (1969: 17–18).
But with introvertive mysticisms, there are different valuations of the world in different religions. In Abrahamic theisms, the world is now seen as created ex nihilo by God. But although the creation is “good” (Genesis 1:25), after the encounter with Greek thought traditional Christianity ended up with the idea that the world is of no value in itself but is merely the stage for the training of the soul for our return to our true home in heaven (or to suffering eternally in hell). Indian mysticism generally also treats the world as valueless—indeed, as a negative place to be escaped from.15 Daoism gives a more positive valuation of the world, with all emanating from the root Way (see Jones 2004: 229–30). Extrovertive mystics are able to ground a real world in a transcendent idealism (see Marshall 2005). Or they can follow the qualified nondualist Ramanuja: Brahman has no attribute-free aspect but transforms itself into the phenomenal world. Or they can, following Advaita, treat the underlying consciousness alone as fully real, with all worldly phenomena classified as an illusion. In the Upanishads, the phenomenal diversity of the world is real; for Shankara, it is an illusion.
Emanation is popular in mystical traditions as the relation of a transcendent source to the phenomenal world: the world is emitted from a transcendent self-emptying “womb” or “abyss” or “nothingness.” If the world is considered eternal, then emanation does not occur in time. Extrovertive mystical experiences then are experiences of the surface beingness, and introvertive experiences are experiences of the root depth source of beingness. Emanationism is prominent in the West through the mysticism of the Neoplatonist Plotinus: being (the totality of phenomena) emanates from the One automatically by necessity, like the sun radiating light. Meister Eckhart’s theology was based on the “ground of being” (McGinn 2001: 37), and his metaphysics was an emanationism of an outflowing of being (ibid.: 71–113; Eckhart 2009: 155): God “boils over” into a trinity, and all phenomena “spill forth,” while the Godhead does not act. Emanationism is also the basic position of the Upanishads and Samkhya (concerning matter) in India and Daoism in China.16 To Shri Aurobindo, unlike in Advaita, maya is a creative power arising from the attributeless (nirguna) Brahman that produces the phenomenal world.
Treating the world as a distinct creation of a transcendent reality generates an unmystical ontic dualism: mysticism would tend to unite the phenomenal realm with a transcendent ground. Samkhya is an exception, with its dualism of eternal matter (prakriti) and a pluralism of eternal persons (purushas) consisting of consciousness, which do not merge into one reality. The Vedantist Madhva also gave a theistic dualistic interpretation to the Upanishads. In the West, a separate creation was the norm, but some theists, such as Bonaventure and Meister Eckhart, adopted an emanationism. This can lead, as it did for Plotinus, to affirming the reality of the emanated world and creatures, or it can lead, as it did for Eckhart, to affirming that what is created is “nothing” apart from the being shared by God. It can also lead to theorizing about a hierarchy of degrees of being or consciousness.
Christians can adopt a form of monism by adapting Acts 17: 28: in God “we live and move, in him we exist.” But theists in general do not want the world, with all its imperfections and suffering, to be part of God—“corrupt” creation is usually kept completely separate from God, and any ontic monism is rejected. Even Eckhart accepted souls as separate from God, although they share one being. In general, theists reject anything smacking of pantheism or anything that would contaminate the purity of a creator god. The theologian Paul Tillich is an exception when he speaks of the “God beyond the God theism”—i.e., the nonpersonal “power of being-itself” (1952: 188). Nevertheless, in traditional theism God is present in some way in his creation, since he sustains it (creatio continua)—the world is ontologically dependent on God and would cease to exist without his support. Thus, God is both transcendent and immanent even for theists, but theists want to maintain paradoxically that God is in all things and yet all things are not in God.
Thus, God in theism is “more real” than the world in that the world could not go on existing without him—the alternative is that the world is somehow independent and autonomous, which theists do not want to accept. However, this devaluation of the world in theism can also lead to Shankara’s conclusion: only the transcendent being is real, and an independent world is only an imagined illusion. God created separate souls and the phenomenal universe, and so God can remove their contingent existence by withdrawing his ontic support, which gives them being. Some Sufis, along with some medieval Muslim and Christian theologians espousing “occasionalism,” deny any real causal order to nature: the admission of such “secondary causes” would deny the absolute control over all things by the only real cause—i.e., God. To theists, the world is not inherently evil as it was to Gnostics, but it is still merely something God created and something he can end. In Plato’s allegory of the cave, what we focus on every day are only the unreal shadows on the cave wall and not on the source causing the shadows: we are preoccupied with the images and forget their true status and their true source.
For Advaita, the world is mere appearance—Brahman alone is real. Advaitins do not explain why there are structures or any orderliness at all in this realm, since Brahman has no properties. Nor do they explain the violence and cruelty of the natural suffering of the phenomenal realm when its only reality is Brahman. Even the appearance of a realm of illusion (maya) is a problem, since Advaitins reject any sort of emanation from a source. Rather, the phenomenal world and our bodies are the products of our root-ignorance (avidya). From the highest point of view, the phenomenal world is simply an illusion. But why there is a root-ignorance at all that creates this “dream” realm of maya is unexplained. Nor has Advaita an adequate answer to the question of who has the root-ignorance: it cannot be Brahman because the real cannot possess anything unreal; and it cannot be individual persons since they are nonexistent. So too, what would be an optical illusion if all is mind-stuff is not clear. There is also the problem of why the general illusion of this differentiated realm persists after one is enlightened (Brahma-sutra-bhashya 4.1.15)—it should vanish when ignorance is replaced with knowledge of Brahman (vidya), since according to Shankara this knowledge destroys ignorance and cannot coexist with it. But according to Shankara, diversity is still seen even though the enlightened know better, just as people with an eye-disease see two moons even when they know better (ibid.: intro.). This means that even the enlightened still perceive a diverse realm. To Shankara, Brahman in the form of the god Ishvara projects a totally illusory phenomenal world that persists after an (equally illusory) individual gains enlightenment.17 The enlightened know this world is really Brahman—the root-ignorance (avidya) of the unenlightened is seeing the world as real (i.e., existing independently from Brahman) and consisting of multiple distinct entities. The enlightened still see Ishvara’s projection, but now it is a matter of “lucid dreaming”: they still see the phenomenal “dream” world, but they now know its true ontic status as only Brahman. Shankara’s answer for why the enlightened remain in the world after enlightenment is that karma that has begun to bear fruit must run its course even after enlightenment before the enlightened can die (Bhagavad-gita-bhashya 4.20–21). That is, once karma begins to produce effects, nothing can stop it. But this would mean that karma can overpower knowledge—i.e., karma has some reality with power even over the enlightening knowledge of Brahman. But that is something that Advaitins should reject. All that Advaitins say about the fate of the universe as a whole is that it will disappear when all (illusory) selves are enlightened by ending root-ignorance and are thereby removed from the (equally illusory) chains of rebirths (Brahma-sutra-bhashya 2.2.41)—there then will be no more karmic desires driving the generation of new worlds.
