I ran across this interesting net-page today.

The article belongs to a set of articles in which various authors debate the veracity of "neo-advaita" as opposed to "traditional advaita."

One curious feature of this debate is how some followers of Ramana have classified themselves as "traditional advaitins."  This is curious, because in many articles I've read concerning "neo-advaita," it is typically the followers of Ramana and Nisargdatta who are called "neo-advaitins." And indeed, when we compare the advaita of Ramana with that which has been labelled "neo-advaita" by the Ramanites, we find that there is much more commonality between those two than there is between the advaita of Ramana and Shankara.

What appears to have happened is that the Ramanites have chosen to interpret themselves as "traditional" advaitins. Why? It may serve as a safeguard against critiques that have been leveled against them by certain apologists for "traditional" advaita. It's as if they are saying, "No, no, we're on your side. It's those other guys that are the problem." There is also a tendency in Ramana's own thinking and writing to associate his teaching with that of Shankara. But this particular problem is not specifically what I want to discuss in the present blog.

What struck as I was reading the above article was that it seemed to me to be a particularly excellent example of the application of the so-called distinction between "transformation" and "translation." In his article, the author distinguishes between 1. pure (or absolute) advaita; 2. practical (or relative) advaita; and 3. "neo-advaita," which he calls the "non-duality belief system."

Armed with this distinction, we can see where he is going with it almost immediately. Here is his commentary on the nature of neo-advaita or "the non-duality belief system":
"It boils down to reading whatever the books of whomever is the top selling non-dual teacher du jour.... The point is that belief systems are subtle, and often what people are doing is not practicing a system...or abiding in consciousness... but rather embedding themselves in another belief system...  They read a bunch of books on Enlightenment and Waking up that sound really great; they do what they've always done.... The problem is that Neo-advaita is about supporting the ego with a new way of thinking; making oneself feel better... Real advaita is about the destruction of the ego, that very thing that obscures the Truth of non-duality. It's about... Slashing and Burning all beliefs that stand in the way of that."

It is difficult to deny that this sounds very much like the description of the distinction between "transformation" and "translation" that we find in the works of Wilber and Da.

This particular application of the distinction reveals a weakness with this sort of thinking. Now, the above may very well be a fair critique of what the author calls "neo-advaita." The problem is this: why is it not also a critique of "pure advaita," of Ramana, or the "practical advaita" of Shankara? Why is the advaita of the Ramanite immune from this sort of critique?  What is it, in other words, that sets the advaita of the Ramanites apart from this "neo-advaita?" 

One  implication appears to be that the advaita of the Ramanite is bereft of a belief system (since belief systems are "bad," of course, as they entail "dualistic thought").  But what allows us to say that this is the case? Do Ramanites not sit around and read books about Ramana? Do they not hear discourses about Ramana? Do they not have photos of Ramana sitting on their desks? I think it is rather misleading, or even delusional, to suggest that the followers of Ramana are without a belief system.

This kind of move parallels another so-called distinction that we sometimes hear invoked: that between "religion" and "spirituality." But there is no essential difference between religion and spirituality. What passes for "spirituality" is really just religion dressed up in another garb. There may be something of a distinction here, but it is not essential; it is largely sociological. It is, in other words, no more than the distinction between organized or institutional religion, on the one hand, and free-form, make-it-up-as-we-go-along, non-institutionalized religion, on the other. Both entail belief systems; one just happens to be "groovier" than the other.

Such distinctions also remind me of a distinction, that I have heard applied, between so-call "experiential" advaita, on the one hand, and traditional (non-experiential?) advaita, on the other. In that case, the implication is that traditional advaita lacks an "experiential" dimension. But who is to say that traditional advaita is not "experiential?" In truth, there can be no such distinction as applied to the traditions of Vedanta.  This is a merely a form of polemical chest puffing and pounding. It is the claim: "I, on the basis of my personal experience, have priviledged access to the truth, which is lacking in you, lacky."

Again, my point here is not to defend either traditional advaita, or neo-advaita, but merely to say that what's good for the goose is good for the gander. If such a charge is going to be levelled against another tradition one better be damn sure that the same charge cannot be leveled against one's own tradition. Along this line of thought, I would go so far as to say that there are no "pure" traditions, bereft of "beliefs" and "dualistic thought."  Such animals are idealizations, and the attempt to boost any tradition on such grounds is mere rhetorical noise making.

All of this, I think, reveals the problem with the distinction between "transformation" and "translation." The problem is not so much the distinction itself. Who would really want to deny that there are times when we change authentically and times when we are simply buttressing our own ego? The problem is that the distinction makes for easy polemical cannon fodder. And that is precisely how it is often applied.

Wilber's One Taste, which contains a series of journal entries edited for public consumption, contains a reflection on "transformation" and its relation with what he calls "translation" (One Taste, pp. 26-37). The journal entry is reprinted online as "A Spirituality that Transforms," and the core of the entry, a discussion of the distinction between transformation and translation, can be found in The Essential Ken Wilber.

In his journal entry, Wilber takes as his jumping-off point certain comments made by Hal Blacker in What is Enlightenment? Blacker refers to the "superficiality which pervades so much of current spiritual exploration in the West," noting that in the "translation of the mystical traditions, their radical demand is diluted." As he puts it "the roar of the fire of liberation is transmuted into the burble of a California hot tub." Given this context, questioning the distinction between transformation and translation runs the risk of coming off as championing some of the more insipid forms of New Age spirituality. This will certainly not be my intent, here. Nor will I question what I feel is a valuable distinction between a spirituality that tends to reinforce our delusions, attachments, and self-absorption, and a spirituality that does not. Nonetheless, I would like to consider how "transformation" and "translation" are related, and how they are concretely associated, directly or indirectly, with actual forms of spirituality.

