Tags
Buddhaghosa, Cloud of Unknowing, early writings, mystical experience, Ninian Smart, perennialism, phenomenology, Robert M. Gimello, Robert Sharf
This week’s post is a slightly abridged version of a paper I wrote eleven years ago for Robert Gimello’s class on Buddhist meditation traditions. I’m posting it now for a couple of reasons: because I still enjoy its punchy rhetoric, because it’s a useful corrective to Wilberian and similar perspectives that assume “religion” is fundamentally about mystical experience, and because I think it’s likely to be relevant to posts I want to make in the months ahead. I also still agree with it to at least some extent, but I am not entirely sure what that extent is, and that is something I hope to be sorting through.
In his chapter “What would Buddhaghosa have made of the Cloud of Unknowing?”1, Ninian Smart argues that “there are phenomenological similarities between the differing practices despite the contrast in language and style between Buddhaghosa and the author of the anonymous 14th-century Christian text The Cloud of Unknowing.” Although Smart never defines “phenomenological”, I believe from the context of the article that he uses the term to refer to similarities of experience, and specifically mystical experience.
To what extent does Smart’s chapter succeed in its project? Robert Sharf2 notes that in reading texts about mystical experience, we need to keep in mind the distinction between descriptive and prescriptive texts: does the text claim to describe the author’s own experience, or merely prescribe the experience one is supposed to have? For example, Sharf notes pointedly that Buddhaghosa himself never claims to have had any sort of “personal inspiration or meditative insight.” Furthermore, Buddhaghosa claims that the exposition of his Visudhimagga relies “on the teaching of the dwellers in the Great Monastery…”, not on personal experience. (239)
Nowhere do Smart’s quotations from the Cloud of Unknowing (or, for that matter, from the Visudhimagga) ever indicate that the text’s author has actually had the experiences in question. Smart agrees that the character of the Cloud is at least in part prescriptive: “the author [of the Cloud] urges readers to do something active about the various objects of their attention.” (107, emphasis added)
But is the Cloud descriptive as well? Smart generally tiptoes around this issue. On many occasions he uses weak language that strongly suggests the Cloud author had the described experience, without actually coming out and saying as much. For example, he says “The notion that the mystic must blot out the attributes of God leads him to some passages that seem antidogmatic, as if he were heretical…. The author of the Cloud is a devout and orthodox Christian, but even from within the tradition there are forces that make a mystic go beyond doctrines.” (112) Smart does not explain this enigmatic comment. What “forces” is Smart talking about? All that Smart says by saying “there are forces” is that this antidogmatism has causes. Sharf would surely agree to such a limited statement: there are social, political, psychopathological, historical “forces” at work in the rejection of doctrine. But Smart does not specify any such forces. I think Smart believes that the forces are specifically mystical, or experiential — but recognizes that he has insufficient ground on which to say such a thing, and therefore must leave it unsaid.
I do not have space to discuss Smart’s many other uses of equivocal language that is suggestive of a mystical experience taking place without openly stating it. But he does, I think, believe that the Cloud author did have such an experience. There is one — as far as I can tell, it is the only one — place in Smart’s entire article where he says openly that the author of the Cloud actually had a mystical experience: “It may be that the author of the Cloud is right to diagnose his experience in the cloud of unknowing as being a kind of contact and ultimately oneness with God.” (117; emphasis added) Even here, only the possessive pronoun makes it clear that Smart believes this experience actually happened. If the sentence read “the experience” instead of “his experience”, it would be more in character with the rest of Smart’s piece.
Why is Smart so reluctant to say the experience happened, if he believes that it did? I think that he wants to make the claim that Buddhaghosa and the Cloud author had the experiences he describes. But, I think, not only does he know he could never verify such a claim (who knows what went on inside the authors’ heads?), he also knows that Buddhaghosa never actually claims to have had the experiences he describes. (I suspect the same is true of the Cloud author, since Smart never gives us any quotes that say otherwise.) So he is forced to tiptoe around the edges of the claim. The point where he actually says the Cloud author had a mystical experience seems more like a Freudian slip than anything else.