Thus, to Advaitins, an eternal, all-pervading consciousness constitutes the appearance of the world.18 The world is the “play (lila)” of Brahman and has no other explanation: the world appears for no reason or purpose (Brahma-sutra-bhashya 2.1.33)—manifesting the world is just what Brahman does naturally and without an act of will, like breathing is for us. To Shankara, the phenomenal world is not a creation or emanation of Brahman in any sense, but only an appearance that our root-ignorance imposes on Brahman, the unchanging and inactive knower that cannot be part of the phenomenal universe. Thus, Brahman is not a cause of the universe, since what is real cannot cause something unreal and phenomenal appearances are unreal. All of reality is contained in each “object,” just as the sun is reflected in full in each ripple on a pond (e.g., ibid.: 3.2.11). But just as the clay is real and the form of the pot is unreal, so too the being of this realm that is Brahman is alone real (ibid.: 2.1.14). The natural realm thus is neither real nor unreal—neither the same as Brahman nor totally nonexistent—and thus its ontic status is indeterminate and indescribable (anirvachaniya).
The doctrine of the world as “play” points to another issue: mystical experiences in themselves do not answer why we are here, how we fit into the scheme of things, or what the meaning of the world is. Mystical experiences may give an overwhelming sense of reality, but these experiences focus attention totally on the present, not on the history of the universe as a whole or on the question of how things might fit into a big picture. The experiences may convey a trust in reality but not any future-oriented hope for a specific course of events. No plan or purpose to the natural realm is given in the empty depth-mystical experience or in the love of a theistic experience. Theistic mystics may feel loved, but there is no felt sense of any teleological causes at work in nature. Rather than feeling self-centered and isolated from the rest of reality, mystics may feel fully integrated into the natural world or more connected to a cosmic source, and any fear of death may end. They may feel complete and at home in the universe and that everything is all right.
Thus, after having a mystical experience, mystics may think everything in the world is as it should be or is even inevitable as it is. Mystics often have a sense of a fundamental rightness at the deepest level of things as they are, and a sense that the universe is meaningful. This can lead to the idea that creation is perfect. But this may lead theistic mystics who have an overwhelming sense of a loving source to deny that evil is real—everything is actually perfect as is. Suffering and death may cease to matter, if they are considered real at all, since they do not affect what is real (i.e., what is eternal). (That this may negatively influence a desire to help others will be noted in chapter 9, as will the fact that an experience of an underlying love or joy only deepens the mystery of natural suffering.) In fact, the acceptance of life as “meaningful as is” may end our mind’s search for any specific meaning or purpose or any other explanation of reality. A sense of connectedness may end the existential quest to find life’s meaning, even though no new facts or a statement of a meaning is given in mystical experiences. After a life with only the instrumental mode of consciousness, awareness of the beingness of reality may make one’s life seem to make sense or make one feel more connected to others and the world. The sense of euphoria in the nonconceptual experience of beingness may give a sense of meaningfulness to reality—that everything is imbued with significance—even if one realizes after the experience that no specific “secret of the universe” has been revealed.19 Mystics may be content with the world as it is, and any resulting claims on the “meaning of life” may sound trite since no new information is given. In any case, mystical experiences do not provide a specific answer to the meaning of the universe, to whether there is life after death, or to the basic philosophical question in cosmology of why there is something rather than nothing. Each religious tradition’s ideas of the purpose of life, like its understanding of the mystical experiences themselves, come from considerations outside of these experiences, although the experiences may be one such consideration.
In addition, the basic mystery of the nature of beingness is not dispelled by having any type of mystical experience. Beingness may be apprehended in a mindful state or its simplicity directly apprehended in the depth-mystical experience void of any differentiated content, but no new information about its nature is provided in either experience. No answer is given to the question of the relation of an underlying “being” and the realm of “becoming”—the problem of “the one” and “the many” remains as profound for mystics after even depth-mystical experiences. Extrovertive and introvertive mystical experiences may increase a sense of awe and wonder at the that-ness of things, but they may not—one may serenely or joyfully accept the mundaneness of all of the phenomenal world. And introvertive mystical experiences may lead to a sense that the natural world is not ultimately real. If anything, the mystery of beingness is increased, not diminished, by such experiences.
If transcendent realities exist, can introvertive mystical experiences contribute to any knowledge of their nature? Do the phenomenological depictions entail any specific doctrines beyond being real, one, immutable, and transcendent, or are all doctrines on the nature of what was experienced more speculative?