In "A Spirituality that Transforms," the term "transformation" appears to function, more or less, as a place holder what might be called "enlightenment" or "realization." Wilber gives as an example Trungpa's attempt to introduce ati yoga to Westerners and Da's attempt to teach "radical understanding." It would appear that Wilber considers these teachings "capstone" teachings, teachings that finally "deliver the goods," forms of spirituality that are truly transformative. In his account, Wilber suggests that, in the end, the students of Trungpa and Da didn't "get" the meaning of these teachings, and so Trungpa and Da were required to introduce what Wilber calls "merely translative" and "lesser transformative" teachings.

It might be useful to consider briefly Wilber's diagnosis of the above situation. Apparently, the "problem" did not necessarily have to do with the teachers, Trungpa and Da, nor with their teachings. The problem apparently lay with the students, whom, it would seem, were only "fair to middling" and thus unable to grasp the "profound significance" of the teachings of ati yoga and radical understanding.

Wilber's distinction between transformation and translation can be related to other distinctions. Take, for example, the discussion in Integral Spirituality, "Zen and Spiral Dynamics" (pp. 82-84). There, Ken says, "suppose you take a course in Spiral Dynamics at university... You take the final exam and it asks you to describe the 8 levels... and you do so perfectly.... Now imagine another exam. This one says, 'please describe Level 8 experience as it is directly felt.' If your self-sense is truly at level 4, you will thoroughly flunk this exam."

The distinction Ken is illustrating here is that between 1st person and 3rd person language. At the same time, he sets up a disjunction between "inner" and "outer" knowledge that invokes the well known empiricist distinction between knowledge by description and knowledge by acquaintance. Note, however, what Ken says next: "Studying the stages of SD can give you the outside view of these stages, but cannot necessarily transform you" (italics in the original). The point here, apparently, is that only contemplative traditions, like Zen, are truly transformative, and the implication is that this is so because they give a form of knowledge by acquaintance, "inner" knowledge, 1st person "experience," what it feels like to be a Zen practitioner. Another implication of this interpretation of Zen will be that koan examination will involve the practitioner relating to the master the kind of "inner experience" the koan produced in him, how the koan made him feel. Philosophies like Spiral Dynamics, on the other hand, do not give this "inner" knowledge, knowledge by acquaintance; they only give "outer" knowledge, knowledge by description.

The distinctions between transformative spirituality and translative spirituality, and knowledge by acquaintance and by description, can be related to other distinctions, most notably the distinction between the "guru" and the "pundit," but also the distinction between "talking school" and "practising school." It is relatively easy to see how the relation with the guru/pundit distinction follows. The pundit is the teacher who gives mere "outer" knowledge, knowledge by description. He is not trained to guide the student to actually "experience" the subject matter of spirituality directly, the way the guru is. Similarly, only the guru is capable of truly transforming the student. The pundit is only capable of describing a way of thinking.

The distinction between what Neo-Advaitins and Daists call "talking school" and "practising school" can also be related to the distinction between transformative and translative spirituality, and knowledge by description and knowledge by acquaintance. The tension between "talking school" and "practising school" has a long history in Vedanta. We find a similar tension between the Taittiriya and Katha Upanishads; between the two great Advaitins Mandana and Sureshvara; and in the Bhamati and Vivarana interpretations of Shankara. The contemporary critique of "mere talking" can related to the distinction between knowledge by acquaintance and knowledge by description as follows: the mere hearing of discourses, of partaking in question/answer sessions, only gives knowledge by description. For knowledge by acquaintance, for "direct" knowledge of the subject matter of these discourses, something else is needed, viz., the practice of yoga and meditation.

The distinction between "talking school" and "practising school" can also be related to the distinction between transformation and translation. If we return to Wilber's example of the difference between Zen and Spiral Dynamics we can see how. There, Wilber says that only Zen, and not SD, can truly transform an individual since SD will only give a way of interpreting things, a translation of the world. In a similar manner, merely hearing discourses about Vedanta will only give the practitioner a view of the world and himself, the view of Vedanta, and this view will only allow the practitioner a means of translating his being in the world, but it will not transform him. For that, or so goes the explanation, the actual "practice" of Vedanta (whatever that is) is needed.

In order to understand the contemporary critique of "talking school," some history might prove helpful. In the modern context, "talking school" refers, in particular, to what some call the "satsang" movement within Neo-Advaita, wherein practitioners sit and listen to a teacher give discourses on non-dualism. These discourses often concern how we are "always already enlightened"; how enlightenment is beyond all means (sadhana) and causes; and how there is no need to "practice" since realization is available, here and now. In the satsang movements, or so goes the description, sitting in the company of the teacher, satsang, is considered the primary form of "practice."

This "lazy man's" approach was always viewed as suspect by some, but it especially came under attack when it was discovered that certain satsang gurus, gurus who apparently also claimed direct contact with "non-dual awareness," were engaged in various extra-curricular activities. The assumption here is that if you "abide in non-dual awareness," you will have lost all sense of "I and mine," since your "little self," your ego, will have been thoroughly deconstructed, and given this state of affairs, you are thereby, categorically, incapable of self-centred activities like boinking yoginis in your off-hours. Of course, in the critique of the "talking school" approach there can be nothing wrong with Advaita Vedanta per se, nor with the practice of "authentic" Vedanta (whatever that is). The only allowable inference, then, is that something must be wrong with this "talking school" approach, and with the teachers who had attained their "realization" by means of it. Here, the perceived "problem" does not have to do with the student, per se. Rather, it has to do with the teaching and its modality, and with the teacher who has received his training through that particular modality.

