Religion, philosophy and me (pt 3): mysticism and dogma

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I wrote this for an Indian journal, Gurukulam, many years ago. I decided to include it here because it carries on the theme I was talking about in the previous part.

From human history's beginning, the activities and teachings of certain people have been recorded for posterity, usually by disciples and adherents who wish to ensure that the words of the teacher will not pass into oblivion.

  

  The recording of this wisdom has the potential both for good and for harm. The positive value of the teachings as recorded is that they usually contain the core or essence of truth; they give a guide to humanity for living in harmony with one's self and one's fellow creatures, and engender a sense of responsibility towards one's descendants.

 

  The potential for harm arises when the words of the teachers, or their recorded actions, are misinterpreted by their followers, or when their adherents believe that their particular source of inspiration is the sole reservoir of truth.

 

  In casting about for an introduction to this theme, I was particularly struck by a paragraph of Nitya's column in the second edition of Gurukulam, which brought this problem into focus. Speaking of his record of Narayana Guru's guidance, he gave this piece of advice:

 

  Everything Guru said was not doctrine. There are pleasantries given in a light‑hearted mood. My only request to the reader is not to hang on the literal sense of whatever comes into this column, but to take it as a general suggestion to look into a certain direction of mystical profundity and be benefited by the grace of the Guru which goes with the words he spoke for the welfare of mankind.

 

  It seems to me that these words of caution, even though the context is different, could very well be applied to the record of the teachings of other great men and women, such as the Buddha, Lao Tzu, Jesus and Muhammad. All of these, and a host of lesser known illuminates, possessed that faculty of mystical insight, which cannot be transmitted literally.

 

  Conflicts between their followers have arisen when the attempt to interpret mystical awareness becomes doctrine; where that which is unexplainable in finite terms becomes limited by fixed categories which respond to sensory‑intellectual consciousness alone.

 

  There are many examples in history of how this confusion has caused great schisms in organised religion, and where dogmatism has imposed much suffering upon mankind. The Sufis, for example, who followed an esoteric interpretation of the Qur'an (Koran), were persecuted by Islamic orthodoxy throughout history. Christian mystics such as St Teresa of Avila and St John of the Cross were regarded by the orthodoxy of their day as dangerous eccentrics — if not heretics. The mysticism of Tantrism and Taoism degenerated into practices unworthy of the brilliance of the original mystical insight.

 

  But where the orthodox of one religion confronted the orthodox of another, the conflict has been even more terrible. Jews, Christians, Muslims, Hindus and Sikhs have all committed crimes against humanity in the name of their religion.

 

  If we look at the teachings of the Bible, the Koran, the Gita, or the Tao te Ching as the products of mystical insight, then the problems of interpretation diminish substantially. Jesus taught love, compassion and charity towards others as the way to serve God. But did not Muhammad also enjoin these practices? Are they not, among others of course, the ethical principles enshrined in the Dhammapada, or the Gita, or the Tao te Ching?

 

  Certainly, each source expresses them in its own way, in accordance with the values and needs of the society from which it came. Is it not a dangerous practice to assume that the precise form they took at the time (if, indeed, their form was ever precise) applies equally to other societies and other times? It is fair to assume that the translations upon which the present‑day disciple so often depends are exactly what the original teacher intended? Or that, even if they are exact, they were always meant to be taken literally?

 

  Too much is left to the frailty and imperfect minds of the many through whom the teacher's words have passed. The result all too often is that the interpretations of the words of the teacher are coded like symbols carved into prayer wheels to be turned five times a day. The wisdom of the teacher must live in the present and not be the mummified remains paraded mercilessly before an uncomprehending gallery of bored spectators.

 

  It is the quality of mystical insight in the teachings of the sages above all that is worthy of preservation. Much of the remainder is but the trappings of faith.

 

  Mysticism is an experience of reality unfettered by words or symbols. It transcends our everyday consciousness but is not totally divorced from it; indeed, in the extroverted form, the senses and the intellect are the agencies of mystical awareness.

 

  In the introverted form, the sensory‑intellectual consciousness loses its immediacy. Yet both forms of experience are of the same essence. Mystical awareness is a state of bliss beyond the capacity of the experiencer to conceptualise. It is total consciousness in which the self disappears in the totality of all things.

 

  The 'problem' arises when the mystics attempts to explain the experience and to relate it to how one should conduct one's mundane existence. To do so, they have to use words and symbols. They have to conceptualise. They have to rely upon a present memory of that past experience, which is quite a different thing to the actual experience of mystical consciousness.

 

  In their description, they are not only bound by limited forms of expression, but interpret experience according to their own past and preconceptions.

 

  To the Christian, the state of mystical awareness is equated to the presence of God. To the Buddhist, it is an experience of Nirvana. To the Taoist, it is to be in accordance with the Tao, and to the Hindu, it may be described in terms of Brahman, the ultimate reality.

 

  And yet the experience is not limited to the 'religious' person alone. Arthur Koestler, in The Invisible Writing, describes a great power and clarity how he, an avowed atheist, experienced a state of mystical awareness during the time of his imprisonment during the Spanish Civil War, an experience which dramatically affected the course of his subsequent life.

 

  His description is not that of a 'religious' experience as it is normally understood but it was of the same essence. Several modern scientists, too, particularly nuclear physicists, have become aware through their study of matter, energy, time and space just how deceptive to the senses and the intellect the reality of the universe is. But how explainable is this state of total consciousness to ordinary people? How applicable is it to everyday life?

 

  The best known teachers, and many who are less well known, all realised the dangers inherent in trying to pass on the knowledge of what they had discovered. The Upanishadic sages hid themselves in the forest, where all but the most devoted of disciples had no contact with them. The Buddha was almost overwhelmed by the realisation of how nearly impossible was the task of communicating what he had discovered. Lao Tzu, if we can believe the story, was persuaded only at the last moment to attempt an explanation, and the beautiful verses of the Tao te Ching were the result. Confucius refused to speak of afterlife, believing that any such discussion would only lead to confusion.

 

  Jesus, the Buddha, Lao Tzu and the Sufis spoke in parables, which were designed simply to point the way. The koan of the Zen masters was the ultimate parable, explainable only in intuitively grasped terms. All realised that the best way to point the searcher in the direction of ultimate truth was to create a set of conditions in which truth might become apparent to the still and open mind.

 

  They offered a discipline rather than a recipe. And that discipline was expressed in terms that suited their time and environment. Whether it was in the various forms of yoga, or meditation, or prayer, it accorded with the capacity and predisposition of the people who came to the teachers for guidance.

 

  It is in this light that the teachings of the mystics ought to be viewed. To place too much emphasis on the written word is likely to lead to dogmatism and confusion. The teachers of the paths of self‑awareness try to point us in the right direction. Some have greater capacity than others to teach, just as some have greater receptivity to the teachings than others. 'To a few, a mere sign is enough.'

 

  To most of us, the discipline still has to be absorbed, so that the conditions for discovering true awareness can be created. To confuse the path with the goal is illusion. All we can do is to seek the guidance of those who can set us on the path, and to develop our awareness from there.

 

  If this at least is understood, then the conflict and jealousy between religions and sects disappears. Sadly, we’re only on the first faltering step of that journey - if anyone is prepared to take the step at all. Not too many are.

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