Since the time of the classical Greeks, it has generally been thought in the West that there are no longer sages to be found, that sage-hood belongs to a bygone era, a mythic era represented by the age of the so called "seven sages". In the classical period, the image of the "sage" comes to be replaced by the figure of Socrates. Rather than being a sage (sophos), one in full possession of wisdom (sophia), Socrates is presented as a mere "lover of wisdom".

There is combined in Socrates two moments: that of wisdom/knowledge and that of folly/ignorance. This is expressed in the somewhat paradoxical formulation that Socrates only knows that he does not know. Here, the "unknowing" of Socrates is itself an expression of a form of "wisdom". It corresponds to the Greek virtue of "sophrosyne", which is translated variously as "practical wisdom", "prudence", or "temperance". According to one interpretation, sophrosyne is the ideal that is meant to be conveyed by the maxim engraved at the oracle of Delphi: "know thyself". According to this interpretation, the meaning of this canon is: know that you are not a god. In contrast to sophrosyne, prudent awareness of one's limitations, the claim of sophia comes, for the ancients, to be associated with a certain vice, that of hubris. To some extent, it is in this context that the classical Greeks spoke of the "sophists", those who claimed knowledge, though as a merely descriptive epithet, "sophist" also referred to anyone with a particular "expertise" in some field.

The virtue of "temperance" came to be expressed in a variety of ways in both the pagan and non-pagan traditions. In the Christian tradition it is one pole in the tension between the complementary teachings that we are both made in the image of God and at the same time are imperfect sinners. In the mystical tradition, the virtue of prudence appears as the ideal of "agnosia", the mystical "unknowing", which, according to some interpretations, stands as a kind of corrective to the "gnosis" of the Gnostics. Nicholas of Cusa writes in his De Docta Ignorantio, "We desire to know that we do not know." In a similar way, Kierkegaard will much later, "It is the duty of human understanding to understand that there are things it cannot understand."

In the classical works, Socrates appears as a kind of "liminal" character. He straddles two worlds, as it were. In the Symposium, he is likened to Eros. Eros is described as an intermediate or "daemonic" being, in that he is neither a god nor merely mortal. Socrates is presented in an analogous manner. He is not a sage, is not an actual incarnation of transcendent wisdom, but at the same time, as a lover of wisdom, he partakes of the divine wisdom to a degree. Eros, we are told, is a kind of "lack", a desiring for something missing. Similarly, the lover of wisdom represents a kind of "lack" of something, here full wisdom.

For the ancients, both Greek and Roman, the practical situation for the lover of wisdom was paradoxical. He was conscious that divine sophia could not be fully embraced, but at the same time he could not relinquish the pursuit of what he loved. Quintillian echoes this sentiment of the ancients: "We too must strive after that which is highest, as the ancients did. Even though they believed that no sage could be found, they continued to teach the precepts of wisdom."

The paradigmatic portrayal of the "figure" of Socrates is perhaps the Platonic dialogues, though Xenophon's and Diogenes' accounts are also important. In the so called "Socratic" Dialogues, Socrates sets out in search of someone who is truly wise, in search of a sage. He finds a number of people who think they are wise, but no sages. In these Dialogues, Socrates assumes a number of guises. He partakes of the Greek ideals of rational discourse and intellectual "combat", but "rationalism" is not his teaching, as the moderns think. His "teaching", in fact, is rather odd. He seems to have no teaching at all and appears only to engage in enquiry. Aristotle notes, "Socrates used to ask questions and not answer them, for he used to confess that he did not know". At the same time Socrates refused to be called a master of wisdom. Epictetus says of him, "When people used to come and see him, they asked him to introduce them to lovers of wisdom; he readily complied, and at the same time willingly accepted to pass unnoticed himself." Pierre Hadot writes, "Since he had nothing to say, and no thesis to defend, all Socrates could do is ask questions, even though he himself refused to answer them." One is reminded here of Nagarjuna's paradoxical utterance in his Vigrahavyavatani: "I have no thesis (pratijna) to defend".

When we look at the "Socratic" Dialogues with this interpretive key, and consider them as literary works, we can see that "Socrates" is not so much interested in teaching a "theory of ideas", or what the "real" definition of justice is. He is actually only interested in his interlocutors. In the Apology he confesses that it has, all along, only ever been about teaching what each of his interlocutors "is". In the Dialogues, the enquiry winds about, comes to an impasse, Socrates takes it over, and then it all comes to a puzzling end, at which point both we and the interlocutor are not clear as to what it is we have learnt. But the pattern is always this: Socrates questions someone who thinks they know what they are talking about, and by the end of the interrogation it becomes quite clear that they don't know what they are talking about. The "teaching" here is simply that one should understand the limits of his knowledge and the limitations of his noetic capacities.

This same Socratic theme of knowing one's limitations reappears in the works of Kierkegaard, and here we find the other dominant "figure" in the West: that of Jesus. Here, the issue becomes not so much whether or not Kierkegaard's contemporaries are sages, but the degree to which they can be called "Christians". Kierkegaard sets an almost impossible standard here; indeed in his version of the "imitation of Christ" the only true Christian can be Christ himself. Just as Socrates finds no true sages among his peers, Kierkegaard finds no true "Christians".

We might say that for the ancients, the image of the "sage" functions entirely as a kind of "transcendent norm". Sage-hood lies beyond the grasp of the mere mortal, but it is something that should be striven after nonetheless. While sage-hood functions as a kind of transcendent norm that can only ever be approached asymptotically, the practical paradigm becomes that of the lover of wisdom, represented by the figure of Socrates (and other figures such as Pyrrho, Diogenes, Epicurus, and so on). Two of the characteristic features of this general teaching of the ancients can be said to be the teaching that the lover of wisdom is a composite of both wisdom/knowledge and folly/ignorance, and that the lover of wisdom unceasingly engages in enquiry (zetesis; skepsis).

According to Nietzsche, there are two sides to Socrates the teacher. One is the seducer of youths who rips the masks from the gods, dissolves their myths, and replaces them with the "knowledge of good and evil". As Hadot points out, this is the Socrates that Nietzsche despises, because this was what Nietzsche himself was so good at. The other is Socrates as the "midwife" of the soul, the Socrates who teaches his students to "care for their self". This is the Socrates that Nietzsche admires and envies, because he found this capacity to be so lacking in himself.

Hadot points out that the teacher as "midwife" does not so much engender the soul of the student as allow the student to engender his own soul. Somewhat paradoxically, the teacher teaches by becoming a kind of student himself. Kierkegaard writes, "The student is an opportunity for the teacher to understand himself, just as the teacher is an opportunity for the student to understand himself." Here, teaching, paedeia, becomes a kind of "spiritual exercise" in itself, and its paradigm of the teacher who remains the perennial student becomes an expression of the ideal of unceasing enquiry.

This brings us, I think, to another great tradition, and to some analogous teachings as to what is means to be "on the way" to sage-hood: the Buddhist tradition.

In the Buddhist tradition, the idea of the "Buddha" also functions as a kind of "transcendent norm". The tradition speaks of people becoming a "arhats" or "bodhisattvas" but it does not speak of actual Buddhas other than the Shakyamuni Gautama. In general, the term "buddha", the "awakened one", is synonymous with terms such as muni and jnani. Gaudapada, for example (with his usual playfulness) uses the term "buddha" throughout his Karikas as synonym for "muni". But for the Buddhist tradition the ideal of the Buddha takes on a special significance.

In the Mahayana tradition in particular, the notion of "Buddha-hood" clearly assumes the role of a kind of transcendent norm. The paradigmatic figure for practice in the Mahayana becomes that of the "bodhisattva", one who is "on the way" to bodhi, "enlightened awareness". The bodhisattva is defined as one who takes a particular vow (pranidhana). He vows to strive for Buddha-hood, but he also vows to renounce his desire for the attainment of nirvana, until such time as all other beings have been awakened. Like the lover of wisdom, who nurtures the "engendering of soul", the bodhisattva dedicates himself to awakening the "mind of enlightenment" (bodhi-citta) in other individuals. This "pedagogic" virtue is an expression of his "care" or "compassion" (karuna) for other beings. In the Mahayana, this "compassion" appears as a kind of sister virtue alongside that of "wisdom" (prajna). The entire practical edifice here is designed to efface the individual practitioner's conception of himself as a "sage" or "buddha", and to replace that conception with the idea that one can only ever be "on the way" to Buddha-hood. In this sense, the "bodhi-sattva" can be said to be analogous to the classical Western ideal of the "lover of wisdom".

Is there an analogue to the ideal of the "love of wisdom" in the Upanishadic traditions? The approximate semantic equivalent of "jijnasa" may be loosely analogous. This term means the "desire to know" - the prefix "ji-" denoting the so-called "desiderative" case. This important term appears at the beginning of both the Brahma Sutras and the Samkhya Karikas, and it would appear to be an indicator of the so called "path of knowledge" (jnana-marga). After its dedicatory verse to Kapila, the Samkhya Karika begins, "Because of the three-fold duhkha, there arises the desire to know (jijnasa)..." In an analogous manner, the Brahma Sutra begins: "Thus the desire to know (jijnasa) Brahman". (The word "thus" here signifies that once the prerequisites to the path of knowledge have been fulfilled, the "desire to know" can begin.)

The term "jijnasa" is often glossed as referring to the practice of "enquiry" (vichara), and so it is also sometimes translated as "enquiry". In this case, the above passages might also be rendered: "Thus the enquiry into Brahman", or "...then there arises enquiry...". "Ji-jnasa" can therefore be understood as both an indicator of the path of knowledge and as a synonym for the primary exercise of that discipline: enquiry.

Paralleling the classical term "jijnasa", the desire to know, is what the Gita refers to as "jnanasya nistha", or "devotion to knowledge" (18.50). The term "nistha" means "devotion" or "steadfastness", but it also means the "completion" or "perfection" of something. The Gita appears to use it in this latter sense at 18.50, since "jnana" appears in the genitive case; so the two terms together must mean, "the completion of knowledge". However, Shankara uses the term throughout his commentary on the Gita (cf. 2.10; 3.3; 5.12) as a description of the path of knowledge, that is, in its sense as the "devotion to knowledge". For example, in his comments at 2.54 he refers to "jnana-yoga-nistha", devotion to the path of knowledge. His choice in using this term appears to have to do with his "creative misinterpretation" of the Gita's preference for bhakti as the best of paths. Shankara agrees: devotion is indeed the best of paths, and the best form of devotion is "devotion to knowledge". (!)

At Gita 18.55 his description of jnana-nishta is identical to the classical description of the practice of "nidhidhyasana", continuous contemplation, the final practice of the path of knowledge. Here and in his comments upon the Brhadaranyaka Upanishad, the semantic sense of "nidhidhyasana" as the practice of contemplation "slides" into its sense as intuition itself, that is in its sense as the "completion" of knowledge. The ambiguity of "nidhidhyasana" exactly parallels the semantic ambiguity of the Latin "contemplatio", as contemplation not only refers to the pre-eminent practice of mystical spirituality, it also refers to the act of "noesis", of "intuition", itself.

Paralleling the semantic ambiguity of "nistha" in Shankara's commentary is the Mahayana term "paramita". Literally, the term "paramita" refers to the "completion" or "perfection" of something. The term "prajna-paramita", for example, is usually translated as "the perfection of wisdom" (or "discriminative knowledge"). But at the same time it also refers to that which leads to the "other shore". There is, I think, built into the sense of "prajna-paramita" three layers of meaning. To be sure, it means "final knowledge" or "transcendent wisdom". It also means "wisdom" as a kind of goal that should be sought after. But perhaps most importantly, it would also appear to refer to "perfection" as a kind of ongoing process, the process of "coming to" wisdom, of "becoming" wise. This later sense is particularly important for the Mahayana, as the various "perfections" (paramita) are perhaps the principle image used by the Mahayana to convey the nature of the Bodhisattva-yana, the seemingly unending path of "coming to" Buddha-hood.

At first glance, the classical tradition of Advaita Vedanta would not appear to have any exact parallels to the ideals of the "lover of wisdom" or the "bodhi-sattva". However, there are indeed conceptions built into the tradition that nonetheless can be seen as "tempering" and as setting limitations upon human individuals, both within and without the tradition.

One is how the ancient "rishis" are generally conceived in the classical period. For the classical Vedantins, the "rishi" belongs to a bygone era, just as the "sophos" does for the Classical Greeks and Romans. Shankara concurs with this general attitude. At Brahma Sutra 1.3.33. he notes that for the ancient seers, concourse with the gods was a much more common occurrence, as the spiritual powers of the men of later periods are greatly attenuated . But while certain later interpretations will attempt to establish the authority of the ancient rishis on the basis of their "yogic" attainments (and the Neo-Vedantins will make much of the mystical "experience" of the ancient seers and sages), the classical Advaitins deny that such things form the basis of the rishi's authority.

Even more stringent limitations are set upon the classical sages (muni) such as Kapila and Patanjali by the classical Advaitins. In the opening passages of the second Adhyaya (2.1.1), Shankara addresses a Samkhya interlocutor who argues that since the knowledge (jnana) of Kapila is unobstructed and "rishi-like" (arsha, meaning literally, pertaining to a rishi), it is to be taken as authoritative. Basically, Shankara denies that such knowledge is possible. Nor, he continues, should we think that certain Siddhas possess "supernatural vision" (what the Buddhist refer to as "yogi-pratyaksha") and that such vision is a basis for authority.

In order to set these kind of limits, the classical tradition of Advaita makes some basic distinctions. In very general terms, the classical tradition draws a fairly sharp distinction between what is "paurusha" (literally, relating to the "purusha), which means what is merely human, and what is "a-paurusha", that which is divine. This is related to another distinction it draws between what is "paurusheya", which refers to what is "man-made" and human based, and what is "vastu", based upon "reality". What is merely man-made is "paratantra" and "apeksha", "relative" and "dependent" upon something else for its existence; it is "krtrima", "artificial" and produced from causes. What is based upon reality is "svatantra" and "anapeksha" "independent" and "absolute"; it is "akrtrima" or "sahaja", natural.

It is on the basis of such distinctions that the classical tradition of Advaita Vedanta sets the kind of limitations it does upon the legitimacy of spiritual "experience", upon speculation based upon such experience, and upon any attempt to base personal authority upon such experience. Though "experience" or "intuition" (anubhava; sakshatskara) has its place in the soteriological scheme of classical Advaita, its role is carefully circumscribed by tradition (sampradaya) and revelation (sruti). Wielded in a dogmatic manner, such distinctions might be seen by some as stifling to the human spirit, and as mere vehicles for sustaining the hegemony of orthodoxy. In some sense this may be so, and they can thereby be seen as one of the drawbacks of the classical tradition and as something that contributes to the process of its ossification. But at the same time, for the classical tradition they also serve as important practical mechanisms for checking not only the excesses of human pride and personal self-importance, but the abuse of power based upon such excess.

The question of the status of the world is one of the basic questions on the menu of Indian philosophical topics. It is a question that is particularly associated with the so-called "illusionistic" or "idealist" schools (Madhyamika, Yogachara, Advaita Vedanta) but it is also important for those "realist" schools that oppose them. The terms "maya-vada," "vijnana-vada," and "shunya-vada" all reflect the priority of the question of the nature of the world for these schools, since each term is an expression of their respective answers to the question (illusory; of the nature of consciousness; empty).

With respect to classical Advaita Vedanta, the question of the status of the world is inseparable from three other questions: 1. the nature of creation; 2. the nature of ultimate reality; 3. the nature perceptual error.

In general, the Vedanta holds that the world is non-different (ananya) from brahman, insofar as it is an emanation or "transformation" (parinama) of brahman. The Vedanta holds the doctrine of sat-karya-vada, or the teaching that the effect has the same nature as the cause. Vedanta holds that brahman, whose nature is essentially intelligent, is both the material and instrumental cause of the world. The Samkhya holds that brahman, whose nature is sentient, cannot be the material cause of the world, since the world is basically insentient, and the effect of material cause must share its nature with its cause. The Samkhya also holds to the doctrine of satkarya-vada, but it maintains that the insentient prakriti is the material cause of the world. These two forms of parinama-vada, or emanationism, are called brahma-parinama-vada and pradhana-parinama-vada. Both can be taken as forms of small 'r' "realism"; in other words, for them, the world really is an emanation from a material cause.