Why would he want to claim the experiences happened? I think that without such a claim, establishing similarities in the described experiences is far less important. Similarities in actual experience lead us to believe that perhaps there is something perennial in human nature, or in the reality of the universe, that is conducive to such an experience across cultural boundaries. Similarities in textual prescription, if they do not reflect actual experiences, are mere curiosities, of mostly antiquarian interest.
Likewise, I think that Smart wants to state that the similarities of experience he finds are deeply meaningful, but that he cannot say that either (if he wants to be taken seriously, that is). Again his language is very careful: “at least the possibility of the congruence of the two experiences exists” (111); “Psychologically or phenomenologically, it could be that the purification of consciousness (Buddhist) is equivalent to the attainment of nakedness of being (the Cloud).” (110; emphases added)
What phenomenological similarities does he find? The most important, I think, is that the cloud of forgetting is “the systematic effort to blot out sense perception, memories, and imaginings of the world of our sensory environment and of corresponding inner states.” (108) This is comparable, he thinks, to the Buddhist jhānas, which also involve a process of “blotting out” or of forgetting. Robert Gimello in “Mysticism and Meditation”3, I think, could agree with this depiction of similarity. His description of the jhānas fits Smart’s account, as various mental objects and mental states are successively dispensed with. The response to these claims of Smart’s, implicit in Gimello’s articles, is not “You’re wrong”, but “So what?” The point of Buddhist dispensing with mental states is something quite different from the point of the cloud of forgetting; each of these are tied up with particular beliefs. The same, I think, applies to the other similarities Smart finds in the experience, such as the image of going outside time.
Now Smart affirms the importance of beliefs and values in each tradition. His point is to show the existence of something similar in experience behind the difference of beliefs. He uses the notion of “ramified” language: “A highly ramified description is one in which a number of propositions are presupposed as true, lying well outside what could be revealed by the experience itself.” (118-9) “I saw a yellow patch” is less ramified, “I saw a black cassock” more so. The latter requires knowledge of what a cassock is and its function; it adds layers of interpretation to the bare experience of yellow in the former. Smart thinks that Buddhaghosa would recognize the Cloud experience as similar to the jhānas at a less ramified level, underneath the highly ramified language of God.
But what is the significance of the less ramified description? For Gimello in “Mysticism in its contexts”4, beliefs are central to, and constitutive of, mystical experience. Subtract the beliefs from the experience, and one is left with “a pattern of psychosomatic or neural impulse signifying nothing.” (62) I think that this applies generally to less ramified language. Consider Smart’s (117) distinction between seeing a patch of red and seeing a patch of bougainvillea. The less-ramified description, “I see a patch of red”, is useless without some more ramified interpretation. If we do not know whether the red thing we see is bougainvillea, a barn or a BMW, its redness really doesn’t matter. The experience of seeing red is simply a neural impulse that signifies nothing.
Smart acknowledges that the Cloud author sees the experience he describes as being an experience of God. Smart adds: “Whether he is right or wrong depends on a much wider set of conditions than can be drawn from the mystical experience itself, but it is a wider set that could be put on one side by Buddhaghosa.” (117) I think Smart is right in that Buddhaghosa could put the language of God on one side in order to compare “the experience itself”. The question is, why would he want to?
My point is as follows. What Smart would like to establish is that Buddhaghosa and the Cloud of Unknowing author had essentially the same experience, even though they were in different contexts. This would be an impressive and significant point that goes some way to demonstrating the existence of a philosophia perennis or a common mystical core among religions. But all that Smart actually does demonstrate is that the Visuddhimagga and the Cloud contain descriptions of an experience which neither author necessarily had, and which is similar only at a level that is inessential and insignificant to the experience. Smart has succeeded at the very modest task he set himself at the beginning of his chapter: to establish “that there are phenomenological similarities between the differing practices despite the contrast in language and style between Buddhaghosa and the author of the Cloud of Unknowing.” But we might well ask: who cares?