Before continuing I would like to point out how a curious reversal has taken place. Note that what we are calling "talking school" here, i.e., the Advaita teaching that realization is available here and now, is entirely analogous with the "no practice" teachings of ati yoga and "radical understanding," teachings that Wilber described above as truly transformative. In other words, we began with a contrast between transformative teachings and translative teachings that associated the "no practice" teachings with that which is truly transformative, and ended with a distinction between "talking school" and "practising school" that associates the "no practice" teachings with mere translation!

I think that the above example shows: 1. that the concept of "transformation" is, like "redemption," largely an idealization, even if it refers to something real --- some (possible) future state, the conditions for which remain largely obscure; 2. that the adjective "transformative" can only arbitrarily (contingently, pragmatically, rhetorically) be associated with concrete forms of spirituality; and 3. that strictly speaking, the term "translation," defined here as "a new way of thinking," is not the logical complement, the antithesis, of "transformation."

One gets the sense that it is this search for the right conditions or "cause" of transformation that has characterized much of the recent quest for transformation itself. At some point, Western philosophy and religion came to be seen by some as incapable of "delivering the goods," as not living up to certain ideals concerning salvation and redemption. As a result, some seekers began turning to the contemplative traditions of Asia as possible means to transformation. To his credit, Wilber acknowledges that this idealization of the "mystical East" carries with it a fair degree of stereotyping. He notes how it is a "common belief that the East is awash in transformation but that the West... has nothing much more than various types of... translative... spirituality," and he cautions against too facile associations between the two. And yet something like this stereotype continues to be at work in Wilber's writings.

In this vein, the distinction between transformation and translation can be related to yet other distinctions and complementary concepts. One is the distinction between esoteric and exoteric religion. This distinction is one of the core concepts of perennialism, and indeed, the general viewpoint of perennialism has often been referred to as "esotericism" (or esoterism) by Schuon and others. The idea here is that each religion has a mystical or contemplative "core," an "inner" esoteric dimension that is (somehow) more essential than the exoteric "outer" dimension of dogma, myth and ritual. At the very centre of this mystical, esoteric core lays a shared truth, the "transcendent unity of religions," consisting of an ineffable, trans-rational experience of ultimate reality - what Robert Forman calls the "pure consciousness event." That this truth is indeed shared by all religions is revealed by the (convenient) "fact" that the ineffable experience of reality is formless, for if it is indeed formless, then what distinguishing characteristics could possibly be called upon to so as to substantiate differences?!

Again, to his credit, in his more recent writings, Wilber has been distancing his position from some of the more naive formulations of perennialism, and of late he has been more appreciative of the individuality and specificity of various teachings, and the respective "realizations" they imply. Nonetheless, something like the esoteric/exoteric distinction continues to function in Wilber's writings. This can be seen in his attempts to elucidate the differences between what he calls transformative and translative religion.

In his account, Wilber refers to two different aspects of religion: "Religion has always performed two important but different functions. One, it acts as a way of creating meaning for the separate self. It offers myths and stories and tales and narratives and rituals and revivals that... help the separate self make sense of outrageous fortune." This creation of meaning, this "making sense of reality," is what Wilber means by "translation." With translation, "the self is simply given a new way to think or feel about reality... The self learns to translate its world and its being in terms of this new belief." According to Wilber, the function of "translation" is primarily to console the self.

Translation "fortifies" the self, "defends" the self, "promotes" the self. This is contrasted with what Wilber calls "transformation." Transformation, Wilber contends, "does not fortify the separate self but utterly shatters it." With transformation, "the process of translation itself is challenged, undermined, dismantled." Here the self is "inquired" into and "throttled to death." This, Wilber tells us, is "not the offering of a new belief," but the "death of the believer."

As I note above, by questioning the relation between translation and transformation, I do not mean to question the distinction between a spirituality that tends to reinforce our delusions and attachments, and a spirituality that does not. But I do want to question the degree to which what Wilber calls "translation" permeates and interpenetrates what he refers to as "transformation." This questioning can take various forms. In his account Wilber asks about the degree to which the various New Age conceptions of "soul" are really just the "same ole translation game dressed up and gone to town." We might ask this same question of Wilber's own conception of spirituality, and indeed, of even the "authentic" traditions Wilber refers to. I would call this the "ethical" point concerning the distinction in question.

What I would refer to as the "psychological" point concerns the degree to which consolation continues to figure in what Wilber calls "transformation." Consider, for example, the language Wilber uses in his description of transformation. Transformation, he says, "finds infinity on the other shore of death" (One Taste, p. 141), "sees only the radiant infinity" (Ibid., p. 146), breaths "the atmosphere of eternity." Now this kind of language is not mere hyperbole, not simply inflated rhetoric. Let us be exact and call it what it is: it is precisely the language of consolation. Indeed, the very concept of transformation implies liberation (moksha), which is a form of salvation, of redemption, and what is idea of redemption if not the hope for the good life (eudaemonia), for fulfilment and final happiness (what advaita calls "nihshreyasa")? As such, it is virtually impossible to separate the concept of consolation from spirituality altogether without negating spirituality altogether.

Like the ethical point, I would like to leave this psychological point behind for now. In what remains, I will focus on what I'll call the "epistemic" or methodological point concerning translation. We have already indicated this point above with the suggestion that translation is not the antithesis of transformative spirituality. What remains to be considered is the degree to which translation permeates what Wilber refers to as the process of transformation.