Mainstream Vedanta, prior to the ascendency of the Advaita school, also held that the world was, at the same time, distinct from brahman. The example they give to illustrate this idea is that of a pot and the lump of clay from which it is made. Such material examples, like gold and bracelet or milk and curd, abound in the early Vedanta, and can be traced back to the Chandogya Upanishad.

The Brahma Sutra deals with the question of emanation of the world from brahman at 2.1.14 There it says that the world is non-separate (ananya) from brahman. The question is: "what does "ananya" mean? Shankara glosses the sutra thus: it means that the world does not exist (abhava) apart from (vyatirekena) brahman. But what does this mean? Does it mean that, considered in itself and apart from brahman, the world has no reality? Or does it mean that there is no real world as such and that there is only brahman?. The first answer refers to the view of Vedanta in general, and is consonant with a form of "realism," while the second is decidedly illusionistic. Shankara's gloss here is purposefully equivocal: it is both. This is because he is attempting to mediate the traditional orthodox view with his non-dual interpretation of Vedanta. In Advaita Vedanta these two interpretations hierarchically. The first refers to the general view of Vedanta view and can be seen as propaedeutic. The second refers to the ultimate view of the Advaita, namely, ajata-vada.

In the classical Vedanta, the view that the world is essentially unreal or a merely an "illusion" is one that is most strongly associated with the Gaudapada Karikas. It would be pointless and redundant to tabulate all the points in the GK that this kind of description of the world occurs. Two verses, however, are particularly relevant, GK 2.3-2.4. G.K 2.3 says that since dream objects are non-existent (abhava), dreams are considered unreal (vaitathyam). 2.4 says that the waking state should be considered in the same manner. But what does this mean? The two verses have been subject to debate among scholars. V. Bhattacharya says that it means that the two are non-different. But the standard interpretation has it that that the two are different in at least one way: insofar as the dream takes place in a "space" other than that of the waking state. For his own part, Shankara clearly distinguishes dreaming from the waking state. For him, it makes no sense to say that the two are literally the same. Here, we can see a growing recognition that the archaic illusionistic argument that waking reality is the "same" as a dream comes to be seen as simplistic.

Rather, for Shankara and "Gaudapada," dreaming and waking are to be seen as having a similar status. And what is that status? This is revealed at GK 2.6-7. There, the GK says that what comes and goes cannot have an absolute reality (sat). This idea is reiterated and developed in Shankara's comments at Gita 2.16: what varies, he says, is not ultimately real. The term used for "varies" here is "vyabhichara." This term is also used to refer to a specific logical fallacy. Literally, the term means to "stray" or "wander." If I say, for example, 'where there is fire there is oxygen,' the first term does not "stray" and the statement holds. If I say, 'where there is oxygen there is fire,' the first term "strays" insofar as we can give an example in which it does not hold, the room we are sitting in, for example. Here, then, we have a definition of reality that makes use of a specific logical terminology: reality is that which never strays; it is, in other words, that which is always present. States of consciousness, mental states, the body itself, all come and go. But "consciousness" itself, which underpins the rest, does not come and go; it abides in all states. Thus, the waking state has the "same status" as the dream state, insofar as it comes and goes. In this sense, it is not ultimately real.

It should be noted that the qualifier, "ultimately," has entered into our manner of expression. To understand why this is so we need to go back to Nagarjuna, and ultimately the Upanishads. As we noted, GK 2.6-7 says that what comes and goes is not ultimately real. At GK 3.2 and 4.7 this idea is expanded. The real, these verses say, is that which does not change its nature, or to put it literally, it is that nature (prakrti) which is not otherwise (an-anyatha). This definition is taken from Nagarjuna's Madhyamika karika 15.8. There, Nagarjuna defines the nature of svabhava or "own-being" in exactly the same manner as given in the GK. At 15.1-2 he adds that the svabhava is also that which does not rely on another, that is, that which is completely indenpendent and unrelated to any other thing; in other words, it is absolute. Svabhava also means that which is natural or innate (akrtrima), the synonym for which is "sahaja," a term used by the GK at 4.9, the idea being that it is uncaused or ajata.

Actually, Nagarjuna adapst this definition, and manner of thinking, from the Upanishads; he uses it, however, against itself so as to subvert all forms of metaphysical absolutism. For him "being" means absolute being (sat), being that does not come and go. We find this same idea at Chandogya 6.2.2. There, being, or sat, is that which does not come into being or go out of being. 'What kind of reasoning,' it asks, 'is it that says that being comes from nothing, that says that a thing can pop into existence from nowhere. True being cannot come into existence.' It is this very idea that underlies the sat-karya-vada referred to above, the idea that the effect somehow or other "pre-exists" in its cause.

With respect to the dream argument referred to above, two points should be noticed. First, in it, we find a general principle of Indian thought: that where ever possible, Indian thinking attempts to concretize itself through the use of examples and illustrations. Thus, that we find the standard examples of Advaita Vedanta, that of the snake and the rope, and of silver and mother of pearl. In the silver and nacre example, someone walking on a beach thinks he sees some silver in the sand; but when he approaches it, it turns out only to be the inner side of piece of sea-shell. This example is intended to provide an illustration for how it is that brahma-jnana is able to contradict and controvert wordly, relative knowledge.

But we also find something else going on. It is clear that, at this point, the Advaitins are becoming aware of the fact that their "examples" cannot be taken literally. No, they are more like analogs. Thus, worldly knowledge is like a dream, and realization is akin to waking up.

We can then, perhaps, following Murti, distinguish between what can be called "empirical illusion," and what might be called, for lack of a better term, "transcendental illusion." By "transcendental" we do not mean "transcendent." What we mean, following Kant, is the idea that that built into our cognitive apparatus is something that we are not, and cannot be, aware of, namely, that we "construct" phenomenal appearance. Among the "idealist" schools, the Madhyamika, Yogachara and Advaita Vedanta, the terms used for this "conceptual construction" invlove the "klp" root: "vikalpa", "kalpana, "kalpita," and so on.

For the most part, Shankara tows the party line of the Vedanta: the world has brahman as its cause. But he also says that the world arises out of what he calls "unmanifest name and form." Structurally, this parallels the Samkhya's idea of prakriti forming the basis of the world. But Shankara wants to have it both ways here. He wants to support the brahmanic orthodoxy, but he also wants to make use of several ideas that have their basis in the unorthodox schools, the Samkhya and the Mahayana schools in particular. After Shankara, the later Advaitins will assert that maya or avidya is the cause of the world, or that brahman in conjuntion with avidya is the cause of the world. Shankara does not speak this way. For him avidya is an "epistemic" principle only; we might say that it is only "metaphysical" to the degree that it is involved in our conceptual construction of the world, that is, to the degree that it is the root of the transcendental illusion.

As we noted, Shankara is able to have it both ways by ranking "realism" and "illusionism." Now there are some interpreters who have argued that Shankara is actually more of a "realist." As I noted before, I think that we are justified in saying so as long as by "realism" we mean something like the realism of the ancients. Those who argue that Shankara is more of a realist in the general sense do so on the following three grounds: 1. on the basis of the interpretation of "ananyatva" that takes it as saying, "the world is real insofar as it exists in brahman"; 2. on the basis that the world does not "dissolve" with realization; 3. and on the basis that the world "becomes" brahman with realization.

Now, the first two of these arguments can be challenged. The first can be shown to be a propaedeutic view. And the second does not necessarily imply anything, other than the fact that the Advaitins were not pralaya-vadins (who thought the world and the mind "dissolve" with realization). The third point, though, is interesting. It refers to a single tract in Shankara's works, the comments on Brhad Upanishad 2.4.12. There the Upanishad refers to dissolution of the world into the "Mahabhuta" or great reality. Shankara comments that when discrimination arises "the world becomes one without a second" and "merges" with the Mahabhuta. He concretizes this idea saying that this means that one's separate existence dissappears and one returns to the "womb" or own-source (yoni). (In a similar way, at the end of chapter 3 of the Gaudapada Karikas, we read that all dharmas are "always already" non-dual and inherently quiescent.) But the language of "merging" used in the above is metaphoric for Shankara, so I don't think this final point stands scrutiny either.

At the same time, it is necessary to point out that there is indeed a pronounced "realist" streak in Shankara's writings (at least in those writings that were written after the commentary on the GK). Time and again he rejects the "idealist" arguments of the Yogacharins, and he continually refers to brahman as a "vastu" or real thing. More importantly, following an unnamed master referred to at the beginning of the Brahma Sutra commentary, he emphasizes that for the practitioner, the world is real until realization occurs.

But it would be wrong to simply stop here, for Shankara also, time and again, affirms the falseness, insubstantiality, and worthlessness of the world. For example:
Brhad Up 1.1.1 samsaric existence is "anartha," worthless
Brhad Up 2.4.14 the world is an-atma
Brhad up 5.1.1 the world is an-rta
Brahma Sutra 1.2.12 the world of practical reality is a-bhava, non-existent
Br Su 2.1.9 the world is like an a-vastu, unreal thing.

Brhad Up 3.5.1 contains the passage that says that the world is arta, "afflicted" or "oppressed." Shankara comments that this means that it is "seized" by sickness and destruction and that it is insubstantial (asara) like a magical illusion, dream, or mirage. Samsaric existence, he says, is an error (bhranti). The interlocutor asks, if the world arises from name and form, does not name and form constitute a separate reality, and hence, a duality with brahman? No, says, Shankara. From the ultimate point of view (paramartha drshti) name and form do not really (tattvata) exist apart from the real (vastu-antarena). Prior to discriminative knowledge, they exist (asti) in a conventional sense (vyavahara) as separate entities apart from the real. But the practical realm is false (mithya) and like the unreal (asat).

Also important are the comments at Br Su 2.1.14, the sutra dealing with creation and an-anyata. There Shankara says that though world is to be regarded as real until realization, it is really an-rta, and its "creation" is in "word only."

The definitive statement, however, comes at Br Su 2.1.27, which is the closing passage of this section. The sutras preceeding this sutra outline a series of contradictions in the traditional Vedanta view, most importantly: 1. that the world is insentient while brahman sentient, and hence, the cause will be different from the effect; and 2. that emanation implies the "dismemberment" of brahman; in other words, that the absolute will lose its unity and "non-duality."

The interlocutor begins by saying, "not even the most sophisticated reading of the Vedanta teachings can resolve all these contradictions. So who is going to follow such an incongruent teaching!" Shankara, slippery as ever, responds by saying, "There is no problem here. Difference," he says, "is a conceptual construct due to ignorance. Thus there is no more loss of unity in brahman anymore than there are multiple moons because some cross-eyed fool tells you so. The changing (parinama) world -- which is defined as name and form, consisting of the manifest and unmanifest, and conceptually constructed (kalpita) due to ignorance (avidya), and which is not describable as either a real or unreal -- has brahman as its basis (aspanda). In truth, however, brahman ultimately transcends all contingency (vyavahara-atita) and remains in itself unchanging (a-parinama). All these different names and forms exist in name only. Those passages talking about emanantion are not to be taken literally; those passages talking about creation are to be taken as teaching that brahman and the self are empty (rahita) of all contingency and relativity (vyavahara)."

The point that the world is "neither real (tattva) not unreal (atattva)" or "neither (wholly) existent (sat) nor (wholly) non-existent (asat)" is taken up by later Advaita philosophers. Clearly, they argue, it is not correct to say that the world is completely non-existent, like the son of a barren woman or hare with horns. In the later debates centring around the issue of the nature of preceptual error, the great Advaita philosophers like Vimuktatman, Chitsukha, and Anandabodha (none of whom have been translated into English) develop, with great dialectical skill, the idea that the world is "indescribable" (anirvachaniya) as neither a "sat" nor an "asat," as neither wholly unreal nor wholly real. This dialectical phase, wherein the other schools are treated and refuted, will form much of the basis for the later idea, found among the Advaita doxographers, that Advaita Vedanta "transcends and includes" the other schools.

Around this time, three levels of "reality" come to be distinguished among the Advaita philosophers: 1. the ultimately real, ie., brahman in itself or the supreme self; 2. practical reality, the everyday world; 3; and truly false things like square circles, hares with horns, fairy castles in the sky, dreams, illusions, etc. These latter unrealities are called "pratibhasika," and they are distinguished from what we have referred to above as the "transcendental illusion" of everyday existence.

The Advaita philosophers will continue to argue that the world has "maya" as its nature. But at an even later date, more radicallly illusionistic thinkers appear, such as Prakashatman who argue for a kind of idealism known technically as "drshti-srsht-vada." For this reason, some Vedantins refer to an "early" mayavada (i.e., Gaudapada and other early Advaitins) and a "late" mayavada (Prakashatman and a few others others). This distinction implies that even the Advaitins themselves noticed that Shankara's non-dualism, standing between the two extreme forms of maya-vada, had a pronoucned "realistic" streak to it.

What follows is a short commentary upon certain ideas found in Muktananda's book The Play of Consciousness (Cit-Shakti Vilas). For the most part I will focus on Muktananda's description of various "meditative experiences," but I will also look at how he interprets them in light of traditional sources. We begin with a brief look at his sources.

Muktananda's Sources

Muktananda's sources can roughly be divided into four groups: 1. generally authoritative classical sources, such as the Upanishads and Gita; 2. tantric philosophical works, especially those of Kashmiri Shaivism; 3. tantric yogic works, especially those of the Naths; and 4. general religious works by the West Indian Sants. In The Play of Consciousness there are a number of implicit but unstated references to the major Upanishads as well as several quotes from the Bhagavad Gita. Muktananda makes a few references to the so called Yoga Upanishads, which as far as Upanishads go are actually quite late. He also refers to the Yogavasistha, which is a work of a general "advaitic" orientation that was probably written under the influence of Kashmiri Shaivism. He quotes several Kashmiri Shaiva texts: the Shiva Sutras; the Vijnanabhairava; the Spanda Karikas; and the Pratyabhijna Hrdaya. He also refers to the Hatha Yoga Pradipika, which is a Nath work on the practice of their specific form of yoga. On the subject of guru yoga, he refers to the Guru Gita, which is regarded as an addendum to the Skanda Purana. Paralleling references to the Nath and Kashmiri Shaiva traditions, are several references to Jnaneshwar, Ecknath, and Tukaram, who are all from the West Indian Sant tradition. (Scholars refer to two Sant traditions; the other Sant tradition is the North Indian tradition -- i.e., Kabir, Nanak, the Radhasoamis, and other shabda yogins.) The Sants and the Naths make much of the importance of the "sat-guru," and Muktananda devotes some space to reviewing the necessity of this principle. He refers to the West Indian Sants as "Siddhas," which signifies that he sees a continuity running between the Nath yogins and the West Indian Sants. This is something that has historical basis, as Jnaneshvar was initiated into the Adi-Nath sampradaya (the precursor to the Nav-Nath sampradaya) and his writings shows substantial Nath influence.

Preliminary Considerations: Muktananda's General Orientation

Muktananda "frames" the central portion of his book, which concerns his own personal spiritual and meditative experiences, with an opening section that deals with his basic orientation, and an analogous closing part that deals with the teachings of the "siddhas." I will be dealing primarily with the central portion of his book in this review, but before we get to Muktananda's descriptions of his "experiences," I would like to make a few of comments on some statements from the opening section.