1 Smart, Ninian. 1992. “What would Buddhaghosa have made of The Cloud of Unknowing?” Ch. 4 in Steven Katz (ed.) Mysticism and Language. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. 103-12.
2Sharf, Robert H. 1995. “Buddhist modernism and the rhetoric of meditative experience.” Numen 42: 228-83.
3Gimello, Robert M. 1978. “Mysticism and meditation.” In Steven Katz (ed.) Mysticism and Philosophical Analysis. London: Sheldon Press. 170-99.
4Gimello, Robert M. 1983. “Mysticism in its contexts.” In Steven Katz (ed.) Mysticism and Religious Traditions. New York: Oxford University Press. 61-88.
JimWilton said:
It is conventional for Buddhist teachers either not to claim any particular spiritual attainment or to actively assert that they are nothing special. The tradition can be traced back to Shakyamuni Buddha — who responded to Mara’s invitation to demonstrate his realization not with an explanation of his achievement but with the earth touching mudra.
The convention also has to do, I think, with a more subtle point about the nature of spiritual achievement. In other words, anything that is an experience is by definition transient. As the Buddhist texts say, “intellectual understanding is like a patch that will fall off and spiritual experience is like a mist that will burn off in the sun”. Clinging to spiritual experience, it is already lost. The process is like letting muddy water settle — if you get excited about the growing clarity of the water and shake the jar, it tends to be counterproductive.
I wouldn’t be surprised if mystical writers in the Christian tradition had a similar approach — owning their sins and attributing any spiritual experiences to grace.
I think we have to assume that each of these writers is speaking from personal experience in the context of his tradition.
Amod Lele said:
No, I think we have to not assume that claim, especially when the teachers’ own words specifically tell us it’s false. The prohibition on speaking of one’s experience is very convenient for those who would like to attribute mystical experiences to teachers who didn’t actually have them, but that doesn’t mean they did have them.
I’m not trying to denigrate that prohibition, because I think the potential spiritual benefits that you mention of it are real. But a side effect of it is that it becomes almost impossible to ascertain that a teacher really did have a given experience, and that makes it very problematic to claim that experiences are of central importance to a tradition.
elisa freschi said:
“Similarities in textual prescription, if they do not reflect actual experiences, are mere curiosities, of mostly antiquarian interest.”
Not necessarily, since one could easily imagine that prescriptions derive from the memory of earlier descriptions. For instance, everyone writing about mystical experiences of the Virgin Mary will predict that she will be dressed in such and such a way, based on the descriptions of the mystics who have (last) seen her.
Amod Lele said:
I think that just deflects the question. The sort of prescriptions you mention do reflect actual experiences, just the experiences of people different from the prescribers.
Thill said:
1. If mystical experience pertains to the supernatural, then, given that beliefs concerning the supernatural are essential to religions, it follows that mystical experience is of fundamental importance to religions.
This implies that the history of mysticism, the account of the mystical experiences of the founders and other central figures, in these traditions is vitally important to an adequate understanding of the traditions.
(Of course, all this does NOT imply that one must also accept that mystical experiences are “veridical” in nature.)
2. The teachings of the founders of many religions, and even their important sects, rest on an appeal to mystical experience(s), experience(s) of something supernatural, e.g., Jesus, Buddha, Lao-Tzu, Confucius, Mohammed, Mahavira, Guru Nanak, Kabir, and on and on.
Even Confucianism accords a central role to rituals, e.g., ritual worship based on beliefs pertaining to the supernatural, and countenances “the mandate of Heaven” or the supernatural cosmic order which determines terrestrial events.
Hence, the denial of the importance of mystical experience(s), the means of contact with and knowledge of the supernatural, in understanding religious traditions is at odds with the mass of available evidence on its role in these traditions.
3. I suppose that the teachings of the founders and other central figures in religious traditions, the texts embodying such teachings, have a central role in understanding those religious traditions.
Now, what is the highest end according to these teachings?