Here, the examination of another set of assumptions and associations might help clarify my point. One assumption is the widely held belief that meditation functions primarily as a means of disrupting patterns of thinking, that is, as a way of "deprogramming" the conditioning that typifies samsara. We find this idea exemplified in the hypothesis --- first put forward by Arthur Deikmann and subsequently adopted by psychologists like Charles Tart and Robert Ornstein --- that meditation acts by means of a process of "deautomatization."

Related to this idea is the widely held belief that "enlightenment" involves a radical deconstruction of thought itself - the "destruction of mind." This idea --- found in both contemporary accounts of Zen, like that of D.T. Suzuki, as well as in the writings of Neo-Advaitins like Ramana Maharshi --- apparently derives from Zen and Advaita treatises that speak of the enlightened state in terms of "mindlessness" (amanasta, GK 3.32) and "no mind." It is important to note that the doctrine of "no mind," found in both Mahayana Buddhism and Advaita Vedanta, relates specifically to technical definitions of nirvana and moksha as "nihprapancha" and "nirvikalpa," terms that do not necessarily refer to the absence of thought as such, but merely to the absence of a particular form of thinking, specifically, that which reifies entities by means of conceptual construction.

This distinction between "conceptualization" and "non-conceptualization," or the state in which thought is present and the state in which thought absent, is also at work in the Wilber's distinction between transformation and translation. Note in particular Wilber's definition of translation as "a new way of thinking" and his description of transformation as the process whereby "translation itself is challenged, undermined, dismantled."

Wilber's general theory of meditation is also apparently related to his conception of transformation. Meditation appears to be specifically related to what he refers to as "lesser transformative" practices above. In his writings, Wilber describes meditation as a process in which the "embedded self" is "deconstructed" (Eye of Spirit, p. 248), as a process in which "one begins to disidentify or detach from one's present level" (Eye of Spirit, p. 224). This description of the meditative process appears to derive primarily from the tradition of Vedanta. In Vedantic "inquiry" various conceptions of self - the self as body (sthula sharira), as vital airs (prana), as mind (manas), and as intellect (buddhi) - are all considered and then rejected via the process of "discrimination" (viveka). To be fair to Wilber, there is an important teaching in the Buddhist tradition that can be said to be analogous the Vedanta teaching of the various limited selves, and that is the teaching concerning the skandhas. Here, as in Vedantic "inquiry," various conceptions of self - as corporeal form (rupa), as feeling (vedana), as conception (samjna), as knowledge (vijnana) - are also considered and then rejected.

At this point, we might well ask: "what is guiding this process of inquiry?" Is this particular process, this mode of "meditation" merely one in which one remains "mindful" of the contents of consciousness? Or is something more active going on here? I would suggest that, here at least, there is something else going on beyond the mere passive "witnessing" of the mind. Rather, the process also involves a process of systematic interpretation, of "seeing-as."

On samatha and vipassana in the Buddhist context, Robert Gimello writes:

The degree of stillness recommended varies from technique to technique, but once an adequate stillness is achieved one proceeds to analytically review and thereby immediately apprehend or "see" the meaning of the fundamental truths of Buddhism. Discernment (vipashyana) is the latter, the analytic and most characteristically Buddhist part of the discipline. Since no analytic activity, meditative or otherwise, can be carried on without the use of conceptual equipment, since no data of experience interpret or explain themselves, one must bring to experience a scheme of organization.... ("Apophatic and Kataphatic Discourse in Mahayana," PEW, 26, quoted by Huntington, p. 78)

Gimello's take on the process of meditation is in substantial agreement with that of Traleg Rinpoche, as quoted by Wilber in Integral Spirituality:

Buddhist meditation and experience are always discussed from a particular viewpoint... That is why we need a proper orientation or correct view when we embark on the path.... Buddhism states that our normal views inhibit us and chain us to the limited condition of samsara, whereas the correct view can lead us to our ultimate spiritual destination. We should not conclude... that meditation is all about getting rid of views. (Integral Spirituality, p. 109)

Again, to his credit, Wilber appears to be increasingly cognisant of the degree to which translation - that is, perspective, interpretation, conception, belief - figure in any spiritual path, including what he calls transformative spirituality. Commenting on Traleg, Wilber writes:

Buddhist training does many things, but it is particularly a state training that deconstructs one's identity from mere gross self, to subtle soul (or the root of self-contraction), and finally to no-self Self [sic]. But as Traleg emphasizes, those experiences depend, at every point, on a correct interpretation or Right View in order to make sense of them. (Integral Spirituality, p. 111)

In conclusion then, meditative inquiry and what Wilber calls transformative spirituality are not simply about the "deconstruction" of various conceptions of self. Rather, in a transformative spirituality, the self is reconfigured, reconstituted. In other words, the self comes to be seen as the body of bliss, the body of light, the body of the Buddha, etc. After all, in a transformative spirituality, the little grub-like being is not simply snatched up by the jaws of the ravenous bird; rather, it emerges from its chrysalis as the butterfly.

In Integral Spirituality, Ken writes:

When one is in deep meditation or contemplation, touching even that which is formless and unmanifest-the purest emptiness of cessation-there are of course no conceptual forms arising. This pure "nonconceptual" mind-a causal state of formlessness-is an essential part of our liberation, realization, and enlightenment.

In the Theravada, or early Buddhism, this formless state of cessation (e.g., nirvikalpa, nirvana, nirodh), is taken to be an end in itself, a nirvana that is free from samsara or manifestation. Mahayana Buddhism went further and maintained that such a view is true but partial, and promptly dubbed Theravada "Hinayana Buddhism" ("Small Vehicle Buddhism").