First, Muktananda says, "Liberation (moksha) and enjoyment (bhoga) go together." This idea is an aspect of tantric tradition generally and it shows that his basic orientation is tantric. As a principle, it figures in all the various "Hindu" Tantra traditions that are associated with the "Siddhas," such as those of the Naths, Kanphatas, etc. The earliest expression of this principle is found among the Buddhist Sahajiyas, who constituted a kind of early reaction to the institutionalization of Vajrayana monasticism. This kind of practice is considered an aspect of what is known as "kaya-sadhana" in the Buddhist Sahajiya tradition. In kaya-sadhana, the body (kaya) itself becomes the means to religious practice. Mukatananda himself states this on p. 112. Quoting an unnamed yogic source he writes, "the body (sharira) is the means (sadhana) to truth (dharma)." For the early Buddhist Sahajiyas, the idea that the body itself is a means to "realization" is related to the meaning of their name, which is derived from  "sahaja," meaning "natural" or "innate." The idea is that the very processes that come naturally to us can, and should, be used in sadhana. Naturally, then, we should not be surprised that the Buddhist Siddhas, in contrast with the monastic tantrikas, took up with consorts and practices ritualized maithuna. For them, the supreme state of enlightenment (bodhi) was coterminous with the greatest pleasure (maha-sukha). A work from this period known as the Samputika says that the yogic process makes use of the very same source that drives sexuality. The Hevajra Tantra, too, says that "sahaja" --- here considered as a kind of metaphysical principle permeating the universe --- is the very basis of life and vitality. Such conceptions lead directly to the later ecstatic Vaishnava Sahajiya cults, which make use of the metaphor of Krishna and Radha in erotic embrace. In kaya-sadhana the body itself is said to undergo a kind of "purification" (vishuddha). The Nath Siddhas take over this notion and idealize it by positing a state called the attainment of the divine body (divya-deha) or perfected body (siddha-deha), a body that is said to attained a kind of "transmaterialized" state (kaya-siddhi). We are reminded here of such things as the so called "rainbow body" or "body of light" of the Tibetan Nyingmapas; indeed, the Dzokchen teachings find some of their closest approximations in the writings of Buddhist Sahajiya adepts like Saraha. In any case, the above general statement tells us much about where Muktananda is coming from and what he means by "siddha yoga." (Though older, the best study of the roots of this general trend in Indian religion is Shashibhusan Dasgupta's Obscure Religious Cults, which is a valuable source of information on tantrism.)

Muktananda also says, "Mind is the contraction of consciousness." This quote is from the Pratyabhijna Hrdaya, a Kashmiri Shaiva text, and I take it to mean that mind (chitta) is pure consciousness (chit) that is "contracted." Another sense of "contracting" (Sanskrit: sankochin) is "delimiting." Here, we are not far from the metaphysics of classical Advaita Vedanta, in which the "internal organ" (antahkarana, ie., manas, buddhi, citta, and ahamkara) is seen as a kind of "limiting adjunct" (upadhi) set upon the true self, whose nature is pure consciousness (shuddha chit). But following the "non-dualism" of the Yogachara, Kashmiri Shaivism wants to do away with any strict "dualism" between consciousness and its "limiting adjunct." Kashmiri Shaivism also returns to earlier emanationist cosmogonic metaphors; it wants to say that "materiality" is in some sense the same "stuff" as consciousness. In this case, "contraction" means a kind of "condensation," "coagulation," or "solidification," just as CO2, as a kind of "spirit" or "vapor," becomes "dry ice." We should be aware, however, of one feature of this metaphor. Though in this metaphysic the universe is seen as "contracted" consciousness, the creation of the universe comes about through the expansion (vikasha) of Shiva, a process that is represented by Shiva opening his eyes (unmila). For Shiva, then, expansion is the delimiting process. From our perspective, however, our own limited intelligence is a contraction of the universal consciousness. In this model, the point of yogic practice becomes the expansion of our limited consciousness to the point of Shiva's own ubiquity, at which point we become "one" with Shiva's universal consciousness. Another image often related to the term "sankochana" is that of the closing of a flower. The expansion of consciousness would then be related to the blossoming of a flower. In any case, I refer here only to the semantics of the Sanskrit term for "contraction" as something interesting and worthy of note, and to the suggestion that the metaphysical idea of contraction as "condensation" can be related to the idea that the body itself can be a means to religious practice. (The best work in English on Kashmiri Shaivism in all its aspects is Mark Dyczkowski's The Doctrine of Vibration.)

Hermeneutic Procedure

Following his opening orientation sketch, Muktananda then goes on to describe his "experiences" in a narrative that forms the central portion of his book. It is the content of this description and the references that he either implicitly or explicitly makes that I would like to focus upon in more detail. In tracing the references implied by Muktananda's text, I will refer back to their earliest known instances and not to their later adaptations by the various yogic and tantric works. This is standard Indian hermeneutic procedure. Most Hindu traditions recognize texts like the Upanishads and Gita as authoritative and most often, their own content draws upon the content of such works. For example, the entire passage quoted from "Ecknath" on page 159 of Muktananda's text is not actually Ecknath but in fact Ecknath's interpolation of the Gita, 12.18-19, transposed into Marathi verse and then translated into English. Traditionally, in India, it would have been expected that a reader would be acquainted with such references and would not require footnotes.

As his primary authority Muktananda refers to a series of verses from Jnaneshvar. He quotes the same passage from Jnaneshvar twice in The Play of Concsiousness, saying that this particular passage inspired him to write his book. Muktananda claims that texts such as those by Jnanesvar and Tukaram are written in a "secret" or coded language. What he means by this is that such texts need to be interpreted "esoterically" as documents recording the yogic "experiences" of their authors. This idea, that certain texts are written in a "secret language," goes back, again, to the Sahajiyas and their contemporary tantric movements. The term used to designate this secret language is "sandhya-bhasha," which literally means "twilight language." What exactly this term means is a matter of debate. (The are some good internet articles available on the subject.) There is no question that tantric works are encrypted in some way and that they need "decoding" by a competent guide. Whether or not such works refer exclusively to yogic "experiences" is certainly open to question. More often than not, I would suggest, such texts are simply referring to symbolic representations of ritual formulae, and it is these rituals that the texts are referring to and not some "experience." However, among various modern yogins of the "mystical empiricist" type (such as Yogananda), this approach to reading texts means reading spiritual documents as records of religious experience and practice. For example, Yogananda interprets Matthew 6:22, "The light of the body is the eye; if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light," as a reference to the "third" or "spiritual eye" (divya chakshu; shiva netra; tisra til, etc.). Similarly, he thinks that Paul's statement, "I die daily" is a reference to some a kind of religious practice similar to kriya yoga in which the practitioner "dies," perhaps by leaving the body. An implication of this approach to interpretation documents is that states of consciousness described in such works can be experienced by the reader, if he or she is a "yogi."

Be that as it may, I think it is also important to note that what Muktananda is doing here is not merely explicating Jnaneshvar's idea that such texts refer to religious experiences that can be "experienced" by other yogis and practitioners of meditation. Muktananda is also clearly using the writings of Jnaneshvar, and other traditional sources, to give authoritative basis to his own experience. In other words, what he is doing is saying implicitly that his own religious experiences have veracity since they can be shown to have a basis in tradition. This is a common enough normative gesture in the Indian tradition. Quoting the Vedas, Upanishads, Gita, etc. in support of one's philosophical position or religious practice is practically a national past-time among the religious and intellectual elite of India. For now, I will go along with the supposition that "experience" is, in some way at least, possibly related to certain kinds of religious documents, though I would be loath to admit that "experience" is the basis of all such writings. For such texts also function as normative authorities on what kind of religious experience is possible, and legitimate, and on how that experience is to be structured and understood. In that case, even if such works do refer to various yogic "experiences," experience, in general, is then conforming to the normative rule of scripture, and not the other way around (where experience dictates content). In other words, experience itself cannot function as a normative rule. Indeed, The Play of Consciousness itself functions within the institution of "Siddha Yoga" as a normative guide to practitioners of siddha yoga, telling them what kinds of experiences can, will, and should make up their sadhana. In other words, Muktananda's own description of his experience functions as a kind of norm for the practice of "siddha yoga".

Commentary

The "Spectrum" of Consciousness: The Metaphor of Light

To begin the commentary, it might be best to review the meaning of the various colors mentioned by Muktananda. Following Jnaneshvar --- and we will have to assume for the time being that he is accurately representing Jnaneshvar --- Muktananda refers to four basic colors. These colors will form the structure of his account. They are in order of importance: red (rakta); white (shveta); black (Marathi, shama; Sanskrit, shyama); and blue (nila). In the text on page 85, yellow (pita) is also mentioned in the Indian vernacular, but not in Muktananda's English translation. In any case, at a subsequent point in the book, on page 109, Muktananda quotes a parallel passage from Tukaram that refers to red (rakta), white (shveta), black (krishna) and yellow (pita). In that case, however, there would appear to be no necessity to their order, since yellow is mentioned last.

Muktananda claims that the four colors (varna) he finds in Jnaneshvar correspond to the four states of the self referred to in the Vedanta, most notably in the Mandukya Upanishad; that is, they refer to the gross, subtle, causal, and "supra-causal" states of the self. He adds that he himself has experienced these states as such.

Muktananda begins his own account with a description of a red light that occurs in "meditation" or what he calls "tandra," which is a kind of sleep-like state in which one remains lucid. At one point he describes the vision of the red light as a kind of "flame." This idea, that the inner self can be depicted as a flame is very old, and flame-like descriptions can be found in yogic texts throughout the Indo-Tibetan tradition. The actual image itself can be traced back to the Brahmanas and oldest Upanishads. Brhadaranyaka Upanishad 6.2.15 and Chandogya Up 5.10.1-2, for example, speak of the "deity of the flame."  The idea of a "deity in the flame" itself goes back to conceptions of the Vedic god of the sacrificial fire, Agni. In the early Upanishads, the "deity of the flame" is identified with the "deva-yana," the "way of the gods," which leads to Hiranyagarbha and Brahma loka. By the time of the middle Upanishads and Mahabharata, the image of the "deity of the flame" reappears as the teaching that the inner self appears to the inner vision as a flame. Katha Up 2.1.12-13 says, "The self (purusha), who is the size of a thumb (angustha), resides in the body... The self who is the size of a thumb is a light (jyoti) without smoke." The image of the flame is also used to describe meditation. In chapter 6 of the Gita, the dhyana-yoga chapter, verse 19 uses the image of a "flame in a windless place" to describe the yogi's state of steady concentration. In the Moksha-Dharma book of the Mahabharata, in section 294, wherein Janaka and Vasistha have a conversation about the method of yoga, Vasistha also describes the yogi who has become still as likened to "a flame in a windless place." He then says in verse 20 that when the yogi's mind becomes withdrawn and focussed, he beholds the self in the heart "like a smokeless light (jyoti)." The Yoga Sutras also mention a "light in the head" (murdha-jyoti).

The "Dimensions" and "Location" of the Self

Muktananda also relates the four colors mentioned above to various dimensions of the self: full size, the size of a thumb, the tip of a finger, and the size of a sesame seed.
Brahma Sutras 2.3.19-29 deal with the problem of the "size" of the soul or self. Is it infinite and all-pervasive (vibhu) or is it atomic and like an atomic point (anu) in space? The Shevtashvatara Up, for example, says at one point that the inner self is the size of the tip of an awl, and at another place that it is 1/100th of 1/100th of the width of a strand of hair. Other passages, however, say that the self is all pervasive, etc. How are these to be reconciled? Just such a reconciliation is the task of the Brahma Sutra itself.
We have already come across Upanishadic references to the idea that the inner self is the size of a thumb. The idea that the self is the size of a seed can be traced back to Brhadaranyaka Up 5.6.1 and Chandogya Up 3.14.3, and ultimately to the more ancient Shatapata Brahmana, 10.6.3, where Sandilya says, "This, my self, in the interior of my heart, is as tiny like a rice or barley or millet seed and golden like a smokeless light (or flame)." Similarly, Brhad Up 5.6.1 says that the self consisting of mind (manas) which is shining and in the heart is the size of a grain of rice or barley. Interestingly, Shankara --- perhaps referring to the later interpretation of the Katha Upanishad --- comments here that it "consists of mind" because it is "seen in the mind" and that it is "shining" because it is "seen by yogis" as such. At Chandogya 3.14.5, the text says, "this self within the heart is smaller than a grain of rice or barley, or a mustard seed, or the black millet seed (shyamaka-tandula)." This latter description may be important metaphorically, since the black of this type of millet corresponds to the color black (shyama) referred to above in Jnaneshvari's text. As for the image of the sesame seed, we might note that in the surat shabda yoga of the northern sants, the point between the eyebrows, where the self as "surat" ("focused aural attention") begins, is referred to as "tisra til," where til means "sesame seed".

The three "sizes" of the self in Muktananda's scheme of correspondences are also related to various "locations" in the body: the gross self to the eye, the subtle self to the throat, and the causal body to the heart. The references to two of these locations can be traced to the Gaudapada Karika, which in turn is drawing upon the Brhadaranyaka Upanishad. In his comments on Gaudapada Karika 1.2, and Aitareya Up 1.3.12, Shankara states that the seat of the first "self" is in right eye since physical vision is predominant in the waking state. (Another reason, not mentioned by Shankara but given elsewhere, is that if you look closely into someone's eye, you can see your entire body reflected in their cornea. This is the "little man" or "homunculus" in the eye.) With respect to the locus of the eye, Shankara is interpreting what is said at Brhadaranyaka Up 2.3.4. In the Gaudapada Karika, the seat of the second self, the "subtle" self, is simply described as "within, in the mind (manas)." This may be a reference to Brhad 5.6.1, noted above --- at least, given Shankara's comments there, that is how he takes it. There is no mention of the "throat" in the Gaudapada Karika though. The idea that the subtle self is in the "throat" is possibly a later tantric teaching, and I have not traced its source. The seat of the third self is said to be the space (akasha) of the "heart" (hrdaya), and here Gaudapada's Karika follows Brhad Up 2.1.17 which states that during deep sleep, the third state, the "pranas" (which Shankara takes to refer to all "subtle" processes) resolve in the "heart." Ultimately, however, for Shankara, all talk of the self having "dimensions" or a "location" is but metaphoric language, and, as he puts it, is meant for those of "lesser intelligence" (i.e., those not on the path of jnana yoga). 

Other Color-Coded Applications

The older Upanishads mention various colors at numerous places. When the Brhadaranyaka Up discusses the two forms of brahman, the brahman with form (murta) and the brahman without form (amurta), several colors are mentioned. Shankara comments that "brahman" here means brahman in both its universal and individual aspects. He interprets "without form" here to mean without physical form; thus he equates this second "formless" brahman, or self, with the the term "linga," which in the Indian tradition is synonymous with the subtle body (sukshma-sharira).So, we should not confuse his terminology here with applications of the term "formless" as it applies to the "causal. "Formless" in the present case merely means without physical form.The Brhad Up associates this linga-body with various colors: tumeric, sheep's wool, a fire-fly, a flame, a white lotus, and lightning. At Brhad 4.3.20, the sense of this reference is given more substance. The text says that there are 1000 nadi (here called hita) and these are said to be filled with "humors" of various colors: white, blue, brown, green, red. More colors are mentioned at 4.4.9 and Shankara associates them with the humors of the various nadi. Interestingly, an interlocutor asks him in the commentary, "Does not the color pure white here refer to the non-dual path (advaita-marga)?" Shankara responds, "No; though the yogins claim that this is the way to jivan-mukti, it is not. It only leads to Brahma loka." The same colors are mentioned at Chandogya Up 8.6.1 and here the term "nadi" is actually used. Chandogya 8.6.6 says, "The nadis of the heart are 101. Of these, one goes up toward the crown of the head. By going up through that nadi, one attains immortality." This is the so-called amrta nadi, which is the equivalent of the avadhuti nadi of the Buddhist Sahajiyas and, as Shankara tells us, is called the sushumna or central nadi by the (Hindu) yogins. Taittiriya 1.6.2 calls it "Indra-yoni," the path of Indra. Brhad Up 4.4.2 and Taittiriya 1.6.2 also mention leaving the body through the "top of the head," through the fissure between the skull bones. This point at the top of the head is known in the later tradition as the brahma-randhra, "the aperture of Brahma," and as "dashama dwar," the "10th door" (the other nine apertures being the anus, urethra, mouth, two nostrils, two eye sockets and two ear canals). In the pho-wa or "out of body" yoga of Tibet, the aperture at the top of the head is said to be the width of a stalk of straw. In yoga and Vedanta, one of the "arguments" for the self being minute is that the soul would not be able to leave the body through this aperture if it were any larger than the width of a piece of straw. We might suggest that the "white path" referred to earlier in Shankara's Brhad commentary is the way through the crown of the head via the amrita nadi: the so called "royal road."