The lack of any highly ramified conceptions of what was experienced common to all or most traditions is again the problem. The depth-mystical experience may entail seeing the consciousness that is experienced there as the ontic ground of the true self, but seeing that consciousness as ontologically more than that requires further considerations. How could we tell from the experience that it is the source of the rest of the universe? The experience may seem overwhelmingly powerful and profound, but any metaphysical claim remains a theory going beyond the experience. So too, as discussed, mystics differ on exactly what is the relation between the transcendent reality and the phenomenal world: emanation, creation, or the world as appearance? In addition, how could we conclude that what is experienced is inexhaustible? Mystics may be experiencing “pure beingness,” but how could they know they have reached the ultimate ground of being? Perhaps there is no one source to everything, but a pluralism of basic realities as with Samkhya. And whether there is a further reality grounding what is transcendent to our world cannot be ascertained by these experiences, even if the overwhelming sense of reality in what is experienced naturally leads mystics to believe that they have experienced the ground of the self or of this world and to the conviction that they have touched the ultimate ground.
If the “empty” depth-mystical experience is in fact an experience of a transcendent reality, it would also be hard to conclude that members of one religion experience one transcendent reality while members of other religions experience other realities—e.g., theists experience a loving reality while nontheists experience a second, morally neutral reality. It is certainly hard to believe that there are multiple creators of the natural world or multiple sources of beingness—as if different gods in different theistic traditions created the parts of the world where each theistic tradition predominates and different nonpersonal sources created the nontheistic parts. Nor is there any other reason based on the experiences themselves to conclude that more than one reality could be the subject of the experiences.
But how can theistic mystical experiences tell us that there is only one god, or that all theistic mystical experiences are of the same god? The simplicity of the depth-mystical experience suggests that only one reality could be involved, but theistic introvertive experiences have some differentiated content. Perhaps Muslims experience Allah and Vaishnavites Krishna. Of course, theists may reject polytheism or other multiple transcendent realities, the conclusion being that theistic mystical experiences are all of the same god with only different flavors depending on the experiencer’s doctrines. But this will be for theological reasons, not mystical experiential ones. Theistic mystical experiences may be justification for accepting the source as a loving creator/sustainer god, but no other theological doctrines are entailed. For example, such experiences would not favor a trinitarian Christian view of God over the simpler Jewish and Muslim monotheism. So too, as mentioned in chapter 3, the traditional omnipotence, omniscience, and omnibenevolence of a theistic god cannot be justified by any experience. Mystical experiences suggest a simplicity to God, not an active Wizard of Oz–type designer god with many different properties, powers, and functions pulling levers behind the curtain. (The theological sense of “simplicity,” in which theologians argue that virtues converge, is different from the simplicity of the “emptiness” of the depth-mystical experience, but is an attempt to overcome the tension between theological ideas of a god and the experienced simplicity.) Similarly, as noted earlier, no mystical experience of beingness can entail that there is a purpose or design to the universe. Nonmystical considerations will decide such issues. For example, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin’s scientific interest in evolution led him to try combining teleology and mysticism into one speculative system (1959).
In addition, introvertive theistic and depth-mystical experiences lead in opposite directions on the basic issue of whether what is experienced is personal or nonpersonal. Perhaps there are two realities: the ground of being experienced in the depth-experience and a theistic god experienced in theistic experiences. As Gershom Scholem says, it “takes a tremendous effort” to identify the source of the revelations received by Moses and Mohammed with that received by the Kabbalists and Hasidic Jews or by the Muslims Ibn Arabi and al-Hallaj (1967: 10). If they are not two separate and equal realities, this leads to the issue of which is ontologically more fundamental: is Brahman the “abode” of Vishnu or vice versa? If we take the depth-mystical experience as more insightful, then the ultimate ground of reality is not a personal, loving god. But nothing in the experiences themselves can determine which type is deeper. The depth-mystical experience may be the experience of only God’s nonpersonal being, or it may be the experience of some deeper reality.20 Nonmystical theological considerations will prevail on that issue. For example, theistic religion requires an active personal reality with whom the faithful can have a personal relationship—in effect, a living being with a mind and will who is worthy of trust and worship. Any Neoplatonist One or Eckhartian Godhead may make the transcendent reality seem more majestic by being constant, inactive, and remote, but this can also make it seem indifferent to the world and its creatures—“beyond good and evil” rather than loving and moral. If one values personhood, one may see a transcendent reality as personal; if not, one may emphasize consciousness without the limitations of a person. Mystical experiences of God as a source may suggest that more feminine symbolism would be appropriate, but theists also believe that God is causally active in nature and human history, answering prayers and performing other miracles—ideas not given in mystical experiences even of a loving God in which God loves the experiencer and everything else as is. Even if God is pure love, how a god who is unchanging, inactive, and existing outside the realm of time can possibly act in the temporal universe is a topic for theologians, but nothing on this subject could be revealed in mystical experiences—an “empty” experience of only beingness or a sense of being loved could not supply any information on the mechanisms of how this is possible. The idea of special incarnations of God or Vishnu would also come from nonmystical sources—if anything, from mystical experiences, we would conclude that all beings are emanations of a god. There is also the danger that, while theistic mystics may rationally believe that a transcendent person is involved, we may simply be projecting our own beliefs of what a “person” is onto that reality—in fact, an “empty” experience may give anthropomorphism the opportunity to run wild.
Moreover, even if mystics know something of the nature of a transcendent reality, they typically affirm a depth to it that is unfathomable and thus not fully knowable. The reality is still “deep and profound,” to quote Laozi on the Way, although we can align our life with it. If a transcendent reality is open to unmediated experience, then there is no unknowable Kantian noumenon to it, but there may also remain an unknowable aspect, as with the Eyn Sof of the Kabbalists. The reality is not ontologically “wholly other” since we can experience it directly: our natural realm shares its beingness, but its nature or mode of existence is different, and so the mystery surrounding it ends up being impenetrable by either our thought or our experience. That is, it can be known in the sense of being directly experienced, but its full abundance cannot be known with the analytical mind or in a mystical experience. The otherness of its nature from all worldly phenomena leads to the denial that any terms can apply to it (the via negativa) in dealing with its nature, as discussed in the next chapter.
