Toward an Empirical Mysticism
When a traveler returns from a far-off land, we expect to hear fantastic tales. “What was it like?” we eagerly inquire. When we receive a recounting, we may be skeptical of any exotic elements — after all, embellishment is a traveler’s best friend. As more sojourners report back, however, we begin to trust their accounts if they share common details. Although we may have never spied these foreign shores ourselves, we come to trust these accounts and believe that such a place exists as described.
We do much the same for the physical world, as reported by the sense-extensions i.e., microscopes, particle accelerators, autopsies, etc. Most of us have never seen DNA under a microscope, nor observed the behavior of the Higgs Boson particle with our own eyes. But many others have and agree on the findings. We assume, based on the concurrence of the witnesses, that the described characteristics must be accurate. We accept the existence of DNA and subatomic particles.
I wonder, however, why we are so disinclined to extend the same courtesy to reports of spiritual and mystical lands? Saints, sages, yogis, those who have had near-death experiences, and psychonauts all claim to have visited the far-off shores of consciousness in various ways. When they report back their stories share numerous common threads. Yet, we dismiss such reporting as “not real” and “in their head”. We accept empiricism of the physical world, but not the world of the interior. Why?
It may be objected that, while I have never been to China and only form a mental picture of its characteristics based on the accounts of others I could, if I wished, go to China and verify for myself. I could observe DNA under a microscope or observe quantum particles in a lab. I trust, but I may also verify if I wish. We cannot, however, do this for matters of the spirit and the interior, we are told. These are the sole property of the individual subject.
American philosopher Ken Wilber replies to this objection in his work Eye to Eye, arguing that yogis and mystics in fact do offer a concrete method for verifying the states they describe. “This is what I have seen, and this (yoga, meditation, psychedelic drugs) is the method for arriving at the identical state of consciousness. Go and verify, if you wish.” But we do not wish to verify.
Wilber’s salient point is that the means of verification exist, and if those means are offered, we cannot dismiss the accounts out of hand. This opens the possibility, it seems, of there being an empirical science of mystical experience and, by extension, of the spiritual “objects” which are perceived in the course of these experiences.
This science would deal with the common threads among the accounts of all transcendent encounters. In order to decide what to include, we should consider what qualifies as a mystical experience, as by their nature they are troublesome to define.
Another American, philosopher William James, offered a list of fundamental characteristics of any transcendent experience. They seem a good place to start. James tells us that any mystical experience is:
-Ineffable: it “defies explanation, and no adequate report of its content can be given in words.”
-Noetic: “insight into depths of truth unplumbed by the discursive intellect.” I.E., transrational
-Transient: the experience is temporary, but its effects and insights may persist.
-Passivity: most experiencers report an experience as “happening to” them, rather than being sought.
These are an excellent starting point, as they firmly situate the mystical outside of the bounds of normal experience. They are indescribable happenings which impart lasting insight for a brief duration — the opposite of what we consider “day-to-day” occurrences, which are easily described, mundane, and impart nothing of metaphysical significance.
Beyond the above, I think we should add a few more characteristics. Firstly, “ego death”. In other words, the sense that one’s personal ego has either been extinguished as an independent entity or has merged with the infinite, or with the world itself. The boundary between self and external reality vanishes.
Further, as a consequence of this “non-dual” manner of perceiving reality, an understanding and acceptance of paradox arises. The principle of noncontradiction ceases to apply; one sees the possibility that something can both be and not be at the same time and in the same respect. Reality is both light and darkness, good and evil, simultaneously formless and pure Form.
Finally, the experiencer undergoes a sense of profound gratitude, accompanied by an awareness of the sacredness of all life. This gratitude is often focused not on worldly attainments, but rather gives thanks for the opportunity to observe reality in this manner.
Having provisionally established our common threads, it may here be objected that the forms that such experiences take are wildly variable, and the specifics of these brushes with the eternal are entirely unique to the individual. An American psychonaut on an LSD trip will perceive a highly different set of images than might an elderly woman undergoing a near death experience. One may observe infinite and ever-changing mandalic patterns, while the other may see the kindly figure of a 1950’s Jesus illustration beckoning to her from the light.