Some other, more mundane, references to colors in the Upanishads include Chandogya 6.4.2 which refers to red, white, and black, which are the first three colors referred to by Muktananda. These colors are associated with various structures in the Upanishads. Here black is associated with food (anna), white with water (apas) and red with heat/light (tejas). In the Samkhya these three colors are associated with the three gunas: black with tamas (heaviness), red with rajas (excitability), and white with sattva (purity and harmony). When we add yellow into the mix we get the four "varnas": black is associated with the shudras, the farmers and labourers; yellow with the vaishyas, the artisans and merchants; red with the kshatriyas, the warriors and nobility; and white with the brahmins, the religious ritualists and priests. Note the close proximity here to the various medieval humors: red - blood; white - phlegm; yellow - bile; black - melanin (cf. melancholia), though these European humors are different from the humors of Ayur Veda: pitta-bile/heat; kapha-phlegm/water; vayu-gas/air.
One point that follows from all of these descriptions is that in and of themselves, the colors are not inherently meaningful; it is how they are used, how they are interpreted, that determines their meaning.

From Magical to Analogical Thinking: The System of Corrospondences

Though Shankara's path of jnana yoga ultimately rejects the idea that the self has dimensions or a location, it does recognize the propaedeutic and metaphoric role such conceptions play within the Vedanta system of meditation-devotion (upasana). In other words, for those who require a form for meditation, such conceptions help provide a "place," an "object" upon which the mind may be focussed. The idea of relating various objects of meditation within a system of correspondences is also a central aspect of tantric theory and practice. Consider any chart of the cakras, in which each cakra has a color, a mantric vibration, a yantric design, a day of the week, an action-figure, etc. associated with it. In fact, this practice of constructing systems of correspondences goes back to the Upanishads and their reconstitution of the older Brahmanic ritual cult. Indeed, much of the more incomprehensible portions of the older Upanishads have to do with these systems of "correspondences." What they refer to are the older ritual identifications and equivalences that have been transposed into the domain of thought and imagination. Consider the opening passage from the Brhadaranyaka Upanishad concerning the ancient horse sacrifice:

"Om. The head of the sacrificial horse is the dawn, its eye, the sun, its pranas, the air, its mouth, the fire, its body, the year. Its back is heaven, its belly the sky, its hoofs, the earth, its sides the four directions, its ribs the intermediary spaces, its member the seasons, its joints the months, its feet the days, its bones, the stars, and its flesh the clouds. Its belly-contents are sand particles, its blood vessels, the rivers, its liver the mountains, its hair, the trees. It forequarters is the rising sun, its hind end the setting sun, its yawning is lightning, its shaking is thunder, its peeing is the rain, and its neighing is vak, speech itself..." etc.

These kind of ritual identifications occur throughout the older Brhadaranyaka and Chandogya Upanishads. In many ways, the tantric tradition is the inheritor of this older form of ritualized Vedanta, even though the Tantras are considered heterodox. At the very least we can see the "as above, so below" or microcosm/macrocosm conception in both. In tantric theory, the human individual is considered to be an exact replica, in miniature, of the cosmos. Eliade, for example, phenomenologically relates the central channel or nadi of the human individual to the axis mundi of the cosmos (Atlas holding the heavens in his shoulders in Greek myth, the "navel of the ocean" in Homer, Mount Meru in Indian myth, etc.). This Hermetic maxim, "as above, so below", is also a dictum of the West Indian sants like Jnaneshvar, who expresses it thus: "pindi te brahmandi," which means, what happens in the individual body (pinda) occurs in the cosmos (Brahmanda, literally, the "egg of Brahma"). Accordingly, in many traditions, the process of yoga is considered to be the individual enactment of the process of cosmic dissolution (pralaya) that occurs at the end of every cosmic age. Both kundalini yoga and shabda yoga can be seen as instances of this type, and in a general sense can be called versions of "laya-yoga," the yoga of dissolution. Here, the idea is that grosser and "lower" structures are to be "dissolved" in "higher," more subtle structures of being in a process known as "laya-krama" (krama means gradual or incremental). Among the Naths, the instrument of this "dissolution" (laya) is the cosmic Shakti or Kundalini; among the north Indian Sants, it is the celestial sound current or Shabda. In the metaphysics underpinning the conception and rationale of such practices, each higher level of being is said to "transcend yet include" each of the preceding lower levels, a principle stated succinctly in Shankara's Upadeshashashri at 1.9.1, which reads, "It should be known that with the series beginning with earth and ending with the inner atman (pratyag-atman), each succeeding component is more subtle and more pervasive than the preceding one that has been abandoned."

Ascending series of ontic structures are described in various places in the Upanishads --- the koshas of the Taittiriya Up being a paradigmatic example. The process of "dissolution" or laya-krama is explicitly described at Katha Upanishad 1.3.13: "The discriminating one should merge (or resolve) the organ of speech (vac) into the mind (manas); he should merge the mind into the intellect (jnana atman); he should merge the intellect into the world soul (mahat atman); and he should merge the world soul into the supreme and peaceful Self (shanti atman)." Compare the Gita 6.25: "Little by little (shanaih shanaih, literally, "by degrees") the yogi should withdraw (uparamet); having established the mind in the Self, let him not think about anything." In the tantrism of the Sahajiyas, this process is known as "ulta," which means the simultaneous process of interiorization and ascent. In Kashmiri Shaivism it is known as "aroha-krama" or "avaroha-krama," which means "gradual ascent." Yogic theory describes the rationale thus: ordinary pranic currents flow "downward" and "outward," epitomized by the function of ejaculation in the male. The yogic process works to reverse this flow. In Patanjali's yoga the mundane mind is described as "outward going" (vyutthana-citta), that is, as inclined towards the objects of sense. The process of interiorization that counters this outgoing mind is called pranayama and pratyahara in Ashtanga Yoga. Katha Upanishad 2.1.1 describes (possibly for the first time in the Indian tradition) this metaphor of outgoing energies and their inversion, and at the same time relates it to process of creation: "The Lord descended through the outgoing (paranchi) currents of the doors (i.e., the senses and orifices). The discriminating one reverts his eyes (avrtta-cakshu) and sees the inner self."

To understand the basic features and mechanics underlying this analogical way of thinking we need to go back to the Vedic sacrificial cult itself. The sacrifices of the Vedic Aryans were primarily concerned with the propitiation of the gods: you place something in the sacrificial fire, the fire takes the sacrifice up to the heavens by way of smoke, and the gods return the favour in the form of rain. Eventually, however, the sacrifice was replaced, in the later Brahmanism, with pure ritual, at which time propitiation was replaced with the idea of cosmic "maintenance" through ritual means (which is the original sense of "dharma" as "duty"). At the same time the idea circulated among brahmins that it was not only possible to maintain the cosmos by ritual, but that it could also be controlled.

The root-conception of "correspondence" is central here. It underlies all notions of "action at a distance," and is the root concept that is also common to most forms of magic (see e.g., the "spells" of the Atharva Veda). Consider the rationale behind the "voodoo" doll: you stick a needle in the doll (the microcosm) and it affects the person with whom the doll has been ritually identified (the macrocosm). Ritual action of this type also implies that there is something coursing through the cosmos that "connects" the microcosm with the macrocosm, just as the smoke linked the sacrifice with the gods in the older Vedic cult. At some point, this binding force or "bandhu" that permeates the cosmos comes to be called "brahman." And he who has knowledge of this "brahman," and its unseen, inner workings is the brahmin. Given that he understands the nature of this force, the brahmin has power over it. Power also creates knowledge (in the sense of institutions ala Foucault), and so by the time of the Brahmana texts, the concept arises that the symbolic meaning of the ritual must be understood if the ritual is to be efficacious (a conception that also insures the necessity of those who understand its meaning, i.e., the brahmins). Eventually the idea of the binding force is replaced by the system of ritual and symbolic identifications, and brahman as the "binding force" becomes Brahman, the ens reale, the metaphysical principle constituting the cosmos itself.

By the time of the Upanishads, the idea arises that ritual can be done away with entirely and performed in toto within the imagination of the performer. The Upanishads say repeatedly, he who knows "thus", gains "thus." In other words, as long as the meaning of the rite is known, that is, the ritual identifications are known, the benefits of the rite accrue. Thus Prashna Upanishad 4.4 says "the mind (manas) is the sacrificer." In time, this noetic form of the rite comes to be seen as superior to the physical rite due to its release from its imperfect material basis. Gita 6.33, for example, says that the "jnana yajna", the sacrifice done within the sphere of knowledge is superior to the material rite.

Identification, Ascent, and Yogic Theory

Simultaneously, personal eschatology and, eventually, soteriology, enter the picture. People begin to worry about the problem of recurring death. So, the Indians begin to conceive of ways in which death can be overcome. At first, they develop a special rite in which the patron of the sacrifice is ritually identified with Prajapati the lord of creation. As the creator is eternal, identification with the creator means that re-death need no longer experienced. Later, it is knowledge of the eternal that ensures union with it, since the effects of ritual action are but temporary fruits. "He who knows Brahman becomes Brahman," say the Upanishads repeatedly.

These ritual and symbolic identifications, not only between man and god but between the various objects in the system of correspondences, are known collectively as "sampatti," which primitively means to "fall into" (as in good luck) and derivatively means to obtain, to attain, or to partake in, or unite with. The idea of sampatti as "union" or identification is the metaphysical idea underlying the system of ritual equivalences; the idea of union with deities; and the idea in meditative theory that identification with a structure of being can be attained through the mental effort of concentration. In the Visuddhimagga and Yoga Sutra, the various jhanas and samadhis are called "samapatti," attainments, a term that is clearly a cognate of the earlier "sampatti. In meditative theory, the idea is that as one meditates upon an object, the sense of separation from the object gradually diminishes; eventually, identification with the object is achieved. Accordingly, Feuerstein, in his work on the Yoga Sutras, says that "samapatti" describes what he calls the "inner process" of meditation, and he translates the term as "coincidence".

The theory of sampatti, as both "identification" and "union," is the basic presupposition underpinning the meditative theory found in the Patanjali's Yoga Sutras, Buddhaghosha's Visuddhimagga, and Asanga's Abhidharmasamgraha. "Identification" is also the basic idea underlying the Vedantic practice of upasana (meditation/devotion), in which there is a gradual "merging" or identification (sampatti) with the god-form or "ishtadeva," a process described by Lex Hixon in his book Coming Home. It is no coincidence that Wilber makes use of Hixon in his own description of the meditative process. Wilber also draws implicitly from Asanga via his acquaintance with the Tibetan tradition, since Asanga's theory of meditation informs the Tibetan traditions of yoga in general. In every case, the core principles concerning meditative "ascent" through identification are virtually the same. Is this so because they all refer to "universal structures of consciousness?" I would suggest otherwise.  The conceptions are the same because theorists borrow from one another. While such works point to a shared manner of interpreting meditative experience, it is not as if such conceptions were "discovered" independently of one another. Rather, certain theorists are recognized as authorities, and later authors acknowledge their authority by borrowing freely from them.

The idea that meditative experience determines one's future life is found throughout the Indo-Tibetan tradition. In both the Bardo texts of Tibet and also the Gita (8:6) we find the idea that one is reborn in accordance with one's final cognitive state. Here we find a corollary to the idea that knowledge determines one's fate. This will become the idea that one can reborn into that very heaven-world to which one has ascended during meditation in this life. And eventually, it becomes the transpersonalist conception -- underpinned by the theory of stages of psychological "development" -- that "structures" of consciousness can be "integrated" by spiritual practitioners through the practice of yoga and meditation, to the point where they become "permanent features" in an ongoing ascent through spiritual "stages."

Muktananda's Meditative "Worlds"

Before returning to the theory of correspondences as they relate to the "gross," "subtle," and "causal" in Muktananda's scheme, I will speak briefly about the various "lokas" or worlds mentioned in The Play of Consciousness and the various contexts from which this manner of thinking arises. We have already touched briefly upon early conceptions of personal eschatology and proto-soteriology in Vedic religion, and we can now relate some of those conceptions to cosmology. On page 135 of his book, Muktananda mentions Indra-loka. Vedic mythology speaks of the world of Indra, or Indra-loka and it appears also in later mythology; in the Mahabharata, for example, Arjuna travels to Indra-loka. By Indra-loka is meant, more or less, Svarga, the Vedic "heaven." It is often depicted as sitting atop mount Meru, the "axis mundi" of the Vedic cosmology. It serves as the home of the gods --- much like mount Olympus in Greek mythology --- and as an abode for the blest in the afterlife. Another conception of the afterlife is reflected in the Vedic conception of the world of the "forefathers," or pitr-loka, which Muktananda mentions on page 156. In this world, we would find the old heros and famous warriors of the kshatriya class. At one time in the Aryan past, great and wealthy patrons of the kshatriya class could perform elaborate and expensive rites that allowed them rebirth in the "world of the forefathers."

Brhad Up 1.5.16 mentions three worlds: the world of men, manushya loka; the world of the forefathers, pitr-loka; and the world of the gods, devaloka. It then relates that the world of men --- that is, success in the world of men --- is attained through having sons; the world of the forefathers is attained through special rites; and the world of the gods is attained by way of vidya, that is, by esoteric knowledge, and by this is meant knowledge of the various identities and equivalences (sampatti). The world of the gods, it says, is the best. In the Upanishads, at several places, the "way of the forefathers" (pitr-yana) is contrasted "with the way of the gods" (deva-yana). The way of the forefathers is thought to lead to a world in which there is an afterlife that lasts for a long time, but in which the karmic fruits of the rites eventually expire. When this happens, there is return to the world of men. The devayana is said to lead to a place from which there is no return, Satya loka otherwise known as Brahma loka. Muktananda mentions Brahma loka on page 146 and he associates it with liberation. Shankara interprets the term "brahma-loka" variously, calling its attainment "relative" immortality and a mere "union" (sampatti) at some points, while at others, the attainment of moksha. He does so in accord with whether or not the text refers to jnana.

The world of the moon, or "chandra-loka", which Muktananda mentions on page 121 is the realm associated with the moon. In the Brhadaranyaka Up, the moon is described as the abode of those who follow the path of ritual action. Brhad Up 6.2.1-16 contrasts the way of esoteric knowledge with the way of rites, and it describes their respective courses in detail. Brhad 6.2.15 describes the course of those who go the way of the gods thus: they first reach the "deity of the flame," and from there they are lead to devaloka; then they go to the "sun," and then finally to Brahma-loka. Brhad 6.2.16 describes the path of those who follow rituals. They reach the deity of smoke, and from there go to the moon where they live for some time, and eventually they return, through the rain, to be reborn. Chandogya Up 5.10.12 and 5.10.3-6 describe essentially the same courses. Incidently, Yoga Sutras 3.26 and 3.27 mention the "sun" and "moon" as objects of meditation.