Thus, even with mystical experiences the mystery of any transcendent realities remains: even knowledge by participation of such a reality does not help finite beings such as ourselves to know the ultimate depth of reality. What is experienced may be a paradigm of the “God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob” rather than the explanatory posit of the “God of the philosophers and scholars,” but the experiences remain “shafts of light” coming from an unfathomable “darkness” that remains mysterious even to mystics. What is experienced is not terrifying, as in many numinous experiences, but its nature remains unknowable in the sense of being the subject of propositions concerning attributes.
Religious theorists in all traditions end up running into trouble when trying to flesh out the implications of basic doctrines. For example, Christian theologians have the problem of how God can be all-powerful without wiping out our free will. Advaitins have the basic problem that if Brahman alone is real, then how and from where did the root-ignorance and the realm of illusion arise? Mystics would tend to try to cut the veil of doctrines and return the conversation toward directly experiencing transcendent realities. They may treat terms such as “God” as only placeholders for the mystery they experienced, and they may treat any attempt to make transcendent realities into knowable objects as idolatry. But mystics too need conceptualizations to ground a way of life and a soteriological goal. They obviously are not agnostic about the existence of what was experienced, but they also cannot remain agnostic or completely skeptical about the nature of what is experienced: they must have some conceptions in dualistic consciousness of what was experienced in order to align their lives with reality. Thus, even classical mystics must take doctrines with some seriousness.
Whatever else the depth-mystical experience may involve, there is a “pure consciousness,” i.e., an awareness empty of all differentiable content and functions. This would lead classical mystics to deny the naturalists’ view of consciousness as evolved from matter (see Flanagan 2011: 84–90; Jones 2013: 98–105). This also presupposes that all consciousness is one: regardless of the “state” of consciousness or its content, awareness is always the same light. To many mystics, the consciousness in one person is the same in all persons—there is only one consciousness. To reductive naturalists, consciousness is not a fundamental category of reality—in fact some, such as Daniel Dennett, deny an inner subjective awareness really exists. To other naturalists, the mind is a systems-property with the ability to control parts of the body (including “involuntary” functions such as the immune system through meditation) as part of one causal order. Thus, naturalists can accept that experiences are real (i.e., not reducible to material processes alone) and even causally efficacious. William James believed our normal waking consciousness is but one special type of consciousness that is separated by the filmiest of screens from other potential forms of consciousness, and no account of the universe in its totality can be final that disregards these forms (1958: 298). Henri Bergson, C. D. Broad, and Aldous Huxley thought the brain does not produce consciousness but is a “reducing valve” that permits in only the data necessary for survival—our mind evolved on a need-to-know basis, but a “mind at large” exists independent of our bodies. That is, the brain is a receiver of consciousness, not its generator (also see Strassman 2001), but it also prevents the mind at large from flooding our consciousness and making it impossible to operate in the world. Some mystics and perennial philosophers speak of a hierarchy of levels of consciousness—e.g., the function that enables experiences of God (e.g., the Plotinian nous) being higher than ordinary dualistic consciousness. To perennial philosophers, consciousness is more fundamental than matter: matter emanates out of consciousness, not vice versa.
The Buddha, David Hume, and Immanuel Kant agree that no “I” is found in the world we experience: the “I” is not an object of any experience but is pure subjectivity. The analytical mind may try to make subjective awareness into an object by making an image of blankness or by thinking “The mind is still and empty.” But we cannot be aware of subjectivity: when we observe consciousness, we are aware of nothing but whatever object we are aware of (Searle 1992: 96–97). In the phenomenology of “self-awareness,” we are never aware of the subject as an object—we are only aware that we are aware. As the Upanishads and Ludwig Wittgenstein said, the “I” is never an object of awareness, just as the eye is never within the eye’s field of vision.21 However, in classical depth-mysticism, the nature of consciousness is open to radically different interpretations. To classical Indian mystics, consciousness exists eternally and is not the activity of the brain or in any way dependent on the brain. Consciousness is not a “subjective” product of each individual but a fundamental “objective” reality. To the Dalai Lama, “pure luminous consciousness” is a subtle, primordial, and fundamental consciousness that exists prior to its appearance in human beings through evolution (Gyatso & Goleman 2003: 42). (Theravada Buddhism treats consciousness as a matter of unconnected temporary and contingent events.) Such consciousness exists even when there is no intentional content to be aware of. To Advaitins, this consciousness is eternal and constitutes all existence: all “subjective” and “objective” phenomena—both the individual subjective observer and what is observed—are only appearance; the inactive, nonpersonal consciousness is all that is real. It is partless and has no other features. It is more “objective” than the “subjective” awareness of an individual, since it is the same awareness of all persons and also constitutes the reality of all “external” phenomena, but it can never be an object of awareness—it is only known by participation.