Mahayana Buddhism maintained that while the realization of nirvana or emptiness is important, there is a deeper realization, where nirvana and samsara, or Emptiness and the entire world of Form, are one, or more technically, Emptiness and Form are "not two." As the most famous sutra on this topic-The Heart Sutra-puts it: "That which is Emptiness is not other than Form, that which is Form is not other than Emptiness." This realization of Nonduality is the cornerstone of both Mahayana ("Great Vehicle") and Vajrayana ("Diamond Vehicle") Buddhism.

As I have shown elsewhere, Ken more or less derives this characterization of Buddhism from Da's Nirvanasara. He continues his characterization thus:

When it comes to the nature of enlightenment or realization, this means that a complete, full, or realization has two components, absolute (emptiness) and relative (form). The "nonconceptual mind" gives us the former, and the "conceptual mind" gives us the latter. Put it this way: when you come out of nonconceptual meditation, what conceptual forms will you embrace? If you are going to enter the manifest realm-if you are going to embrace not just nonconceptual nirvana but also conceptual samsara-then what conceptual forms will you use? By definition, a nondual realization demands both "no views" in emptiness and "views" in the world of form. Meditation in particular is designed to plunge us into the world of emptiness; and what is designed to give us "correct form"? That is, what conceptual view or framework does nondual Buddhism recommend?

Traleg Kabyon Rinpoche, one of the Tibetan masters who is as at home in the Western tradition as he is in the Eastern, is uniquely situated to comment on this (all following quotes are from Mind at Ease: Self-Liberation through Mahamudra Meditation; emphasis added). Traleg Rinpoche starts by pointing out that correct views are just as important as correct meditation; indeed, the two are inseparable:

Buddhist meditation practices and experiences are always discussed from a particular viewpoint that is always taken to be valid and true-this cannot be otherwise. Correct views have the ability to lead us to liberation, while incorrect views increase the delusions of our mind....

That is why we need a proper orientation or correct view when we embark on the path. Correct view is in fact our spiritual vehicle, the transport we use to journey from the bondage of samsara to the liberation of nirvana. Conversely, incorrect views have the potential to lead us off course and, like a poorly constructed raft, will case us adrift and deposit us on the shores of misery. There is no separation between the vehicle that transports us to our spiritual destination and the views that we hold in our mind.

Unfortunately, boomeritis ("nobody tells me what to do!") Buddhism was used in the whole spirit of "Dharma bums," where preconventional license was confused with postconventional liberation. Hence Buddhism was thought to be all about nothing but cultivating "no views," which is true only on the emptiness or Hinayana side of the street, but not true on the Mahayana side, which demands the union of emptiness and views, not the trashing of one of them. But this "no views at all" notion was uniquely suited to "nobody tells me what to do!"

Traleg comments on this strange westernized Buddhism:

Buddhism states that our normal views inhibit us and chain us to the limited condition of samsara, whereas the correct view can lead us to our ultimate spiritual destination. We should not conclude from this-although modern Western Buddhists often do-that meditation is all about getting rid of views, or that all views will hinder us from attaining our spiritual goal. This assumption is based on the legitimate premise that Buddhist teachings emphatically identify the need to develop a non-conceptual wisdom mind in order to attain liberation and enlightenment. However, many people mistakenly think that this implies that we do not need to believe in anything [Nobody tells me what to do!] and that all forms of conceptuality must be dispensed with right from the beginning. It is only incorrect views that we need to overcome. The correct and noble view is to be cultivated with great diligence.

What is this "correct and noble view"? It is simply the Buddhist view itself, or the central ideas, concepts, and framework that is Buddhism, counting its basic philosophy and psychology-including the Four Noble Truths, the Eightfold Way, the Twelvefold Chain of Dependent Origination, the central recognition of Emptiness, the Nonduality of absolute Emptiness and relative Form, the luminous identity of unqualifiable or empty Spirit and all of its manifest Forms in a radiant, natural, spontaneously present display, and the central linkage of: right ethics and right views > leading to right meditation (dhyana) > leading to right awareness (prajna) > leading to right compassion (karuna) > leading to right action and skillful means (upaya) on behalf of all sentient beings.


What I find interesting about the above is Wilber's use of Traleg Rinpoche. What is odd, and ironic, is that Traleg is coming from what appears to be a rather orthodox stance on Buddhism. Traleg continues:

We should not conclude from this - although modern Western Buddhists often do - that meditation is all about getting rid of views, or that all views will hinder us from attaining our spiritual goal.

Ken appears to be attempting to make use of this rather orthodox approach to further his quasi-"postmodern" account of tradition. In other words, he has appropriated an orthodox idea concerning the necessity of view (darshana) and put it to work so as to give authority to a post-modern theory, namely the idea there is no "archemedian point" outside of "perspective." This may strike us as odd, but strangely enough, the post-moderns and ancients stand together against the moderns in this issue.

It would seem, then, that Ken is taking a quote out of context and using it toward his own end. How so? If Traleg is going to take this stand on the necessity of "correct view" (samyag-darshana) in Buddhism, then it is unlikely that he is going to be open to the perennialist idea, still informing Ken's system, that "Vedanta and Buddhism are the same." For accepting the idea that Buddhism is the "correct view" will mean rejecting false views, such as the view that the eternal Self is the truth, which is the central teaching of Vedanta.