We can see in the classification of the three worlds --- the worlds of men, forefathers, and gods --- an instance of the Indian penchant for triads and tripartite divisions. An even older conception also makes use of another tripartite division. The oldest Vedic texts refer to three domains: an underworld populated by Ashuras; a middle world populated by men; and a celestial world populated by the gods or devas. Yet another conception of three worlds describes a celestial realm, an earthly realm, and an intermediate realm. Brhad Up 5.5.3-4 describes these three worlds in relation to the cosmic person. It says, "bhur is its head, bhuvar is its arms, and svar is its feet." These three terms refer to the three lokas of Brahmanic lore. "Bhu" refers to the earthly world or Bhu-loka. "Bhuvar" refers to the intermediate realm of the air, that is, to the "atmosphere" which is known as Bhuvar-loka. Bhuvar loka, which is between the earth and sky, is said to be a world populated by semi-divine munis and siddhas. "Svar" refers to the celestial realm, Svar-loka, which is the same as Svarga, heaven, or Indra-loka. It corresponds to the sky and is populated by gods. Later, various other lokas are added to these three. The next to be added is Mahar-loka, which is said be populated by Brghu and other saints who survive the periodic dissolution of the lower worlds. Taittiriya 1.5.1 says, "Besides these three, the seer Mahacamasya knew a fourth, called Mahar." Eventually, two more worlds are added to these four: Jana-loka, a term that refers Brahma's sons; and Tapar-loka, in which deified Vairagyins dwell. Atop all of these is Satya-loka, otherwise known as Brahma-loka, the highest of the lokas, and for some, the domain of release. Eventually, the Indian tradition settles with these seven worlds. Muktananda speaks of a "Siddha-loka," but this could refer to any of the lokas above Bhu-loka.

The Basic Tripartite Structure of Vedanta

We can now return to what is perhaps the best known of the metaphysical triads in the Indian tradition, the division between the gross, subtle, and causal. The three states of consciousness are actually the original basis of this division. Descriptions of the three states occur in various places in the Brhadaranyaka Upanishad. Initially, a contrast was developed between the waking state and the state of deep dreamless sleep. This pairing functioned as a kind of metaphor for the polarity between life and death, with deep dreamless sleep acting as a kind of analog or foreshadowing of the "sleep" of death. Dreaming initially appears as a kind of mediating or "daemonic" third term, a kind of metaphor for the imaginal realm situated between the two, not quite one nor the other. Chapter eight of the Chandogya Up also discusses the three states, but unlike the Brhad, which seems content to accept that the oneness attained with brahman in deep dreamless sleep is supreme, Chandogya 8.11.1 and 8.12.3 imply that a "transcendent self" lies beyond the three states. This issue between the two oldest Upanishads is resolved by the later Mandukya Upanishad which introduces a fourth term, the so called "turiya" The three states of the self and the "fourth" are all discussed in a more systematic manner in the Gaudapada Karika, the first chapter of which is a commentary upon the Mandukya Upanishad.

Over time, the tradition of Vedanta worked out a series of correspondences involving the three. A feature of this developed scheme of correspondence involves the introduction of the distinction between the individual and the universal, the microcosmic and the macrocosmic, or in Sanskrit, the adhyatma and the adhidaiva, or vyashti and samasti.

In the developed scheme, the terms gross (sthula), subtle (sukshma), and causal (karana) are applied to the "bodies" of the three individual selves. At the macrocosmic level, the three "bodies" of brahman are called Viraj (gross matter), Hiranyagarbha (the golden orb, i.e., brahma world), and avyakrta (unmanifest creation). The macrocosmic "selves" of brahman are called Vaisvanara, the physical universe, Sutra-atma, the world soul, and Ishvara, the lord of creation otherwise known as saguna brahman, or brahman with form. This terminology is not applied with great rigor however, and in fact, more often than not, the term Hiranyagarbha is used to describe the world-soul rather than its "domain."

The tripartite divisions at the individual level are perhaps better known. The gross self is known as Visva (though the term Vaisnavara is also used), the subtle self is known as Taijasa, and the causal self is known as Prajna. To these three selves correspond the three states of consciousness: the waking state (jagarita-sthana), the dream state (svapna-sthana), and the state of deep dreamless sleep (sushupta-sthana). To these three states are applied three objects of consciousness. The first two objects are described merely with the terms gross (sthula) and subtle (sukshma). The object of consciousness in the third state is described as bliss (ananda), though it is also described as the consciousness of nothing whatsoever (akincana-bhava). The first state is described as the cognition of externality (bahis-prajna), while the subtle state is described as the cognition of internality (antah-prajna). The third state is described as pure cognition, or prajnana-ghana, which means "a lump of knowing." As pure cognition, it is identified with the Witness (sakshin). And yet, the state of deep sleep is also associated with the state of primal ignorance, the "sleep of unknowing" (nidra). The three selves are said to be covered over by ignorance (avidya; ajnana). This ignorance is said to be of two kinds. In the waking and dream states, ignorance as "vikshepa," the "scattering" and distracting power of maya, is in effect. This is the power that yogins attempt to overcome through the practice of one-pointedness. When it is overcome in the subtle state, the various visions of the inner self, such as the smokeless flame, etc. are allowed to manifest. "Vikshepa" is not operative in the state of deep dreamless sleep. However, here, another, even more primordial form of ignorance is operative; indeed it is operative in all of the three states including deep dreamless sleep. This is "avarana," the "veiling" power of maya. It is this form of ignorance that the jnani is concerned with removing. The presence of this form of ignorance in the third state distinguishes the third state from the fourth, turiya. Another distinguishing feature is that in the state of deep sleep the "seeds" (bija) of future mental tendencies (samskara) are said to still exist. It is for this reason that the third state is called the "causal" state, as these "seeds" are said to give rise to, or cause, our karmic patterning, not only upon awaking each morning, but with each rebirth (an analogy that reveals the metaphoric identification of deep sleep with death). Shankara describes the state of samadhi in similar terms. In both samadhi and deep sleep, he says, though there is no object of consciousness, in both, the "seeds" of personal identity and the future capacity for conditioned cognition remain. The Buddhists treat the same problem in a similar way. How is it that we come back to being who we are even after attaining nirodha-sampatti? The answer: due to the vasanas contained in the alaya-vijnana. Analogously, at the macrocosmic level of the unmanifest (avyakrta), the third form of brahman is known as the "causal" since it exists as pure cause, prior to the appearance of "effects" such as mind and matter.

In the Chandogya, the "fourth" self functions as a kind of transcendental ground of the other selves. Although he vacillates somewhat on this point, Shankara generally agrees with Kant, and says that the transcendental self cannot be an object of experience since it is the transcendental condition of experience as such. In terms of turiya, this idea is referred to in Advaita via the dictum that turiya is not a state among other states but the "truth" of the rest. And yet in the Gaudapada Karikas, and elsewhere, this "fourth" begins to be treated as if it were some kind of "state" of consciousness. Karika 1.15 definitely refers to turiya as a "pada," not in the Mandukya Upanishad's sense of a metaphoric "part" of the self, but in the sense of a "state" or "stage." Also, in an explicit sense, turiya begins to designate liberation (moksha) itself. But if this is so, then we have a problem. To use Wilber's terminology, the other three states function as "structures" of consciousness. And yet moksha cannot be a "structure"; it can only be a "stage". Thus, if turiya is moksha, there is a qualitative difference between the first three padas and the fourth "pada."

To make matters more complicated, something else enters the picture. Various traditions begin to speak of certain states of consciousness as "transcendent," that is, as states that go beyond conditioned reality, beyond the "world" of samsaric existence epitomized by the first three states. These transcendent states are described as temporary; and yet they are held to be transcendent nonetheless. The best known of these are the nirvikalpa samadhi of Advaita Vedanta and asamprajnata samadhi of yoga. Buddhism, too, describes similar states as "transcendent." The Abhidharmists refer to nirodha-samapatti, the attainment of "cessation", and to asamjna-samapatti, the attainment of non-cognition, as "lokottara", which means "transcending the (three) worlds". Mahayana Buddhism, as well, describes states like "shunyata samadhi" as states that temporarily transcend samsaric existence.

Whereas Shankara had reverted back to the older model and simply equated samadhi with the third state, in this latter presentation we have three states of consciousness and another that temporarily transcends the other three. But the term "turiya" is already busy place-holding for moksha. How, then, is this "fourth" transcendent state to be designated? Here is one option: Muktananda speaks of turiya as being "present" in the waking state of the one who has become "enlightened." Since turiya is not a structure of consciousness but a stage of development, it can be associated respectively with the three states. In other words, the structures of consciousness do not disappear for the one who has reached moksha; he has simply been liberated from their effects. Likewise, the "trancendent" state is also available for the one who is released. And yet, how is this other "fourth" state of consciousness to be designated with respect to the liberated? In order to cope with this situation the transcendent state is called "turiyatita" by Muktananda, which means "beyond the fourth." As such, the terms "turiya" and "turiyatita" function in the Play of Consciousnes in a manner that is analogous to the terms "sahaja samadhi" and "bhava samadhi" in Franklin Jones' terminology.

However, there are in fact two ways to deal with this terminological quagmire. The other scenario is this: since certain traditions have begun to identify certain states as "beyond the three," these transcendent states can now collectively be referred to as instances of a "fourth" (turiya) state of consciousness. But then we now need a term to refer to the "enlightened" condition, to moksha, itself, that is, to the "stage" that the term "turiya" referred to above. The simple answer is to call moksha "turiyatita," beyond the fourth. This is an alternative approach.

The Four-Fold Scheme of the Grammarians and Tantrikas

While the tantric traditions such as those of the Naths and Kashmiri Shaivas, accept the three (or four)-fold scheme of gross, subtle and causal states which is derivative of the Upanishads, there is another scheme derivative of the grammarians that is also operative in tantric works. This scheme is the three, or four, -fold division of the nature of mantra. The grammarians had posited that the "word" (vak), in its most inclusive sense, has four dimensions: para vak, the supreme, which is soundless; pashyanti vak, at which stage the word begins to manifest at an intuitive level; madhyama vak, or the middling stage, at which the word manifests at the mental level as thought; and vaikhari vak, which is physical speech. The tantric tradition assimilates this theory of the grammarians and integrates it with the theory of the three selves of Vedanta. In fact, the tantric traditions incorporate under this four-fold scheme every conceivable facet of doctrine and ritual of their system in a vast edifice of correspondences. The synthesis of the Vedantic and grammarian schemes within the tantric manifold figures most prominently in the works of Abhibnavagupta, the great Kashmiri Shaiva yogin, polymath and philosopher. This four-fold structure occurs elsewhere in tantric literature and can be found, for instance, in chapter three of Jnaneshvar's Amrta-anubhava, The Experience of Immortal Bliss, a work clearly written under the influence of the Naths.

In the tantric version of the theory of mantra, these four stages of the manifestation of the word are associated with the cakras in an interesting way that may seem counterintuitive. The "supreme" vak is associated with the root cakra, muladhara. The "causal" stage is associated with the navel cakra, manipura. The "subtle" stage is associated with heart cakra, anahata, and the "physical" stage is associated with the throat cakra.

In the tantric formulation the term "madhyama" is clearly associated with the mind, either manas or buddhi, ie., the domain of the subtle. What, though, does "pashyanti" refer to? Here is my take: The verbal root "pash" means "to see," This particular ocular verb is sometimes associated with the "spiritual" seeing of the ancient rishis. The term "rishi" means, literally, "seer.". It was thought by some that the ancient rishis "saw" the Veda (which means "knowledge") and then composed their hymns and mantras accordingly. In the later tradition, this "seeing" is contrasted with "hearing" (sravana). In other words, the ancient rishis did not hear the Veda, they "saw" it; that is, they intuited its meaning directly. This, I think, is what is meant by the term "pashyanti."  In Plotinian terms, it corresponds to immediate relation between noemata (Plato's "forms") and noesis (Plato's episteme) within the sphere of nous.

The Jhanas and Three-Fold Dhatu Scheme of Buddhism

At this point I would like to suggest a comparison of the three-fold scheme of Vedanta with another comparable scheme: the three-fold dhatu hierarchy of Buddhism, which is especially associate with the Abhidharmists.

The tripartite dhatu cosmography of Buddhism develops primarily out of the systematization of the jhanas (Sanskrit dhyana) and formless attainments (samapatti) that occur in the Pali canon. The earliest Buddhist Pali sources simply mention four jhanas (states of meditative absorption) and do not refer to their relation to vipassana meditation. There is also no menation of the "formless" jhanas. These first four jhanas bear a significant resemblance to the various forms of samprajnata samadhi described in the commentaries upon the Yoga Sutra. In both traditions, the terms savitarka, nirvitarka, savichara, and nirvichara are used to describe various forms of meditative trance. The roots of these four terms are "vitarka" and "vichara." It is not known, precisely, what was originally meant by these terms, though it is clear that vichara must refer to a slightly more subtle form of mental processing than vitarka. In any case, in both the Visuddhimagga and Yoga Sutra commentary, the "lower" jhanas and samprajnata samadhis are described as "with vitarka" (sa-vitarka) and "with vichara" (sa-vichara). A subsequent stage in meditation is described as without vitarka (nir-vitarka) but with vichara (savichara). The nemagga the fourth jhxt stage is described as without vichara (nirvichara) but with bliss or sukha in the Visuddhimagga. This corresponds with sa-ananda in the Yoga Sutra commentary. In the Visuddhaana the last jhana is described as without bliss but with perfect one-pointedness (ekagrata). We can perhaps take this to mean the attainment of samprajnata or savikalpa samadhi proper.

The Pali canon also mentions various other states or attainments (samapatti) that the Buddha-to-be supposedly attained during his course of study and practice with other teachers. These other states include the attainments of limitless space, of limitless consciousness, of nothingness, and of the state of "neither perception nor non-perception." The problem that presented itself to the commentators was how these descriptions were to integrated with the jhanas. What the Abhidharmists like Buddhaghosha did was amalgamate these attainments with the jhanas so as to form a new, more elaborate and systematized scheme. At the same time, the Abhidharmists "ranked" these four samapatti in the order that Gautama supposedly experienced them with various teachers, as revealed in the enlightenment narratives, and then "stacked" them up on top of the four jhanas. The result was eight "states" divided into two groups with four "levels" in each group. In time, the eight come to known as the eight jhanas, even though the four samapatti are never referred to as jhanas in the Pali canon. As the Abhidharmists begin to refine their descriptions of the eight, the first four come to be called the four jhanas with "form" (rupa) while the other four states come to be called the "formless" (arupa) jhanas. Strictly speaking, however, the formless states are to be understood simply as possibilities open to those who have attained ekagrata proper, that is, the fourth jhana. This scenario parallels descriptions in the Yoga Sutra commentaries, which also describe certain states or attainments open to those who have attained samprajnata samadhi proper. One such state is described in the Yoga Sutra commentaries as a state in which a kind of "omnipresence" of consciousness is experienced. The description here is similar to the first and second formless attainments, i.e., the attainment of limitless space and limitless consciousness.

Do these descriptions indicate  "parallel discoveries" of two different traditions? While it is tempting to say they might be, given the terminological similarities between the two traditions with regard to their descriptions of samadhi and jhana, it is clear we are dealing with two instances of a single yogic undercurrent spanning two religious traditions. Or to put it bluntly, the Yoga Sutra commentators are simply lifting the terminology and ideas of the Abhidharmists and putting it to use.

Incidently, in The Play of Consciousness, Muktananda mentions a world that he calls "sarva-jna loka." This may be not so much a reference to actual "omniscience" in the sense of being "all-knowing" (sarva-jna) as much as a reference to a sense of "omni-presence" in the manner described in traditional yogic texts.

Eventually, this eightfold two-part structure of the Abhidharmists begins to be integrated with traditional Buddhist cosmography and myth. At this point, another six-fold structure is added to the eight state fold jhana structure. This is the so-called six realms: men, animals, hell-beings, hungry ghosts, gods (devas), and ashuras. The worlds of men, gods, hell-beings and ashuras are all old Vedic conceptions and we have already encountered a few of them; the Buddhist tradition simply takes them over.

The Buddhist cosmography now comes to describe three large domains made up of six, four, and four "levels" respectively. Each of these three "larger domains" come to be called "dhatus" by the Abhidharmists: kama-dhatu, the domain of desire; rupa-dhatu, the domain of pure form; and arupa-dhatu, the formless domain. As this three-fold structure "trickles down" from the theoretical world of the Abhidharmists into the popular imagination of the Buddhist narrative myth-makers, these "dhatus" come to be imagined as "mega-worlds"(loka) in the cosmographic sense proper. At this point they begin to be populated by beings of various beings drawn from the mythic imagination. The "realm of form" comes, in general, to be associated with the various "Brahma-lokas" of Indian cosmography. The formless realms, too, are described as very subtle types of "Brahma lokas" populated by extremely elevated forms of beings. For example, Maitreya, the next Buddha-to-be, is said to reside in the realm associated with the eighth jhana waiting for his next incarnation.