Theists may take the depth-experience to be of a created individual’s consciousness or of the uncreated “spark of the soul” identical to God’s being. A basic mind/body dualism is exemplified by Samkhya metaphysics: there is no one common consciousness, but rather multiple conscious but inactive persons (purushas), each totally distinct and independent of eternal unconscious matter (prakriti). The individual consciousness that constitutes each person is only an unchanging, eternally observing awareness—most activities that we consider “mental” (e.g., reasoning and sense-experience) are actually different modes of unconscious matter. To Advaita, consciousness is the only reality and is eternal with no need for a creator god. Nor is it a “field” within the illusory natural universe—it is not a part of the “objective” material universe in any way. Nor does it reside in some super-space, since that would still make it an object. Nor does Advaita justify solipsism, since no individual truly exists.22 But, as discussed, one cannot claim that consciousness constitutes “objective” phenomena based on the depth-mystical experience alone when that experience is equally open to simply being the ground of the self or simply an individual’s ordinary awareness void of content.23
Indeed, if anything, the depth-mystical experience shows consciousness to be featureless: consciousness is simply what observes and cannot be observed. Mystics consider it real, but its exact ontological status is not given in any mystical experience. The depth-mystical experience alone does not constitute grounds for a panpsychism in which every object has at least some rudimentary consciousness, although it can easily be fitted into such theories. But for Advaita, a stone in the “dream” is constituted by consciousness, but it is not aware.24 Samkhya metaphysics contrasts with any panpsychism. So too, a “pure consciousness” does not prove that consciousness must exist independently of the body or matter: it may seem eternal when experienced, but it could still be merely a naturally evolved state of the brain free of all differentiated content. Even treating consciousness as a “field,” modeled on magnetic fields, requires a physical base—a brain or matter more generally.
That the status of consciousness is open to wide interpretation can be seen by considering René Descartes’s “I am conscious, therefore I am.” The same experience that Descartes took as solid proof of the one irrefutable fact—that an individual exists—is taken by Shankara as the experience of the unchanging transcendent consciousness (Brahman) proving that no individuals exist (Brahma-sutra-bhashya 1.1.1–2). All we can safely infer from reflective awareness alone is that something conscious exists—what we take its nature to be will depend on more considerations.
When we consider the nature of a person, the first thing to note is that all classical mystical traditions are opposed to any purely natural evolution. In all traditional views, conscious beings are squarely part of the fabric of the cosmos, not a chance result of material forces.25 We developed from something greater, and currently we are alienated from our true self and from our true state. Aurobindo saw two movements of evolution: one material, for the emergence of the body, but also an “involution’ of the divine in nature upward leading to a return to our divine state. So too, the Dalai Lama accepts that the body evolved, but natural selection acting on the random mutation of genes to increase the genes’ chances of survival or any other material explanation is not the cause of consciousness (2005: 97). Under traditional Buddhism, human beings devolved from celestial beings through the process of karma and rebirth (ibid.: 107–8)—it was truly “the descent of man”—and not evolved upward from less complex life-forms. Karma plays a central role in the origin of human sentience (ibid.: 115). In introvertive mystical traditions, there is something in us that is uncreated—e.g., a “soul” or the “person” (purusha) of Samkhya—and our final state is not of this world. Mystical experiences are not necessarily the source of these ideas, but they are generally accepted. Nor do all traditions treat the body as evil, as in Plotinus’s Neoplatonism or Buddhism—both Christianity and Daoism are more affirmative. Plotinus wanted to be released from time, but Eckhart said he would accept eternal life in this realm.
In classical mysticism, the inner stillness of a mystical experience reveals our true nature. The sense of a separate phenomenal “self” or “ego” that we normally identify with is then seen as simply something that our analytical mind has patched together from the ideas and feelings arising in our stream of experiences—i.e., the “self” is an artificial creation having no reality. In mystical experiences, there is a loss of this sense of a separate entity within the phenomenal world that is somehow attached to a body. (Naturalists can easily account for the loss of a sense of a self if they, following Daniel Dennett and many neuroscientists, deny that there is any one command center to our consciousness.) But does this mean that this is empirical evidence of the nonexistence of an ego, or is our awareness of a self merely in abeyance during these experiences (as with a sense of time)? Are these experiences any more relevant to the issue than Cotard’s Syndrome? Most unenlightened people may be willing to accept the impermanence of material objects but not of a self. In addition, without a self, there are philosophical problems of identity and continuity over time. Traditions accepting rebirth also have to deal with the problem of karmic effects occurring in different lifetimes. But as previously noted, many neuroscientists and philosophers today deny such an ego: the sense of self is merely another mental function and not an indication of a separate entity. The concept of “I” is, as in Buddhism, simply a useful convention for a constantly changing bundle of aggregates.
But most mystical traditions accept that there is an underlying transcendent self that is discovered once the false sense of a phenomenal ego is destroyed: we are not our thoughts and emotions—there is an underlying silence and stillness to our consciousness that is the real us.26 Buddhism may be an exception, although the Buddha did not talk about the state of the enlightened after death.27 To Christians and Muslims, there is an immortal soul, and most reject a cycle of rebirths (although some early Christians and many Sufis accepted it)—our fate in the eternal life that is awaiting us is based on our actions or beliefs in this one life, after perhaps a temporary side trip to purgatory. Judaism does not have as strong a tradition of belief in any life after death, but the mystical Hasidic Jews do accept it, and some Kabbalists seemed to have accepted a form of multiple rebirths. To Indian mystics, enlightenment ends our cycle of rebirth, although there is no agreement on what happens after our final death. All agree that the enlightened are out of the realm of rebirths generated by desire (unless they voluntarily choose to remain), but they may be an isolated self (as in Samkhya and Jainism), or disappear (as in Advaita), or have a life in communion with God (as in bhakti theism). Or the issue simply is not discussed (as in Buddhism). Thus, while all mystics speak of the experience of the end of desires generated by a false sense of ego, the theories on human destiny after death depend in part on conceptions of a person and of transcendent realities.