They include Moksha, Nirvana (the attainment of which is facilitated by progressive jhānas) Satori, “discovering the way”, Samadhi (savikalpa or nirvikalpa or bhava samadhi), Siddhi, “unitive experience”, attainment of the kingdom of heaven (bearing in mind that “the kingdom of heaven is within you”)etc.
These ends cannot be understood without some reference to the supernatural and mystical experiences which are OF the supernatural.
4. What are the criteria of sameness of experience? The issue of whether two or more descriptions pertain to or express “the same mystical experience” cannot be meaningfully addressed without recourse to plausible criteria of sameness of experience.
Thill said:
Lest my inclusion of Confucius in the context of my emphasis on the essential role of supernaturalism and mystical experience in religious traditions raise eyebrows:
It is a myth that Confucius eschewed any reference to the supernatural.
Confucius invokes the supernatural concept of Heaven (Tian, 天) on many occasions. On one occasion, he declared that “At fifty, I knew the decrees of Heaven.” (Analects (II, iv, tr. Legge 1893:146) It is plausible to hold that he is talking about a mystical experience or realization here since “Heaven” refers to a supernatural order.
In fact, it is also plausible to hold that in his view virtuous conduct accords with the mandates or decrees of Heaven and unrighteous conduct is contrary to the mandates or decrees of Heaven.
This would imply that the moral is intimately related to the supernatural in his outlook.
Confucius’ Declarations on “Heaven”:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tian
The concept of Heaven (Tian, 天) is found pervasively in Confucianism. Confucius had an intimate trust in Heaven and believed that Heaven overrules human efforts, that he was carrying out the will of Heaven, and so Heaven will not allow its servant, Confucius, to be killed until his work is done. Many attributes of Heaven were delineated in his Analects.
Confucius honored Heaven as the supreme source of goodness:
The Master said, “Great indeed was Yao as a sovereign! How majestic was he! It is only Heaven that is grand, and only Yao corresponded to it. How vast was his virtue! The people could find no name for it. How majestic was he in the works which he accomplished! How glorious in the elegant regulations which he instituted!” (VIII, xix, tr. Legge 1893:214)
Confucius felt himself personally dependent upon Heaven (VI, xxviii, tr. Legge 1893:193): “Wherein I have done improperly, may Heaven reject me! may Heaven reject me!”
Confucius believed that Heaven cannot be deceived:
The Master being very ill, Zi Lu wished the disciples to act as ministers to him. During a remission of his illness, he said, “Long has the conduct of You been deceitful! By pretending to have ministers when I have them not, whom should I impose upon? Should I impose upon Heaven? Moreover, than that I should die in the hands of ministers, is it not better that I should die in the hands of you, my disciples? And though I may not get a great burial, shall I die upon the road?” (IX, xi, tr. Legge 1893:220-221)
Confucius believed that Heaven gives people tasks to perform to teach them of virtues and morality:
The Master said, “At fifteen, I had my mind bent on learning. At thirty, I stood firm. At forty, I had no doubts. At fifty, I knew the decrees of Heaven. At sixty, my ear was an obedient organ for the reception of truth. At seventy, I could follow what my heart desired, without transgressing what was right.” (II, iv, tr. Legge 1893:146)
He believed that Heaven knew what he was doing and approved of him, even though none of the rulers on earth might want him as a guide:
The Master said, “Alas! there is no one that knows me.” Zi Gong said, “What do you mean by thus saying – that no one knows you?” The Master replied, “I do not murmur against Heaven. I do not grumble against men. My studies lie low, and my penetration rises high. But there is Heaven – that knows me!” (XIV, xxxv, tr. Legge 1893:288-9)
Perhaps the most remarkable saying, recorded twice, is one in which Confucius expresses complete trust in the overruling providence of Heaven:
The Master was put in fear in Kuang. He said, “After the death of King Wen, was not the cause of truth lodged here in me? If Heaven had wished to let this cause of truth perish, then I, a future mortal, should not have got such a relation to that cause. While Heaven does not let the cause of truth perish, what can the people of Kuang do to me?” (IX, v and VII, xxii, tr. Legge 1893:217-8)