Then Ken comes up with this non-sequitor:

Unfortunately, boomeritis ("nobody tells me what to do!") Buddhism was used in the whole spirit of "Dharma bums," where preconventional license was confused with postconventional liberation. Hence Buddhism was thought to be all about nothing but cultivating "no views," which is true only on the emptiness or Hinayana side of the street, but not true on the Mahayana side, which demands the union of emptiness and views, not the trashing of one of them. But this "no views at all" notion was uniquely suited to "nobody tells me what to do!"

The view of "no view" is mere Hinayana? Apparently this notion is meant to follow from the idea that the "Hinayana" is concerned only with the formless absolute; and since "no view" represents the side of formlessness, the two must be identical. (?) But the "no view" idea is most intimately associated with Western appropriations of Madhyamika. And that would appear to be what Traleg has in mind here.

Note how Wilber has rather conveniently identified "boomeritis Buddhism" with "mere Hinayana," as well as associated the "no view" dictum with the boomeritis slogan, "no one tells me what to do!" As for the relationship between the latter two, there is, admittedly, a grain of truth to what he says here insofar as Westerners generally do not like dogma in their appropriations of the East: they want the "bone," the goods -- "just give me the dzogchen realization and leave the bell ringing, sand mandalas, and hummani-pummani mantras in Tibet, please; and hold the mustard."

But what is really odd is just how "uniquely suited" Wilber's critique of Boomeritis Buddhism is to his critique of "no views." It is as if a queer resonance between the two struck him in moment of inspiration, and now he is cleverly attempting to pass off the superficial resemblance between the two as some kind of "essential relation."

Again, we should be made suspicious by the heady irony in Ken's "no view as Boomeritis" comment. For, if it weren't for the idea that "views" and "dogmas" ought to be suspended as manifestations of mere "exoteric" religion, the perennialist project probably would not have been possible. What is more, the "no view" interpretation of Madhyamika is, and has been, closely allied with the mystical interpretation of Buddhism in general, that is, with the emphasis on "experience" over "doctrine," and these are all ideas that have been central to Ken's works. In short, if we are to understand "Boomeritis Buddhism" in terms that Ken sets forth here, then by those same criteria his own project will fall within that category.

But what is perhaps most perplexing about all of this is that "Boomeritis" Buddhism meant, for such a long time, the so-called "green" interpretation of Buddhism. And to be "green" meant the acceptance of a pluralistic view, of a kind of "perspectivalism," did it not? And yet now it means "no view?"

So apparently, "Boomeritis Buddhism" means whatever we want it to, depending upon the polemic de jour.

Throughout his writings, and notably in Integral Spirituality, Ken speaks of "phenomenology" in terms of a "first person" account or description of the contents of consciousness. This usage is idiosyncratic and it reveals a rather skewed understanding of what phenomenology is concerned with and how it goes about dealing with its subject matter.

Ken often associates phenomenology with a kind of "introspective" procedure. In this regard, he appears to be drawing upon what is sometimes called "phenomenlogical psychology," an approach that is associated with a description based upon acts of introspection.

To be fair, at one point in Integral Spirituality, Ken says that this is one sense of what we mean by "phenomenology." But he also often speaks of phenomenology in general as that which is concerned with "first person" descriptions. And to generalize phenomenological psychology in this manner, to the point where it becomes identified with phenomenology in general, is, I suggest, a distortion of the phenomenological method instituted by Husserl.

Why is this imporant? It is important since much of Ken's argument in Integral Spirituality hinges upon the shortcomings and inadequacies of phenomenology. At several points, Ken refers to --but never really elucidates -- the structuralist critiques of phenomenology. And historically speaking, there is something to this. There were implied critiques of phenomenology to be found in the works of Levi Strauss, Barthes, etc., critiques that were later elucidated in detail by Derrida and Foucault. Ken's understading of such critiques appears to be based on the idea that structures do not present themselves, are not given, to consciousness.

Ken also refers to Jean Gebser as a "structuralist." But is Gebser really a "structuralist" in the same manner as Levi-Strauss? I would suggest that he is not. And indeed, the entire dicussion presented in Integral Spirituality concerning "phenomenology" and "structuralism," is, I would suggest, rather misleading.

In general, phenomenology is not primarily concerned with "first person" accounts, though this may be an accurate description of "phenomenological psychology." Phenomenology attempts to mediate purely subjective accounts with those that claim to be "objective." Its value in this regard is that it is, in ways, a more apt method where the social and cultural sciences are concerned, more apt than a purely empirical "third person" account.

Contrary to what Ken seems to suggest, phenomenology does not primarily aim to describe the contents of consciousness in terms a reference to my "inner experience." It aims to describe what Husserl referred to as the "essence" or "eidos" of a phenomenon. This it attempts to do by "bracketing" the subjective and "judgmental" components that we add to the phenomenon being described.

The important point here, however, is that phenomenology attempts to describe phenomena in terms of generalities, in terms of universals. This is really what we mean by the "essence" or eidos of a thing.

Phenomenology found a particularly useful and powerful application in the domain of religious studies (Religionswissenschaft). There, through a simultaneous application of the comparative method, various "universals" were described by several noted scholars of the field. Rudolph Otto (The Idea of the Holy) may be said to be the grandfather of this method, but it is first fully elucidated as a method by Joachim Wach. Perhaps the most prominent and well known of the phenomenologists of religion was M. Eliade.

Now it is interesting to note that Eliade often spoke in terms of not essences, but "structures." Gustav Mensching, another phenomenologist of religion, also spoke in terms of "structures." It is within this camp, I would suggest, that Gebser should be associated and not that of Levi-Strauss.