One popular misconception is that all mystics treat their experiences as uniting them with the power underlying the natural world. Advaita Vedanta’s radical monism of consciousness (i.e., a nonduality of the consciousness that constitutes the subject and the consciousness that constitutes objective phenomena) is the classic instance of a metaphysical system based on overcoming even the duality of subject and object—indeed, in this interpretation, there is only one reality and thus no duality to overcome, no dependence of one reality on another, and no emanation of phenomena or “degrees” of reality. However, most mystical systems do not involve an all-encompassing nonduality in which all of the apparent diversity in the world is in the final analysis unreal. In particular, for Samkhya there is no underlying creator or common ground to both matter and consciousness; rather, there is an irreducible dualism of two fundamental substances and a plurality of distinct selves. Nor, as is also commonly believed, has any classical mystical tradition adopted a pantheism equating the transcendent reality with the natural world (creator with creation, Brahman with maya), thereby making the natural realm fully real in the final analysis.28 Neoplatonism is often considered pantheistic, but the material universe is an emanation of the One, not the One itself. Pantheism is in fact a modern concept that was devised within a theistic framework by John Toland in the eighteenth century to contrast that idea with classical theism and does not reflect any classical mystical tradition. It does not capture the idea of emanationism, Advaita’s nondualism, or the role of the Buddha-nature in Mahayana Buddhism.
Contrary to another popular idea, classical mystics do not speak in terms of a union of two substances—a fusion of the experiencer and another reality that had previously been two realities into one reality. On the extrovertive level, the sense of barriers is broken down, and one perceives “oneness”: one realizes that we always have had the same substance (beingness) as everything else (and so are the same as them in that way) and that we are joined to everything else in one interconnected whole. Thus, one has always been united to everything in sharing one being. But we are not united or identical with everything on the level of differentiated objects. With the loss of the sense of self, the conceptual boundaries we habitually impose on phenomena disappear, and thus we feel we are “merging” with the rest of the cosmos or feel that our being is the same as the being of everything else in nature. Robert Forman gives a personal instance of “becoming” what he saw: while driving, he was the mile-marker he saw (2010: 164–65). But he was still driving the car—he did not physically become the mile-marker. There is the lost of a sense of a separate observer witnessing a distinct object. There simply was no boundary between the marker and himself—no “something other” set off over against him (ibid.: 165) as a distinct object. But when he drove beyond the sign, it did not continue with him: it remained distinct—there was no new uniting with another reality that had previously been distinct or any other ontic change. We were already ontologically connected through being with everything else, and with the extrovertive experience we are now realizing what has always been the case. This state of consciousness is structured, and the felt sense of unity does not replace ordinary knowledge of the world—e.g., one can still tell how far away an object is (Forman 2014: 114).
Thus, there may be a sense of union or a sense of individuality melting away, but there is no ontic change in nature from what was already our true situation all along—only the false conceptual boundaries that we ourselves had created soften or disappear. Through experiencing the commonality of being, one gains a knowledge by participation, but there still is no new ontic union of substances. With the loss of a sense of ego, the experiencer may feel for the first time the true connection we all always have had to the rest of reality, but our true situation has not changed: experiencers do not attain a new ontic state but merely realize what was actually always the case. A fiction has simply disappeared from the mind. Our consciousness and focus change: a Gestalt-like shift occurs to being aware of the beingness of things. There may also be a change in the brain. For example, if the mind is a “reducing value,” the brain’s wiring may be changed by mystical experiences to allow in more consciousness. But otherwise we remain the same: there is no mental “merging” of our mind with another. So too, the spatially diverse phenomena of the sensory realm remain intact even if there is now seen to be no hard and fast boundaries reflecting our cultural concepts. There is no amalgamation of all phenomena being identical to each other: there is nothing real on the level of phenomena to be identical to, but only a common beingness that one already has—thus, things remain distinct in their “unreal” thingness.
So too for introvertive experiences. In no major mystical tradition do two previously distinct substances or “natures” become united into one in a mystical experience. There is a participatory knowledge of a transcendent reality, but there is no ontic transformation or transubstantiation of an “essence” converting the person into a transcendent reality. The standard position in the Abrahamic mystical traditions is to maintain the idea of creaturehood and insist that we creatures cannot be united to God—our “nature” does not change into God’s. This dualism is necessary to enable the theists’ emphasis on creatures loving God. One only becomes aware of the divine being that has always been immanent in us. In medieval Christianity, common images included two lovers, fire heating an iron rod, and the air pervaded by the warmth of the sun. But there is no literal “merging” or “absorption” of one reality into another resulting in only one entity (Jantzen 1989). Nor is one transformed or converted into God like the sacrament of bread is converted into the body of Christ (as Eckhart’s condemners understood him to claim). Jan van Ruusbroec makes clear in his later writings that there is a distinction of natures and that the union with God is only in “one spirit and life with him” (1985: 240, 246). Few Christian mystics used the term unio mystica before the modern era (McGinn 2001: 132). It is only in the modern study of mysticism that unio mystica attained a central place (McGinn 2006: 427). Christian mystics struggled over what “becoming one with God” meant, but they usually meant it in terms of a loving union of wills with God’s or even a fusion of the mind with God’s (ibid.: 427–29), but this is an alignment of spirit, not an ontic union of substances. To Eckhart, there is a loving union of two spirits, one created and one uncreated (McGinn 2001: 46); oneness with God is a matter of the likeness of his image in beings with a created nature (Eckhart 2009: 319). To Bernard of Clairvaux, it is like a drop of water in wine taking on the taste of wine, but he added that no doubt the substance of the person remained distinct, if now in a new form—only the will is now melted with God’s (McGinn 2006: 436; also see Eckhart 2009: 316). In often erotic imagery based on the biblical Song of Songs, Christian mystics speak of a mystical experience as a “kiss” and of a “marriage” of God or Christ with the soul. For John of the Cross, the consummation of the spiritual marriage is the union of two natures in one spirit and love (ibid.: 462). God’s will and the mystic’s will are now simply in “unison”—becoming one in spirit (I Corinthians 6:17). This is how Christian mystics understood the biblical passage from Paul: “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me” (Galatians 2:20).