Even among the members of these demographics, no two will report the exact same experience — or at least we have no way of verifying how closely they match up. This is where the objections of “pure subjectivity” and “chemical reactions in the brain” come into play. This “data” has nothing in common with the reliable and regular appearance of bacteria under a microscope. Any two observers will see the same thing when they look through the viewfinder. No two psychonauts will agree completely. In fact, what they see will often be a projection of themselves and their personal beliefs and traditions.
What does this do for our assertion of the value of such experiences? Surely there cannot be an empirical science of subjective images, the existence of which seems restricted to the third eye of the beholder?
Doubtless, the images are subjective and correspond to the inner context of the subject. It is when we equate the images and visions with the experience itself that we hit this roadblock. That is, what is “seen” may correspond to the individual, but the reality of which these images are personal portraits remains constant. The mind and psyche of the individual bring a framework to the table through which the absolute is refracted to the proper wavelength for the third eye which perceives them. These images only point the voyager to the transcendent which, by its nature, cannot be seen directly. This is where the quality of ineffability enters: though images are present, it is the indescribable feelings of oneness and unity that divide a mystical encounter from a simple hallucination.
Consider multiple travelers returning from a far-off land. Each embarks on their journey already possessing a well-aged set of preconceptions, cultural baggage, intelligence, etc. Each is in full possession of their senses. They will return with a distinct interpretation of what they have seen, and it will be filtered through the lens of their mental and psychological framework.
Thus, one might return and, while reporting the same concrete details of China in terms of geography, government structure, language, etc. will detail the startlingly oppressive methods with which the Chinese government manages its people. Another traveler might return and describe the same details of language and social structure, and yet be thoroughly impressed with the efficacy of many collective solutions (I once met a young woman who considered the Chinese waste-management system to be so efficient and environmentally friendly that she deemed the tradeoffs in terms of censorship and speech restrictions to be a fair bargain). Would we then say that these two sojourners did not visit the same country due to differing interpretations? No. Beneath the stories we see the same underlying. The more reports we hear, the more clearly we can ascertain what is common beneath the surface.
In the same manner, the transcendent experience will take the form of images that correspond to the cultural and consciousness-level of the individual. Just as in Plato’s famous allegory of the cave, we must turn from the images to the fundamental realities they represent. The fact that there exist common subjects, and methods of accessing them, implies that there could be an inductive science of the transcendent.
I wonder then if we have an obligation to attempt this science, and to take these reports seriously. After all, how can we maintain our intellectual integrity and turn an intentionally blind eye to an entire realm of human experience? There is indeed a deeply subjective element to such data, but there is an objective component as well. We need to accept the possibility that such objective transcendental data may be both acquired and analyzed if we only use the correct methods to obtain it. The mode of the physical sciences and the approach of the pure intellectual sciences, i.e., mathematics and geometry, may not suffice. But we are offered methods: meditation, yoga, contemplative prayer, psychedelics, fasting, etc. The reports are there, like it or not. Can we truly afford to ignore them?
It strikes me that it is perhaps fear of the absolute that is to blame for our relegation of such concerns to the shadows. After all, were we to admit the possibility that there exist realms of being beyond our own, and that our favored post-Enlightenment techniques may not be the exclusive avenues to truth, then we might have to admit that the untrammeled enjoyment of the temporal pleasures of the limited, biological life is not the end point. Indeed, we may have obligations and responsibilities, not least of which would be to cultivate a lifework which stands as a bridge between our finite existence and the absolute. We might even have to make space in the public sphere to discuss such issues — the ultimate taboos.
No one wishes to reflect on the insufficiency of biological life and the need to connect to the eternal. We wish to consider our temporal happiness as sufficient, and perhaps have death quickly catch us from behind unawares. The inborn yearning for the infinite, which we all share, is a destabilizing force that must be repressed, a la Freud. We are existentially gun shy.
What do we have to lose by conquering this fear, I ask? It is worth considering the Vedic parable below. It is this position in which I believe we find ourselves at the moment, and this fate which I believe awaits mankind should we undertake our final exploration.
“Imagine that you are in a completely dark room. You’ve been told that in this room lives a very large snake. As you sit in the room, you can see its silhouette and you feel great fear as you contemplate the potential for it to bite you at any moment. But one day there is a flash of light which illuminates the room and you see that what looked like a snake was, in reality, a rope. Although the flash of light was momentary, it gave you a glimpse of the truth. All of a sudden your long-held fear vanished entirely, and your experience of the room was never the same ever again.”
Let us illuminate the room.