The fourth and final samapatti of the formless states comes to be called the "limit of conditioned being" or the "peak of cyclic existence" (samsara), as it sits atop the three-fold dhatu scheme. As such it marks the limit of conditioned existence for the Buddhist tradition. As mentioned previously, at some point, certain states come to be referred to as "loka-uttara," that is, as transcending the three lokas. The state known as "nirodha-sampatti" is one of these.

In any case, we can see in the three-fold dhatu scheme of the Buddhists another magnificent example of the Indian penchant for triads and tripartite structures and an analog to the Vedantic three-fold classification.

 

The teaching of the "three states" of consciousness makes its first appearance in the Brhadaranyaka Upanishad. This work is considered to be the authoritative basis of the teaching. However, in its second appearance in the Chandogya Upanishad the teaching has undergone a change. Chan Up 8.11.1 marks the change and is an interesting passage. There, Indra, who is being instructed by Prajapati on the three states, notes a fault in a particular teaching, a teaching that can only be that of the Brhadaranyaka. The Brhad's teaching had been that in deep dreamless sleep one "becomes" brahman, or, to put it another more precise way, in deep sleep we revert back to our primordial nature as brahman. But Indra notes that in deep dreamless sleep there is no knowledge, since there is no object of consciousness in deep dreamless sleep. The implication is that if there can be no knowledge in such a state, there can be no awareness that one has become brahman. Thus, in the Chandogya Up, we find the beginnings of an appreciation of the problem of reflexivity, of the question of how it is that one can be aware that one is brahman when brahman is by nature non-dual. For the Brhad, such reflexivity, or awareness that one is brahman, is out of the question, for another teaching of the Brahd is that the Self is not an object of consciousness, but the pure subject, the "seer" (drashtr), or "witness" (sakshin), and "the eye that sees cannot see itself."

For Shankara, the inner Self (pratyag-atman) is also the pure or transcendent Subject (vishayin). He clearly sides with the Brhad Up on the matter of reflexivity: consciousness is no more capable of full reflexivity than a juggler can stand on his own shoulders or a knife cut itself. He does, however, admit a kind of reflexivity by saying that in enlightenment, or brahman-jnana, there is a "fruit" or effect of release, and that is the reflexive knowledge that one is released once brahman-jnana occurs.

Among the the Buddhists, the Madhyamikas agree with Shankara. The Yogacharins, however, hold that consciousness is capable of being aware of itself, and Mandana Mishra, Shankara's great Advaitin contemporary, agrees with them. Thus, we find a fault line running through both traditions, with some Buddhists holding one position and others another, and some Advaita Vedantins holding one position and others the counterposition. I think this fault line can ultmately be traced back to the difference between the teachings of the Brhadaranyaka and Chandogya Upanishads, and to their respective soteriological orientations: one toward transcendence and the other toward immanence.

With the notion that the third formless state is somehow "inadequate", the door is opened for a "fourth" state. While no such "fourth" is mentioned in the Chandoya Upanishad, at least explicitly, it does mention a "pure self" or Purusha that in some sense stands beyond the third state. Later commentators, including Shankara, will take this as referring to the "Fourth" state of the self, to Turiya. We can say then that the teaching of this "Purusha" is the teaching of Turiya in some sort of nascient form.

The "fourth", or Turiya, is explicitly mentioned for the first time in the Mandukya Upanishad, a very late Upanishad that is far removed from the Brhadaranyaka and Chandogya Up. Indeed, it is so late that some commentators do not even take it as an Upanishad. While the teaching of the Chandogya Up prefigures that of Mandukya Up, there is a historical and hermeneutic context that I believe must be supplied in order to understand what the Mandukya is actually saying with respect to this "fourth"; that context is the Buddhist tradition.

In a parallel prefiguring of the Mandukya Upanishad, the Potthapada Sutta --- an early Buddhist text --- refers to, and rejects, three "selves" that are related to three "states." The first self is "with form" (rupa) and "made up" of the four elements, and of "food." This latter formulation is similar to the formulation in the Taittiriya Upanishad, which refers to the first kosha or sheath of the self as being "made up of food". The Potthapada Sutra then describes a second self made up of form (rupa) but "consisting of mind," (mano-maya) which is precisely the same terminology used in the Taittiriya Upanishad. Last, it describes, and rejects, a third "formless" (arupa) self made up of consciousness (samjna). The grounds for the rejection of these three selves is the fact that they "come and go", that is, that each is transitory. Interestingly, transitoriness is also the reason given by the Advaitin Gaudapada, in his commentary upon the Mandukya, for the rejection of the first three selves as not "ultimate." In other words, the three states are not ultimate because they come and go (ie, we go into sleep then come out of it).

These features of commonality, I think, show two things: one, that the Buddhists were not only aware of the Upanishadic teachings, but that they were consciously providing a critique of them; and two, that the Advaitins were not only aware of the Buddhist critique, but that they were in turn consciously responding to it. That the author of the Mandukya Upanishad, and not just Gaudapada who is several centuries later, is himself aware of Buddhist doctrine is apparent in the fact, noted by Nakamura, that it refers to the "non-dual" fourth (Turiya) as "prapanca-upashama" (quieting of discursive proliferation) which is a technical term of Mahayana Buddhism used specifically by Nagarjuna.

There is a related idea that might be of interest to us here, and that is the Buddhist teaching of the "three realms." The three realms doctrine is a quasi-cosmographic idea of later Buddhism. It derives for the most part from the teachings concerning the jhanas and attainments (samapatti). Now, the earliest Buddhist works had only mentioned the four jhanas. But they had also mentioned other "attainments" (samapatti) that Gautama had procured during his life as an ascetic and yogin. What later Abhidharma works like the Visuddhimagga do is integrate these "attainments" with the jhanas that are referred to in the Pali canon. The usual resulting scheme depicts the four jhanas with the four "attainments" (samapatti) piled on top of them. This is a somewhat haphazard textual pastiche; however, it "works" as a kind of pseudo-phenomenology of states of consciousness. What it in fact shows is a process of textual redaction. This is to say, that the two were not at all related together until some commentator decided that they should be related, and in this way, two different teachings about "meditative states" were harmonized.

Now, when we take the four jhanas as one category, and add the four attainments as another, we get two "realms." Obviously these are not "ordinary" states of consciousness or realms of being. So, if we take the various "ordinary" states of being and add them to the other two, we happily get three "realms" or "worlds" (lokas)... and the Indian tradition rubs its hands together whenever it encounters the prospect of deriving a group of three. The "ordinary" states came to be associated with the six modes of being --- human, hell-being, hungry ghosts, animals, gods, ashuras --- and the other two "realms" came to be populated with their own respective "beings." In effect, a cosmography was created: kama-loka, rupa-loka (the realm of pure form), and arupa-loka (the formless realm). In time, the higher two realms were populated by all manner of gods and creatures drawn from the Buddhist creative imagination, with Maitreya, the coming Lord and Buddha to be, "living" in the highest realm, which by now has become a kind of jhana, the jhana of "neither perception nor nonperception."

To return to my initial line of thought, what I would like to suggest is that the Potthapada Sutta, with its description of the "three states," is the context for this later doctrine of the three lokas, as well as background against which was written the Mandukya Upanishad. The Mandukya, like later Buddhism and the Potthapada Sutta, also gives us a description of three "structures" of consciousness. It also describes a "fourth" that somehow transcends the three. As we noted, the textual precedent for the "fourth" can be found in the Chandogya Up, with its critique of the "third" state as somehow "inadequate." But it is the Buddhist tradition, I would suggest, that is the most important context for the composition of the Mandukya Up. The most important feature of this context, I think, is the idea that the three states are somehow "imperfect." And as we noted, the conception of this inadequacy, viz., the transitoriness of the three states, is taken over in toto by Gaudapada. 

What the Vedantins required was a "response" to the Buddhists. They needed an account that "transcended and included" that of the Buddhists. That account was provided by the Mandukya Upanishad. In effect, the Vedantins answered the critique of the Potthapada Sutta by saying the following: The three selves are indeed transitory. But beyond the three states is the true Self that never comes and goes, that is transcendent of the three and yet always already present as their "truth" or immanent basis. In other words they said, "Yes we have indeed described three states and three selves, but we also have a Fourth, which is beyond the three."

And in the process of giving this response they had started the ball rolling in the direction of a new game: the game called  "let's ratchet up the terminology," a game that will lead to the doctrine of Turiyatita, that which is "beyond the fourth," which is found in Kashmiri Shaivism and Tantricized Advaita, as well as to Da's collapsing of certain features of the fourth into the third, the "causal."

Recent scholarly work on Yogachara has called into question the degree to which the Yogachara can be called a form of Idealism. Such work begs the question as to what we mean by the term when we use it.

There are various meanings that the term "idealism" can take, and though they are related in various ways, they are not identical. To begin, we can eliminate one sense -- the non-philosophical use of the term, such as when we speak of "youthful idealism," or the enthusiastic interest in the advancement of some ideal.

Beyond this general sense of the term "idealism," there are several more or less technical or philosophical meanings for the term. These meanings, in turn, vary in degrees of technical specificity. This varying degree of specificity can at times present problems to non-specialists looking for precise philosophical definitions. For example, the philosophy of Plato is often called a form of "idealism." And yet at the same time, it is also called a form of Realism, and referred to as representative of the "realism" espoused by the ancient world. To clarify this seeming conflagration, the various meanings of these terms need to be disentangled. We can perhaps begin with the contrast between the ancient and the modern; we can then move through the problem historically, all the while related their Indian analogs.

When we refer to the ancient philosophy of Greece as a form of "realism" we mean something rather specfic. To get at this meaning we need to review some basic presuppositions of modern philosophy. Modern philosophy is characterized by a concern with the problem of epistemological foundations. This concern has lead to some rather particular developments in the areas of metaphysics, philosophy of mind, and the theory of perception. It is generally acknowledged that such developments begin with Descartes and continue through the empiricists. We will return to this development below; for now, I will simply state the general character of modern epistemology and how it affects modern metaphysics. Basically, the moderns are concerned with what I can know and how I know it. Perhaps the most paradigmatic statement of this concern is the question: how can I have (certain) knowledge of the world; how do I know for sure that the world is not a fabrication, a dream, or illusion presented by some very powerful but malevolent entity? This basic problem will inform the development of much of modern metaphysics, the philosophy mind, and the theory of perception, and it lies at the basis of modern forms of philosophical idealism.

In contrast, for the ancients, no such "problem" existed. To be sure, there were skeptics in late antiquity, but in general there was no epistemic problem in the ancient world to the degree that we find among the moderns. In this sense, the ancients can be called "realists" insofar as, for them, there was never any doubt about whether or not we actually see a real world. For the ancients, we more or less see things as they are. In this sense, Platonism can be called a form of "realism."

There is another sense that Platonism can be called a form of Realism, and that concerns the status of universals -- ideas, numbers, etc. In Platonism, universals are considered to be real entities, existing in an ideal state of being. Particulars, then, as the instances of universals, are, in some sense, "less real" than universals. Today, Realism is considered one of the basic theories of foundational mathematics, alongside "logicism" and "intuitionism." In terms of metaphysics, Realism (distinguished through the use of a capital letter) is contrasted not with idealism but with nominalism. Nominalism is the theory that ideas, numbers, mathematical laws, and logical laws are all contingent. In nominalism, the metaphysical priority of the universal, found in Realism, is reversed. In other words, ideas do not actually exist in some ideal logical space as real entities. For the nominalists, they are but mere generalizations, drawn from empirical data through the process of abstraction.

But, at the same time, it is this emphasis on the "idea," and also the notion that particulars are "less real," that gives us the view that Platonism is also a form "idealism." At this point, then, we can refer to a specific sense of the term "idealism." Here, idealism refers to the generalized point of view that the world, the realm of the senses, or what Plato referred to as the realm of "becoming," is, in some sense, "less real" than an idealized realm, or world "beyond" the senses (and the mind in some sense). This idea, that the realm of "becoming" is but a mere "shadow play," (as per the Republic) qualifies Platonism as a form of idealism, at least in this in this sense of the term.

Many religious philosophies are also idealist in this sense. The Madhyamika, Yogachara, and Advaita Vedanta are also referred to as "idealist" in an analogous sense, insofar as they insist that reality is not as it appears at first glance to the "everyday mind;" and that there exists a reality transcending the "world," an ultimate reality, in which things exist as they are in themselves, a reality that is in some sense "more real" than the one we normally find ourselves apprehending. Most forms of mysticism -- which holds that this ideal reality not only exists, but can be apprehended through spiritual discipline and training -- can, in this sense, be said to imply this form of idealism.

Insofar as the idealistic schools of Indian thought deny the ultimate reality of the world in the above manner, they can be contrasted with their semantic correlates, the "realist" schools of Indian philosophy -- the Mimamsa, Nyaya-Vaishesika, the Jains, and "hinayana" schools of Buddhist thought: the Sarvastivada and the Sautrantika. Technically speaking, the Samkhya-Yoga is a realist school, though it contains tendencies that incline it toward "idealism" insofar as they too hold that there exists a kind a cognitive error that needs to be overcome through spiritual discipline, and place emphasis on the spiritual principle, the Purusha.

This last semantic development leads to an even more particular sense for the term "idealism." This last sense is the metaphysical idea that the "world" -- which included "matter" and the objects of the senses -- is but a creation of mind. Here, two forms of idealism can be loosely distiguished: subjective idealism and absolute idealism. An instance of subjective idealism would be the philosophy of Berkeley. An instance of absolute idealism would be the philosophy of Hegel. The difference between the two relates, for the most part, to questions relating to the epistemological problem of how it is that we see the world.

Subjective idealism can be seen as a development from the position of phenomenalism, in particular, the theory of perception put forward by the phenomenalists. A similar and parallel development occurs in the development of Abhidharma thought, from the (hinayana) Sautrantikas to the (Mahayana) Yogacharins. In this latter case, the issue does not relate, to as great a degree, to the problem of epistemological foundationalism. But it does relate to a theory of perception that parallels developments in the West.

In the phenomenalism of both the Empiricists of Europe and the Sautrantika Buddhists in India, we find what is often referred to as the "representational" theory of perception (this theory is also found in the Samkhya-Yoga school and in the Vedanta generally). According to the representational theory of perception, we do not actually directly see objects; rather, we see a representation of the object in our mind, like an imprint of a solid object on a disc of soft wax, as it were. Phenomenalists, such as empiricists and the Sautrantikas, are "realists" in the sense that, 1. what we see when we see these representations are indeed accurate likenesses of objects, and 2. the objects that give rise to representations are indeed real objects existing "outside" in the mind. But there is also sense in which the representationalism of the phenomenalists can be called a kind of "quasi-idealism" insofar as, according to this theory, we do not actually apprehend physical objects when we perceive as much as we apprehend representations occuring in some sort of mental space.

In any case, the representationalism of the phenomenalists contains within it a tendency toward what we have referred to as subjective or epistemological idealism. In subjective idealism, the "outside" object is dropped altogether as unnecessary and redundant; all that exists are mental events. In the case of the West, this development is due to pressure contained in the "logic" of epistemological foundationalism. In a sense, as Wittgenstein noted, Berkeley was the most consistent of the British empiricists in that he submitted himself to the force of this "logic." For his own part, Hume simply could not accept this outcome in toto, even though the conclusion of subjective idealism was logically compelling to him. At the end of the day, as he admits, he goes home and plays billards and does not question the existence of the balls on the table. The development of epistemological idealism in the Yogachara is more difficult to trace. Here, the pressure appears to have come from two directions: one logical and the other soteriological. In the case of the former, it appears to have involved the resolution of certain difficulties left over from the Abhidharma analysis of mental events.