In Judaism, any type of identity with God is considered impossible—as in much Protestant Christianity, there is a unbridgeable gap between creator and creation. In Islam, Sufis speak of “the annihilation of the self” (fana) and the replacement of the self with the abiding presence (baqa) of Allah as the multiplicity of the phenomenal world becomes visible again after fana. But the self is not annihilated—only the sense of a self not dependent on Allah is. Under one interpretation, Allah is the only reality and thus is the true agent of all of “our” actions—i.e., not only is there only one Allah, there is nothing else but Allah, and so we have no independent reality. However, the more common interpretation among Sufis is that the world is not an illusion and neither is each self; rather, both the world and each self are mirrors reflecting Allah and thus are themselves separate and real. The self is a created entity and thus distinct from Allah even if Allah is “closer than the pulse in one’s own throat,” to quote Husayn al-Hallaj. The orthodox Sufi goal is a loving communion of two realities—Allah and the soul—not a return to “oneness of being,” as with Ibn Arabi. Indeed, for a mystic to claim to be one with Allah or actually to be Allah is a heresy punishable by death, as al-Hallaj found out the hard way for claiming “I am the Real!” (al-Haqq).
In Neoplatonism, the opposite of emanation—absorption—is a type of union, but as adopted by the Western theistic traditions the reality of a separate self remains the orthodox position for mystics.29 For Abrahamic theists, our individual creaturehood always remains a distinct reality, even though all beingness is supplied by God. Thus, for Meister Eckhart “God’s is-ness [isticheit] is my is-ness,” the “ground of the soul” is the same as God’s ground, “all creatures are one beingness” (contra Aquinas), and all creatures are in themselves “pure nothing” since they get their being from God. But he did not deny our creaturehood or a dualism of creator and created (2009: 315, 319–20): we remain created and distinct entities since the soul also has a created nature in addition to its uncreated nature (the same being from the Godhead as God has)—the sense of self is simply “idle” during a depth-mystical experience while God works in the inner, silent, uncreated part of the soul. That is, the experiencer is not aware of his or her self during a mystical experience, but nevertheless it is still there. Things remain ontologically unchanged: the experiencer, by “forgetting” a sense of “I” and all knowledge, now simply knows the transcendent reality that has always been present in us. The correction of our knowledge and the end of our “self-will” and all its accompanying emotions are the only changes.
The situation is the same for South and East Asian traditions. Evelyn Underhill’s classic definition of mysticism as “the art of union with Reality” (1961b: 23) does not apply even there. For Advaita, only Brahman is real, and thus there is nothing else to unite with it. There is no “absorption” of an independent self into “the Absolute.” Nor is the universe the pantheistic body of Brahman. The Upanishads have an emanationist position, but Advaita and Samkhya interpret the situation differently. The popular image of a drop of water merging in the ocean does not fit the metaphysics of these traditions. In fact, one image used by Shankara is the exact opposite: just as the entire sun is reflected in full in each ripple on a pond (e.g., Brahma-sutra-bhashya 3.2.11), so too all of reality (Brahman) is entirely contained in each part of the world.30 There is still the reflected and what does the reflecting, with the latter eventually disappearing when all sentient beings become enlightened, thereby ending the unreal realm of rebirth. Phenomenal objects also remain distinct in this metaphysics: one object is not in another—the sun and the moon are not in us—but the same beingness is in everything. So too, all reality present at any time is present in each “eternal now” transcending the temporal continuum. Nor would Shankara speak of “attaining union or identity” with Brahman: enlightenment is merely coming to realize what one already is. Realizing that “you are that” (Chandogya Upanishad 6.8.7) is realizing what has always been the case: there is nothing for the self (atman) to unite with, nor can it be changed in any way—all we need is a change in our knowledge and awareness. Under Samkhya, each self is a distinct, silent witness that is to be isolated in the state of kaivalya from matter and not united to anything. For Daoists, the Way is already “in” us—we simply need to align ourselves with it. Nor is the extrovertive mindfulness state in Buddhism taken to be a “union” of anything with anything: there are no selves or “real” entities, and thus no things to become united. Nirvana is not an entity in any sense, although many Westerners treat it as an analog to God: it is the state of the person (before and after death) in which the fires of hatred, greed, and delusion have been exhausted—it is not a reality that could be “united” with.
In sum, the way modern nonmystical writers have framed the situation in terms of “mystical union” only introduces problems. There are less-conceptual differentiations in the extrovertive mystical states and no differentiations during the depth-mystical experience, and with the absence of differentiations in the mind there is a sense of unity to our being: we finally realize that all of reality shares one simple and partless beingness or the same ontic source, or that our true transcendent self is isolated from the rest of reality. With a mystical experience we are not “united to God” or another transcendent reality in any ontic way that was not previously always occurring. With enlightenment, only our sense of individual existence and of self-will is abolished. That is, all that changes are our knowledge, our will, and our unenlightened emotions—the experiencer does not “obtain” or “become” anything ontologically new.
We are more aware today of the variety of viable mystical metaphysics, and this should lead to more caution about any one particular metaphysics being accepted as obviously correct. Nothing new about any transcendent reality is being discovered today through the replication of mystical experiences. And since there can be no further original mystical experiential input, there is no way to test claims empirically. Any future changes in mysticism will come about only by reflecting changes in cultural interests. Thus, mystics should accept the central mystery of transcendent realities: what is transcendent cannot be like anything our dualistic mind can conceive.