Much of Wilber's early work also belongs in this camp; and it is easy to see why. With its intimation that it describes the "timeless essences" of the world's religions, the phenomenological method well serves the needs of the perennialist. We see the remnants of this method in Ken's references to, and continued reliance upon, "Transformations of Consciousness," in particular, Ken's references to the work of Washburn, who compared the Yoga Sutra and its commentaries, with the Theravada manual on meditation, the Vissuddhimagga, and manuals on the practice of Mahamudra meditation. In "Integral Spirituality," Ken refers to the idea that the "structure" of the meditative path is "essentially" the same for these three traditions (though it is not at all clear what the implication of this idea should be vis a vis the emerging "post-metaphysical spirituality" that Ken attempts to be heralding).

While the actual structualist method offers an alternative, and in ways superior, accounting of the subject matter of the Geisteswissenschaft (I do not have the time nor the desire to delve into the actual relationship between the two), the more immediate problem with phenomenology, which Ken also touches upon in Integral Spirituality vis a vis his discussion of Habermas, is its utterly ahistorical manner, and its naivity where historicity is concerned -- an inadequacy that is revealed by the critical theory of the Frankfurt school and by Foucault's "geneology," and for which Gadamer and Ricouer attempt to compensate by recourse to their respective versions of hermeneutics.

This naivity of the phenomenological method is caricatured by an example sometimes given in methodology seminars, in which a phenomenologal anthropologist arrives at an island in the pacific, only to discover that the "structures" and patterns of belief on the island correspond almost in their entirety to European patterns, upon which he declares their "universality," all the while completely ignorant of the fact that Europeans had arrived on the island 200 years earlier, wiped out the indigenous system of belief there, and replaced it with their own.

While Washburn is not so naive as this, what his account, and accounts of that ilk, ignore is the historical and philological context in which the textual relations he describes obtain.

In any case, in terms of the above, I see a continued reliance upon the phenomenological method in Ken's most recent work, as well as an inaccurate presentation of the phenomenological method, a presentation that tends to mask this reliance.

I have at times referred to Kenny's use of hyperbole when referring to other individuals or their teachings. I take it that Kenny has picked up this particular rhetorical modality from the materials he uses, and that these materials in turn derive their attitude from tradition itself which has set certain precedents. In other words, my sense is that this curious penchant for hyperbole derives, at least in part, from tradition itself, specifically from the attitiude toward the "great sage" or "holy sant" that we find in traditional hagiographical materials.

We find, for example, in Sankara Dig Vijaya, loosely, Shankara Conquers the World, several depictions of Shankara that approach the hyperbolic. There we find the suggestion that Shankara went about India, defeating everyone he met in debate and virtually converting the entire subcontinent to Vedanta. It is story that is repeated often. But this idea is a 14th century construct. For it is evident that Shankara was not well known in his day and even in the centuries that followed, since we find no mention of him in the works of other major scholars and philosophers. There is every indication that his teaching was meant only for the few qualified wandering samnyasins he encounted in the countryside. The Vedanta itself was an esoteric teaching, as is evident from the fact that the Brahma Sutras themselves make no sense without their commentarial tradition.

The idea, found in popular contemporary scholarly material, that Shankara was India's "greatest philosopher" is largely based upon this hagiographical tradition, and on the fact that Advaita Vedanta is the last of the classical Indian traditions to survive and that most of the writers of this material are Vedantins. Even the idea that Shankara is India's "greatest philosopher" is not entirely accurate. For one, Shankara was primarily an exegete and not a philosopher.

We find similar a exageration involved in the depictions of Nagarjuna, whom Kalupahana has argued was also primarily an exegete. According to Mahayana tradition Nagarjuna is accorded the status of almost a "second Buddha." Murti goes so far as to say that Nagarjuna's teaching offered a "corrective" to that of the Buddha. In his introduction to his translation of the Karikas, Kennneth Inada states that Nagarjuna's veneration, "at times reached such ridiculous heights that his name was sanctified and stamped everywhere with reckless abandon..."

We find hyperbolic estimations of the philosophical importance of Shankara, Nagarjuna and Plotinus throughout the works of Wilber. Not only hyperbole, but inaccuracies.

As for Plotinus, Ken does not appear to be aware of the fact that Plotinus' "great philosophical work," the Enneads, was in fact a collection of notes cobbled together and scribbled down by his closest disciple, Porphyry, to be used by his own students. In this sense, Porphyry, and not Plotinus, is the real "founder" of the school of Neo-Platonism. The irony here is that Wilber says that Plotinus was the "greatest pundit ever." Presumably, it is "book-learning" that characterizes the pundit. But Plotinus never wrote the Enneads. And what of Shankara? At times Wilber says that Shankara was a "sage," or "India's greatest realizer." And yet, unlike Plotinus, Shankara is best known for his various written commentaries on the Upanishads, and he even referred to himself as a pandita. 

What is also odd about the exaggerated claims Ken attaches to certain individuals from history is that they so often do not appear to involve any consideration of other great luminaries. Where, for example, do we find a similar consideration of Abhinavagupta in Ken's works? Or the master, Shri Harsha? Like Da's collection of "seventh stage texts" (where is the Vimalakirtinirdesha Sutra?), Ken bases his judgements upon his own limited encounter with dated translations of Asian texts -- basically those that were available to him in the 70's.