Another form of idealism -- situated "between" subjective idealism and absolute idealism, and yet different from both -- also indirectly develops out of phenomenalism: transcendental idealism. Transcendental idealism also holds that we do not directly perceive objects as they are in themselves; rather, we only perceive the phenomenal appearance of the object. This phenomenal appearance consists of raw perceptual data as well as certain conceptually constructed elements fused with sense data. Transcendental idealists hold that our cognitive make-up is such that conceptual construction forms an integral part of all mental events, including perception. It represents a kind of compromise with "realism" -- in that it holds that the perception of the world is an objective event that has objective validity -- but, technically and strictly speaking, unlike phenomenalism, it is not a form of realism but a form of idealism. Examples of transcendental idealism include the philosophy of Kant, and posibly the philosophy of the great Buddhist logicians, Dignaga and Dharmakirti. Like Kant, Dignaga and Dharmakirti hold that all perception involves a degree of conceptual construction (vikalpa; kalpana). But like Kant, they also hold that the "thing in itself," or what they call the pure particular (svalakshana), is the basis of all perception, even though it is never directly perceived. The school of thought initiated by Dignaga and Dharmakirti eventually became the dominant school of Buddhist philosophy in India. It reflects a synthesis of Yogachara and Sautrantika thought with logicism.

Let us now return to the Yogachara idealism. It is generally thought by scholars that there are two forms of Yogachara thought. (See http://ccbs.ntu.edu.tw/FULLTEXT/JR-PHIL/ew27052.htm) This distinction leads us to the final form of idealism we shall look at here: absolute idealism. Absolute idealism, as a generalized point of view, holds, 1. that "spirit" (consciousness, mind, etc.) is in some sense more real than "matter"; and 2. that the material world is in some sense an "emanation" from pure spirit. Though we find this idea in the modern West in the philosophy of Hegel, and in the midst of the development of Buddhist philosophy and logic, this perspective actually harkens back to very ancient ideas of cosmogony, in particular to the theistic cosmogonies of ancient Greece and India that viewed God as, not only the instrumental, but the immanent material cause of the world (the "stuff" out of which the world is created.)

In the case of the second stream of the Yogachara, the world is seen as the "projection" (pratibhasa) of mind (vijnana; citta). We find a similar idea in pre-Shankara Advaita Vedanta as well, for example, in the Gaudapada Karikas, which describes the world as due to the "vibration" (sphurana) of mind or consciousness (manas; vijnana; citta). We also find this teaching in Kashmiri Shaivism, which consciously attempts to re-instate emanationist ideas of the older Shaivas.

These are the various senses of the term "idealism" that come to me off the top of my head, but an even fuller development of the semantic range of this term may also be possible. My characterizations of the various philosophies presented here are, of course, open to being challenged. I have, over the course of this post, presented the "received" views of these schools found among prominent scholars. My point here is not to defend these views; it is merely to clarify the various senses of the term "idealism" through the use of examples.

The Indian context for "inclusivism" is actually quite broad, and covers a number of different but related contexts. It takes inter-traditional forms as well as intra-traditional. Intra-traditionally, it includes the Buddhist idea of skillful means (upaya-kaushalya) and the Vedantic notion of "differences in qualification" (adhikarana-bheda) both of which refer to the idea that specific teachings are to be assigned to specific students in accordance with their needs and abilities; the idea that certain teachings are merely propaedeutic (avatarana), which we find in both Mahayana and Advaita; the related Mahayana hermeneutic device of distinguishing literal teachings and "metaphoric" teachings (nitartha/neyartha); and the Advaita notion of "harmonization" (samanvaya), in which contradictory teachings are made consistent by reinterpreting them. All of these make use of a hermeneutic prodecure that primarily serves the theological/exegetical end of systematizing incongruent scriptural teachings found within a tradition, but it can also serve the polemical end of subordintating sister schools within a tradition. For example, in Madhyamika, the Yogachara scriptures are merely "metaphorically" true, while the Prajnaparamita scriptures are literally true; and vice versa for the Yogachara. This is actually the original context for the concept of the two truths.

Later, certain traditions start to say of other traditions that their conceptions of reality/God, etc. are "incomplete" (cf. the Jain anekantavada) or inadequate expressions of their own teachings. This idea actually has an ancient basis, as for example when the Chandogya Upanishad says that he who knows the true and absolute Being (sat), knows all teachings; or when the Buddha uses certain brahmanic concepts of the self in some of his discourses; or when the Gita says that all concepts of God are really expressions of Krishna. Later, Shankara also makes use of this idea when he says that all traditions ultimately seek the Self of advaita, but that they don't realize it (Brahma Sutra 1.3.33). Bhavaviveka may have revitalized the classical usage when he said that the Vedanta concept of brahman is an attempt at expressing the Buddhist shunyata, but due to the continuing influence of ignorance among the brahmanic sages, they don't quite get it right, and so they reify emptiness. The inter-traditional context is clearly polemical, and one might certainly question whether descriptions taken from this context can be taken or used as neutral accounts of tradition.

Wilber's system, or systems, including his most recent version of "integralism," can be understood, I would contend, as kinds of inclusivism. Among Wilber's influences, in this regard, we might include Hegel, and his concept of Aufhebung ("transcend and include"), and Aurobindo's own "integralism," his "synthesis of yoga." There is also no question that Wilber's models rely heavily on Da's own schemas, such the "seven stages," to which Da attempts to reduce the entire Indian tradition. In a note at the end of Eye of Spirit, Wilber refers to "the gross path or the yogis," "subtle path of the sants," "causal path of the sages," and "non-dual path of the siddhas," an ascending hierarchy of "paths" that clearly not only draws on Da's models but reveals both Wilber's and Da's allegiance to Tantrism. Da himself draws upon the synthesis of Tantrism accomplished by the great Kashmiri Shaiva, Abhinavagupta, in particular Abhinava's idea of the four upayas, which correspond quite neatly with Da's final four stages. Da was also influenced by the rhetorical schematizing of Neo-Vedantins like Vivekananada and Yogananda, personages whom he wished to emulate.

The inclusivism of the Neo-Vedantins is basically an extention of the inclusivism of the Advaita doxographers who follow the 15th century -- writers such as Madhava, author of the Sarva-darshana-samgraha, "Compendium of All Teachings." The Advaita doxographers presented the Indian tradition in terms of a reductive hierarchy of schools, with materialists at the bottom; followed by the heterodox Buddhists and Jains; then the the Nyaya-Vaishesika; followed by the Samkhya and Yoga; then the Mimasakas, the sister tradition of the Vedanta; followed by the dualist and qualified non-dualist schools of Vedanta; and finally, the teaching of Advaita Vedanta, the capstone of the Indian tradition (for Advaitins). Standard textbooks of Indian philosophy still use this format or something like it. 

What the Neo-Vedantins do is universalize this tendency to subordinate (transcend) and subsume (include). Rather than adressing only the Indian traditions, Neo-Vedanta attempts to address all the world religions. Hence Radhakrishnan can say: "All true religion is Vedanta."  Indeed, perennialism in general reveals the inclusivist tendency. It sometimes appears (or masquarades) as a kind of pluralism, but in the end it is about the dominance of some particular tradition -- whether it be Advaita Vedanta, Tantra, or whatever -- and the subordination of all other traditions to that tradition.

Wilber's description of enlightenment as "sahaj samadhi" derives primarly from Da, who in turn appropriates the term from the writings of Ramana Maharshi. For Da, "sahaj samadhi" denotes a non-exclusory samadhi, i.e., a samadhi that does not "discriminate" the contents of consciousness from consciousness itself. Rather, in "sahaj samadhi" the contents of consciousness are seen as manifestations - "arisings," as he calls them - of consciousness itself. Compare Wilber's description of "non-dual mysticism":

"To experience oneness with all phenomena arising in gross, subtle and causal states is a typical non-dual mysticism." Integral Spirituality, p. 93.

Drawing on the cosmogonic images of Kashmiri Shaivism, Da refers to sahaj samadhi as "open eyes samadhi." This is a reference to Shiva's post-meditative state wherein he creates the cosmos - represented by the image of Shiva with "open eyes" (unmilana). The idea here is that sahaj samadhi denotes a state that does not "discriminate" meditative trance, or Shiva with closed eyes (milana), from "ordinary" states of consciousness, or Shiva with open eyes (unmilana).

Both Wilber and Da tend to understand the requirement that there be such a "samadhi" in terms of the "logic" of the concept of non-duality. In Integral Spirituality, Ken writes:

"A typical response is to say that Enlightenment is being one with that which is Timeless, and Eternal, and Unborn.... But all that does it create a massive duality of Spirit - the timeless and eternal vs. the temporal and evolving...." Integral Spirituality, p. 95 and p.235.

Wilber largely derives this interpretation of enlightenment from the works of Da. His indebtedness to Da here can be seen in the following passage, which nicely summarizes the interpretation of Buddhism that we find in Nirvanasara:

"In the Theravada, or early Buddhism, this formless state of cessation (nirvikalpa, nirvana, nirodha) is taken to be an end in itself, a nirvana that is free from samsara. Mahayana Buddhism went further and maintained that such a view is true but partial...." Integral Spirituality, p. 108.

The requirement of non-duality is easily transposed into the Upanishadic requirement of permanence, and vice versa, since both non-duality and permanence denote a search for totality. Thus, in Integral Spirituality, Wilber also describes enlightenment in terms of a modified version of the idea of the Witness:

"If an individual has taken Wakefulness from the gross into the subtle, causal, and non-dual states, so that those states are mastered to some degree..., then they would be able to realize the oneness with all those general states as well." Integral Spirituality, p. 244.

In the above passage, the requirement of non-duality is combined with the need for permanence, which here appears as the continuity of "Wakefulness." But whereas traditional Advaita Vedanta understands identification with the Witness as identification with that which is Timeless, and Eternal, and Unborn, Wilber understands the continuity of "Wakefulness" as the "realization of oneness" with those states.

Wilber's conception here is closer to the Shaiva tinged Neo-Advaita of Ramana Maharshi than it is to the classical Advaita of Shankara. Compare Ramana's interpolation of a passage from the Vivekachudamani, a work attributed to Shankara that is actually a 15th century pastiche of traditional Advaita, classical Yoga, and tantric Shaivism:

"The essence of the Vedanta scriptures can be condensed into the following points:

First:...I alone am....

Second:...I alone am the Truth....

Third:...All that seems separate from me is myself...

Although all three of these standpoints are aids to Realization, the third, in which one conceives everything as oneself, is the most powerful." The Collected Works of Ramana Maharshi , p. 165.

Whereas Shankara understands the Witness as the transcendental condition for the possibility of experience (that, as such, cannot be experienced), Wilber understands it as a certain type of experience, or to be precise, capacity to invoke a certain type of experience. In Integral Spirituality he describes it as:

"...a capacity to witness all of the other states; for example, the capacity for unbroken attention in the waking state and the capacity to lucid dream." Integral Spirituality p. 74.

Like the Neo-Vedantins, Wilber tends to view enlightenment as essentially an experience. Since enlightenment is an experience and since it must be permanent, the experience of enlightenment must continue throughout all states. It is for this reason that we find the appearance of the jackalope "lucid deep sleep" in Wilber's account.

There is another dimension to "sahaj samadhi" and that is its relation to the hagiographical component of Neo-Advaita. In the Neo-Advaita "satsang" movements we find a pronounced tendency to extol the sanctity and sagacity of the Guru. Besides the obvious practicality of the bhaktic element here, I think the function of this hagiographical component has, in large measure, to do with the status of the Guru vis a vis the problem of authority in Neo-Vedanta and Neo-Advaita. In Neo-Vedanta/Advaita, authority is shifted from traditional sources, such as scripture and teachings of the founding acharya, onto the shoulders of the living sage. This is one reason, I would suggest, that we find so many "God-men" and "Christ-like Saints" in modern Hinduism, as well as so many claims to enlightenment.

In the modern movements, the enlightened "God-man" enjoys the status of a kind of truth-conferring body, and the basis of this authority is his "enlightenment experience." Thus, in order to establish a reliable truth-conferring body, the sage must be in effortless, radical communion with brahman at all times. But since the realized sage is "one" with brahman, this all becomes possible. Of course there are benefits that go along with this. Since brahman is defined as bliss, the realized sage enjoys that bliss at all times; and so on. All of these components, which follow from the idea that enlightenment is an experience, are summed up by the term "sahaj samadhi."

I would now like to explore the semantic range of the term "sahaj samadhi" by looking its possible rhetorical and pedagogical senses. This will require some introductory considerations.

In the Brhad Up, we read of the "wandering" (carana) of the soul between the waking and dream states. This wandering through the states (avastha) serves as a kind of metaphor for the wandering of the soul from birth to birth (samsara). Brhad Up 4.3.19 compares this roaming of the soul among its states to the flight of a bird, and likens the roosting of the bird in its nest to the "return" of the soul to the state in which it "craves no pleasure, and sees no dream," i.e., to deep sleep, the "natural" state of the soul, which Shankara glosses as its "own-self" (sva-atman).

Along these same lines Ramana (now in his guise as a classical Vedantin) writes:

"Bliss and the Self are not distinct and separate but are one and the same... When the mind is externalized, it suffers pain and anguish.... In deep sleep, in spiritual trance (samadhi), when fainting...the mind turns inward and enjoys the Bliss of Atman. Thus wandering astray, forsaking the Self, and returning to it again and again is the interminable and wearisome lot of the Mind." The Collected Works of Ramana Maharshi, p. 45.

Here, Ramana basically glosses the view of the Brahma Sutras. Like Ramana, Shankara also associates the state of samadhi with deep sleep. What is noteworthy about this association is that it implies that in samadhi, as in deep sleep, the self returns to its "natural" state.

The image of the bird soaring high in the sky and then returning to its nest reappears in the Doha-kosha of the siddha Saraha. But in the Doha-kosha, the state of samadhi is likened to a bird soaring high in the sky. In other words, Saraha inverts the Upanishadic image, and the implication now is that meditative trance is not the "natural" state of the soul. In fact, Saraha considers samadhi a mere artifice, and accordingly he heaps ridicule upon its practice. Over against such cultivations (bhavana), which typify monastic life, Saraha, who wore his hair long and lived with a consort, extols living life in accordance one's natural (sahaja) state.

Another work that depreciates the practice of samadhi is the Ashtavakra Gita. Like Saraha's Doha-kosha, the Asthavakra Gita regards samadhi as artificial or "contrived" (krtrima). And like the Doha-kosha, the Ashtavakra Gita inverts a number of traditional images. For one, it takes the aimless "wandering" (carana) of the self and turns into a way of life, not unlike Chuang Tzu's "crooked path." Indeed, the name "Ashtavakra" means "crooked in eight limbs," and we can take this as an indirect slight of eightfold paths like Buddhism and Ashtanga Yoga, which represent the "straight and narrow."

Interestingly, the Ashtavakra Gita refers to and recommends "akrtrima samadhi." The term "akrtrima" means "non-contrived" or "natural." As such, it is a virtual synonym for "sahaja." The term "samadhi" can be and is used to refer to any ultimate end (nihshreya), including the passing of a spiritual personage. In the context of the Ashtavakra Gita, this would appear to be how it is being used. In other words, "akrtrima samadhi" is no "samadhi" at all. The nominal "samadhi" is being used here figuratively, and its placement in juxtaposition with "akrtrima" suggests an ironic intent. We should therefore read it as "akrtrima samadhi."

This, I would suggest, is another possible rendering of "sahaj samadhi."

In the Hindu renunciatory traditions, in particular Vedanta, the basic impetus driving the quest for release and "enlightenment" is the existential need to face, and in the end, overcome, death. This need, this impetus, can be traced through the Upanishads, back through the Brahmanas, back to the Aryan sacrificial cult itself. The cult was based upon the primordial duality of life and death, and the recognition that life comes from death. Later, the pure ritualism of the Brahmanas attempted to transcend the violence of the sacrificial cult. Here we see the first attempts to overcome death itself, to bypass the duality of being and nothingness.