In such circumstances, mystical doctrines become a shield against the openness of this mystery in order to live in the world. One tradition’s speculation about transcendent realities is no more reasonable or likely to be correct than any other informed guesses. Even mystics are not in a position to supply the answers to metaphysical matters. What conclusions about the general nature of the phenomenal world can we draw on the basis of inner experiences alone? Thus, the mystically minded should avoid delving into theological intricacies. In addition, as Agehananda Bharati said, mystics as theologians are as good or bad as they were before they had their mystical experiences (1976: 59). Only one aspect of reality is illuminated in mystical experiences (beingness), and the experiences do not make mystics experts on all things metaphysical. Nor do mystics have to deal with all metaphysical issues of interest to nonmystical persons. Even an issue considered indispensable in the West—the origin of the universe—has been ignored by traditions that assume the universe is eternal and uncreated but dependent on transcendent realities. The classical Chinese basically ignored the whole issue (although the Daodejing has a little on it, e.g., chap. 42). And many mystics have gotten along perfectly well without addressing the issue. But most importantly, in light of the diversity of mystical metaphysics, metaphysics for the mystically minded should be seen today as inadequate human efforts at understanding, and the mystery behind our efforts should be given more prominence—a mystery that remains greater than any experience. Mystics are not moving toward a consensus in metaphysics, and any consensus would not necessarily be the correct answer. It would still only be speculation. Even if one worldview does happen to be better than others, we are not in a position to prove which one that is.
Thus, mystics should accept that they have no certainty about the nature of any purported transcendent realities. This lack of certainty concerning doctrines may lead to the conviction that inducing experiences alone is important: introvertive experiences can lead to one’s own certainty that there is more to reality than the natural realm, but no further understanding is possible, and so attaining the experiences is all that matters; thus, there is no point in describing the experienced state. But metaphysics does matter as long as mysticism is about more than simply cultivating experiences: mystics need beliefs to align a way of life with how they see reality. Thus, each mystic will have to accept some set of beliefs at least provisionally. However, the fact remains that even if there is an unvarnished contact with transcendent realities in mystical experiences, mystics are not in a position to know the full nature of what was experienced.
Overall, any metaphysics that directs attention away from experiences does not lead to edification in mysticism. Metaphysics in mysticism starts out as a way to remove mental clutter, but there is always the danger that the metaphysics may ossify and become a block to mystical experiences by becoming a new form of mental clutter. Such a hindrance is especially possible when the metaphysics that is adopted is from a tradition whose interests are primarily in nonmystical matters. But dogmatism occurs in Buddhism as well as in theisms such as Christianity. To be true to mysticism, mystics today should keep experiences central and accept any doctrines related to the experiences only tentatively and with caution. Experience should not be replaced with conceptualizations: one can experience transcendent realities without conceptualizing them or when accepting incorrect doctrines.
However, mystics may suffer from the same compulsion as the religious in general to stifle mystery. To accept that we know little of the nature of transcendent realities is not spiritually satisfying. But the thirst for transcendence in religion is not necessarily a thirst for mystery. (As the quip goes, religion is like vaccination: it gives people a small dose of mystery in order to avoid any bigger attack.) Theology, in particular, squelches mystery. As paradoxical as it may seem, in the words of David Burrell, the “quintessential theological task” is “to know the unknowable God” (1986: 2). If William Alston is correct, contemporary Anglo-American philosophers of religion exhibit considerable confidence in their ability to determine what God likes and his basic attributes, purposes, plans, values, and so on, and to determine these in some detail (2005: 99). Theologians will no doubt continue to pontificate on the “mind of God.” And theologians have become quite ingenious in dealing with the problems that basic doctrines generate—e.g., God is both timeless (i.e., existing outside of time) and temporal (existing eternally throughout time and so knowing all temporal matters); or God voluntarily limits his omniscience and omnipotence to permit our free will; or God voluntarily limits his being to permit room for creation; or the Godhead is not nonpersonal but “transpersonal”—but all of this must be deemed nonmystical speculation.
Thereby, the sense that we understand is substituted for the reality of mystery. The analytical function of the mind is substituted for receptive stillness, and words are substituted for silence. Theological constructs become the center of attention, not the experiences that would keep theological construction tied to a transcendent reality. Mystical experiences in the end have not slowed theological speculations. Mystics may remain humble before the mystery of transcendent realities, but tentativeness can be especially difficult when one believes that one has been in contact with the supreme reality. Add to this the religious authority of their tradition that mystics routinely accept: revelations answer some mysteries, and a mystic may well conclude that his or her tradition has the final answers to religious mysteries. This in turn can also easily lead to intolerance of other traditions’ answers.
Thus, the mystics’ bedrock religious commitments can lead to imposing some closure on the mystery of transcendent realities. In addition, due to the power of their experiences, it is difficult for mystics not to ask more about what they have experienced, or to maintain openness and a sense of mystery when they think they have been in contact with the ultimate reality, or to maintain a skeptical stance and renounce all substantive transcendent beliefs and be silent. Indeed, the writings of classical mystics indicate that they were not at all skeptical: they typically believed that their particular system is correct or at least the least inaccurate, and that anyone having a mystical experience would confirm these beliefs.
But again, the conflicting claims of the different mystical ways of life indicate that mystics, despite their experiences, are still not in a position to comprehend the fundamental nature of what they experience. Thus, the mystery of a transcendent reality remains even for mystics who are aware of such a reality. Paradoxically, here is a case of something that is “bright and dazzling” to the mystics and yet is equally deep and mysterious. In the end, mystics may have a broader base of experiences from which to judge what is real, but they know very little about the nature of any transcendent reality, even if these experiences are genuine.
In sum, the search for understanding easily replaces the experiential orientation of mysticism. There is a very strong urge to supply an answer and not remain agnostic. Even the mystically minded are liable to end up with the philosopher’s disease of demanding a “because” for every “why” question, even when we are not in a position to supply one. And theologians can get caught up in epicycles of their own constructs generating new intellectual mysteries. Mystics too can fall prey to this problem: over time, doctrines and explanations can become as central to mystical traditions within different religions as to nonmystical religiosity. Affirmative theology can push out the via negativa, and doctrines can eradicate any experiential urge.