At the same time, the question of personal eschatology permeates the discourse of the Vedas and Brahmanas: "besides our collective struggle, what about my own death, my own agonistic struggle with death itself?" No doubt, the experience of bodily transcendence, found in states of swoon or ecstasy, led some to speculate about the afterlife in terms of their experience of bodily transcendence. We can find evidence of such speculation early in the Vedas. But at some point, perhaps with the rise pure ritualism, it all becomes rationalized to a much greater degree.

At this time, various theories begin to arise as to what happens to the individual person after death. At a certain point, however, another problem begins to present itself. In the sacrificial and ritual cults, it was assumed that certain forms of ritual actions could ensure the continued existence of particular special individuals (i.e., war-lords with lots of bling) in the afterlife. But in the Brhadaranyaka Upanishad we find suggestions to the contrary. At Brhad 1.4.15; 3.8.10; 4.4.6; and 6.2.16 we read that when the karmic results of the rite performed to ensure life after death have exhausted themselves, the one who has reaped their benefit is reborn. Chan 5.19.5; 8.1.6 reflect the same idea.

What is the basic idea underlying such conception? We find it expressed succinctly in a much later text. Gita 2.27 says, "What is born dies, and what dies is born again." The idea is that the results of ritualized action (karma) do not last; they come into being, and therefore they must go out of being. The principle, stated most succinctly at Gita 13.2, is this: "what comes into being, goes out of being." This is the first part involved in the principle I call the "logic of being".

At this time, the Upanishadic sages begin to fret, the way Nietzsche did: "What if this cycle of coming to be and going out of existence were to happen eternally? What if I were to undergo this kind of dread for all time?" For the Indian sages, the problem of samsara was not so much about rebirth as redeath -- innumerable agonizing episodes of dying.

Let us now move to the second part of the "logic of being." It is found most primordially at Chandogya Upanishad 6.2.2. The passage reads: "Being does not arise from nothing." Or put more radically, "true" being never comes into being. And nor does it ever go out of being.

The implications of this passage for the soteriology of Advaita Vedanta are stated for the first time at Gaudapada karika 4.30: "if release is a product it is impermanent." This means that release cannot be the result of any action; and therefore, it cannot be the fruit of any sadhana. This principle is stated many times by Shankara in his works.

We also find this principle clearly enunciated by that major influence upon the author of the Gaudapada Karikas: Nagarjuna. Madhyamika Karika 15.8 says, "true being, svabhava, cannot be otherwise that it is." This means it can never come into being. This is the same Upanishadic principle, but given a Buddhist twist. Nagarjuna's point is that absolute being never "becomes." Emanationism is thus an impossibility. And indeed becoming itself is an impossibility if we accept the notion of an absolute being (sat).
 

The author of the Gaudapada Karika's steals the principle back and puts it into use toward the ends of Vedanta. Echoing Nagarjuna's notion of svabhava, but also the Gita's idea of "prakriti," GK 4.9 says, "prakriti is that which does not lose its essential nature." Gaudapada Karika 3.19 says, "the mortal cannot become immortal and the immortal cannot become mortal". GK 3.19 says, "what exists does not become."  We see here the same principle being applied: True being cannot come into being, and nor does it go out of being.

The soteriological implication now becomes clear: If release is to be permanent, it cannot come into being. And this means it can have no cause. In other words, it must have always been. This is the well known "always already" bandied about so much in Neo-Advaita discourse.

But it also means something else. It means that bondage cannot be real. For if it is real, if it really exists, it will never go out of being. Thus we read in Shankara's commentary at Brahma Sutra 2.3.40, that if bondage is real, it will never be removed. This can only mean that it is unreal, for otherwise redemption is impossible.

Enter the concept of maya, and also something else: the notion of the "liberating insight".

Early in the Upanishads we read that it is not ritual action, but knowledge, that gives release. As Mund 3.2.9 says: he who knows Brahman, becomes Brahman. This means that the "problem" was never ontological at all, but "epistemic" or gnoseological. It means, ontologically speaking, we were, all along and in our true nature, released; the problem was that we did not recognize that fact. We are "covered over", as it were, by a fog of illusion and delusion. Once that fog is lifted, our true nature shines forth. In this way the inexorable "logic of being" is overcome. In other words, by resorting to a myth of "primordial ignorance", and its transcendence through the "liberating insight" of enlightenment, the rigorous "logic of being" is overcome.

My argument is that in Advaita Vedanta, release (moksha) is more or less defined so as to meet a specific existential need, the need to overcome death, in a manner that also meets the needs of reason (so as to be persuasive). Basically, release must be permanent; and thus begins the "search" for that which is permanent, i.e., the brahman, the atman, etc.

Paul Hacker has noted how, in Vedanta, "brahman" starts out its career as the unseen aetheric "stuff" that binds the magical incantation to reality -- the hidden "force" that makes the ritual mantras efficacious -- and ends its career in the philosophical Vedanta as, ironically, not that which is hidden, but as that which is always present.

In Advaita Vedanta, reality is defined as that which "never strays" (a-vyabhichara). This term, "vyabhichara," is taken over from the logicians. If we say, for example, "where there is fire, there is oxygen," we know this statement is valid since, in this case, fire never "strays" from oxygen. But if we say, "where there is oxygen, there is fire," we know this is wrong because, in this case, oxygen "strays" from fire. The idea here is that oxygen is always present whenever there is fire; this is what is meant by "never straying." So, in Advaita Vedanta, ultimate reality will be that which is always present. Reality, in other words, is Pure Presence.

Mandana Mishra, Shankara's great contemporary, chooses "being" (sat) as that which fulfills the Advaita criterion of reality. Shankara chooses "consciousness" (chit). Following the Brhad Up, Shankara's inquiry "investigates" (ie., demonstrates to the student) how it is that consciousness permeates the three states (waking; dreaming, deep sleep). His conclusion is that consciousness is that which "never strays" from the three states. The obvious difficulty here is deep sleep. An interlocutor asks Shankara how it is that we can say that consciousness permeates deep sleep when there is no consciousness in deep sleep. Shankara replies that there is no reflexive consciousness in deep sleep because there is no object for consciousness in deep sleep. But "consciousness" as the pure Spectator (drastr), the transcendental witness (sakshin), remains. (Paul Deussen called this doctrine a "monstrosity.") But, if there is no reflexive consciousness in the state of deep sleep, then it seems clear that the Advaitins did not arrive at their teaching by means of some "experience." Orthodox Advaitins claim it is true because it is revealed in the Upanishads. But, in any case, it looks suspiciously as if the doctrine of consciousness surviving deep sleep has been constructed in an ad hoc manner so as to meet the above criteria.

In Eye to Eye, first published in 1983, Wilber says that "transcendental methodology constitutes an experimental, verifiable, repeatable proof for the existence of Godhead, as a fact..." (italics in orginal)."

No doubt, various traditions have claimed a special mode of knowing particular to their "practice," a kind of "metaphysical intuition" (yogi-pratyaksha; sakshatkara; anubhava; nirvikalpa-jnana; prajna; bodhi; viveka-khyati, etc.) that transcends the "worldly" ways of knowing. In such traditions, this metaphysical intuition is supposed to provide a form of veracity, often presented as a kind of "self-evident" truth.

While such claims are interesting, I find philosophical appeals to "transcendental methodologies" to be problematic. I find them problematic because there is no uniformity as to what these various metaphysical intuitions are intuiting. In this sense, metaphysical intuition is not at all like the "experimental, verifiable, repeatable" proof that we find in the empirical sciences.

Contrary to the claims of Wilber and other perennialists, it is simply not the case that these "intuitions" are intuiting the same thing. To give an example, Mahayana Buddhists and Advaita Vedantins both acknowledge nirvikalpa-pratyaksha (direct, non-conceptual perception or "intuition" ). But they do not agree, as their Naiyayika detractors point out, on what it is that this "nirvikalpa-pratyaksha" is apprehending. For the Advaitin it is "absolute being," or the most universal generality, while for the Suatrantika-Yogacharin it is the "pure particular" (svalakshana) shorn of all generality. It is certainly not the case, as Wilber contends, that for tradition in general, there is a metaphysical intution of "consciousness as eternal." This may be the Vedantic teaching, but it is not Buddhist.

All of these "metaphysical intuitions" are, in fact, particular to particular traditions. Each tradition has its own mode of "intuition" --- a form of intellectual insight, really, a kind of "seeing" (darshana), or understanding --- and each tradition has its own "reality" corresponding to this "mode." The practice of meditation, as I see it, is concerned with developing this "seeing."

We may also note that the "eye of soul," or what the older tradition called "intellectual intuition," is conspicuously absent in the modern period. It makes a brief reappearance with Hegel in his concept of "speculatio," which grasps "absolute knowledge," but generally we find the disappearance of "intuition" as a mode of knowing in the modern period. This disappearance coincides with the "naturalizing" of philosophy, and with the movement in philosophy toward theoretical universality. In other words, while we do find "intellectual intution" in insular classical traditions like Neo-Platonism, wherein certain "noetic states" fufill a particular role within a "practice," the role of intuition becomes problematic when we begin to speak of universally applicable modes of knowing. So, we can understand why "intellectual intuition" gradually fell out of favour during the communalization of philosophy: there was simply no consensus on what it was that intellectual intuition was supposed to be intuiting.

"Experience proves the existence of such things. If only you practiced yoga, you'd understand." We can compare this approach with the following: "You'll never understand Marxism until you've had your consciousness raised. Until then, there's no point talking to you."
 
The problem that this approach is attempting to address is this: two parties cannot come to an agreement on some issue, say, the nature of ultimate reality, and one party is petitioning the other to participate in his "experience." The assumption here is the problem will clear up if the second party has access to a particular "experience." But, as we noted above, the problem does not clear up where two different traditions of meditation are concerned, nor does it clear up when one party does not participate in a particular perspective. 

The above being the case, the problem does not really have to do with experience, or a lack thereof, as much as it has to do with the "conflict of interpretations" and the multiplicity of perspectives -- with differing conceptual frameworks or systems of belief. This means that metaphysical views on the nature of ultimate reality are more like articles of faith than propositional contents based upon some "verifiable" experience. At the same time, these views inform experience, shape it, and cause it to conform to a particular manner of "seeing-as."

So, the problem with the above "experiential" approach, as it relates to the question of dialogue between traditions, is that it creates an unequal field of inquiry -- between those with a "privileged access" to a particular view of reality, and those with a lack thereof. This access is "priviledged" insofar as it is not based upon a mutually agreeable and "neutral" means of knowledge, but upon the a priori acceptance of a certain set of beliefs. Once the conditions of inquiry are set out in this manner, they create a situation that is inherently circular, with a predetermined result that is unfalsifiable. And this invariably creates a situation that is anthema to actual dialogue or debate.

The earliest Buddhist texts state that the Buddha's enlightenment occured in the 4th jhana. It is the later tradition that begins to emphasize vipassana, prajna, and so on. It is this "knowledge" stream that ultimately won out in the Buddhist tradition. This only makes sense, since it is insight that ultimately gives release in Buddhism. But usually, the two -- absorption and knowledge -- were corrodinated. This coordination is associated with the "argument from Yoga," viz., that there is no "higher" knowledge without the "purification" (termed variously prasada; samskrta; sattva-vishudda, etc) which comes from dhyana/samadhi. Originally, the two were already coordinated in dhyana, since this was what dhyana originally meant: a kind of yogic "seeing." Later, jhana came to mean mere absorption. And indeed, this is how the Yoga Sutras also defines dhyana -- as a kind of extended concentration (dharana).

The best scholarly account of the situation in the Pali canon is Schmitthausen's article on "liberting insight." Schmitthausen notes that in the Mahamalunkya Sutta (MN 1. 435), it is said that the attainment of cessation (nirodha-samapatti; samjna-veditya-nirodha) cannot be the basis of liberating insight. Basically, the argument there is that the function of insight (ajna) is dependent upon the function of samjna (conception/predication). But in nirodha, samjna ceases. Another text, Anguttara Nikaya 9.36 explicitly states that liberating insight is only possible in states of absorption that involve "ideation" (samjna). Other texts equate liberating insight with prajna, and state that for prajna to operate, samjna is necessary. The Jhana Sutta expressly states that prajna is possible in absorption only insofar as the absorption is one in which there is conception/perception (samjna).

Among "practitioner" scholars the tack is somewhat different. Analayo, takes up the issue in his book Sattipatthana, the Direct Road to Realization. He writes:

Upon further perusing the discourses one finds that they depict a variety of approaches to final realization. Two passages from the Anguttara Nikaya [AN 2.92-92], for example, describe a practitioner who is able to gain deep wisdom, though lacking proficiency in concentration.... in addition, the Yuganaddha Sutta... states that realization can be gained by either concentration or insight... (pp. 84-85).

But then Analayo backtracks, and performs a bit of exegetical "harmonization-hermeneutics" himself:

The controversy over the necessity or dispensability of absorption... is to some extent a misleading premise.... Calm and insight are two complementary aspects of mental development.... Some scholars have understood these two aspects of meditation to represent different goals. They assume the path of samatha proceeds via the ascending series of absorptions to the attainment of the cessation of cognition and feeling.... In contrast to this, the path of insight, at times mistakenly understood to be a process of pure intellectual reflection, supposedly leads to the ...cessation of ignorance.... Instead of seeing these passages as expressions of an "underlying tension" between two different paths to realization, they simply describe different aspects of what is basically one approach. (pp. 88-90; 91).

But to say that the two are "complementary aspects" assumes that the tradition springs fully formed from the head of Zeus. In other words, it takes them as "given" without any consideration of how the two are inter-related in the early Buddhist texts. In short, it treats the Buddhist dharma ahistorically -- as theologically complete from the start. It takes the final doctrine and transposes it to the beginnning of Buddhist history.

Alan Wallace's approach in The Bridge of Quiessence is more impatient and less open to the facts. He writes:

Regarding the general topic of the relationship between quiessence and insight practices in Indian Buddhism, Griffiths see it as an "excellent example of the uneasy bringing together of two radically different sets of soteriological methods and two radically different soteriological goals" [On Being Mindless, p. 23] If one sets aside for the moment the lofty attainment of cessation... the assertion that quiessence is incompatible with insight at this early stage is tantamount to arguing that a mind dominated by laxity and excitation is more suitable for the cultivation of insight...(pp. 11-12).

Here, his own mind "dominated by excitation," Wallace loses his rational train of thought. Griffiths point is not that quiessence is incompatible with insight. His point is primarily historical: that there were two very different soteriological trends and these trends were brought together or "harmonized" by the later tradition. That the two are "radically different" can be seen in their respective goals. And as we saw above, the Buddhist tradition was well aware of the fact  that nirodha samapatti is not compatible with ajna or insight. Thus, we cannot simply "set aside... the lofty attainment of cessation."
Wallace then concludes his account of Griffiths with the following non-sequitor, complete with backhanded compliment:

It may be that by focussing on scholastic accounts of meditation and ignoring the fact that the Buddhist tradition has been a living tradition, Griffiths, for all his impressive erudition and philosophical acumen, has produced a fundamentally misleading interpretation of the attainment of cessation and the relationship between quiessence. (p. 13).... This comment is apparently intended to back up his claim in the opening pages of this chapter that "purely scholastic" acccounts "ignore whatever experiential basis may underlie those texts." (p. 7)

But, contrary to the claims of Wallace, there is never an appeal to an "experiential basis" in any of the texts he refers to. Such works are purely exegetical accounts. They simply refer to other texts, in a chain that goes back to the earliest sources, the authoritative Pali Canon. This is demonstrated by the fact that the "8 jhanas" are cobbled together from a variety of early sources and then knit together in a consistent, systematic manner in the later sources. In other words, the practice of the "8 jhanas" was never an aspect of the early tradition of Buddhism. It is an exegetical construct of the later tradition.