I will close with one other precedent, a modern one -- that of Swami Vivekananda. Throughout his various "biographies," which are better labeled hagiographies, we find several exagerated depictions of Vivekananda's spiritual and intellectual attainments. For example, we read in such accounts that Vivekananda was a "multi-faceted genius." According to one account, The Life of Swami Vivekananda, by his Disciples Eastern and Western, the principal of the college Vivekananda attended, William Hastie, had said that Vivekananda (then called Naren) was "a genius" and that "he never saw such a one even among philosophy students in German univeristies!" And yet, we also find out from R. Chattopadhyaya's book, Swami Vivekananda in India: A Corrective Biography that the following were Vivekananda's grades during his graduating year of college:
English 56%
Mathematics 61%
History 56%
Philosophy 45%
These, it goes without saying, are hardly the grades of a "multifacted genius." Chattopadhyaya opines that this anecdote was probably concocted by Haramohan Mitra and disseminated via his many pamphlets.

My sense is that it is precisely this same sort of hyperbole that is at work in Ken's own estimation of the work and stature of certain of other personages.

It is fairly clear that even in Integral Spirituality, Ken remains attached to views put forward by Franklin Jones in Nirvanasara.

Whenever Ken instanciates "causal formlessness" with the "classical nirvana" of Hinayana Buddhism, he basically evokes views put forward in Nirvanasara, though Goleman's reification of Theravada "nirvana" in Varieties of the Meditative Experience can also be said to be at work in Ken's characterization.

As for Nirvanasara, there are, in this book, indeed some rather accute insights and accurate depictions of the Indian tradition's self-understandin. Wilber is perhaps a better systematic thinker than Da, but in many ways, Franklin's insights into, and use of, the Indian tradition outstrip Ken's work; Wilber appears to be aware of this superiority.

In Nirvanasara, Da shows insight into the Indian tradition's understanding of its own movement, in particular, into the self-understanding of Tantrism. This "movement," which is both historical and soteriological, which is described by the Buddhist Tantric tradition, is a dialectical structure basically taken over from the Mahayana.

In most iconic depictions, Nagarjuna is shown making a certain gesture or mudra; Specifically, the mudra is meant to indicate "second turning" of the wheel of dharma. The idea is (even if it were not Nagarjuna's own belief) the Prajnaparamita literature, and its interpretation by the Madhyamika school, constitute a "second turning" of the wheel of dharma.

According to this line of thinking, the teaching of emptiness was too radical for people at the time of the Buddha. And so he did not teach it. But, according to legend, Nagarjuna recovered the teachings in the lairs of the Nagas, deep in the ocean, and brought them back to expound and explicate them.

This idea is clearly an attempt to justify the teachings of the Mahayana, teachings that, when they first appeared would have looked and sounded very different from the received views of the day.

In the Yogachara text, Samdhinirmocana Sutra, we find another application of this idea of "turning the wheel." There, we read that the teachings of the Yogachara constitute a third turning of the wheel of dharma. Here, and in other Yogachara foundational texts, this idea is explicated in accordance with a specific "logic" or dialectic.

This idea can be interpreted as follows: In early or "Hinayana" Buddhism, form is form, or mountains are mountains. In other words, Abhidharma Buddhism, or the first turning, is a form of "realism."  In the Prajnaparamita literature, and in Madhyamika, we find the idea that form is in fact empty. As Zen would have it, now mountains are not mountains (ie. mountains are empty). This is the second turning.

But does this mean that everything is empty? The Yogachara could not countenance this idea. Something remains in emptiness, and this something, for the Yogachara, is the contents of consciousness. In place of the Madhyamika conception of emptiness, the Yogachara substitute a specific image: the image of an empty vessel. The Yogachara then identify the empty vessel with its own conception of consciousness. As Ken correctly states in Integral Spirituality, in Yogachara thought this "vessel" is conceived of as a kind of "openness" or "clearing" wherein objects "arise," or come into being. This conception is remarkably close to the conception of consciousness that we find in phenomenology. Indeed, Heidegger himself refers to "the clearing" in his work, though he calls this clearing "Being"; and in the essay, "A Conversation with a Japanese," Heidegger himself explicitly identifies "Being" with the Zen conception of emptiness as "openness."

For the Yogachara, then, objects appear "within" the empty vessel of consciousness, or as the idealistic sub-school would have it, are "projections" (pratibhasa) of consciousness, emptiness and form are no longer radically distinct; the vessel can now be "filled" as it were. This is the third turning.

What the Yogachara does here is substitute the older orientation toward transcendence and discrimination, as found in the Prajnaparamita and Madhyamika, with an emphasis upon immanence and identity. Emptiness, now, IS form, as Ken would have it; or, as Trungpa and Zen would have it, form is form again, and mountains are mountains. 

This newer emphasis upon immanence is a different kind of soteriological strategy. Instead of saying that the object must be renounced, we can now say that it no longer need be viewed as an alien presence "impinging" upon us from "outside" as it were. Also implied here is the idea that the emphasis upon immanence is superior. Where the older emphasis had been upon the renunciation of the world and its objects on the grounds of their emptiness, objects are now seen as appearances within consciousness. This idea jibes well with the Tantric idea that it is a superior practice that "lives in the world though not of it."

This supposed "superiority" of immanentism is justified by means of the "logic" or dialectic movement that we find in the Samdhinirmocana. This dialectic can be understood in terms of a circle that moves counterclockwise, first from the bottom, up the left arc toward the top of the circle, then back down. Here, "form is form" is found at the bottom of the circle, while "form is empty" occurs at the top of the circle. Note here that the Madhyamika conception of emptiness is understood as merely a 180 degree turning. This "turning" must, according to this "logic," must be "completed"; it must turn the full 360 degrees and "return" down the right arc back "into" the world" to be "complete." The image of the "wheel" is quite appropo here.

Da is not the only person to note the "logic" of this kind of movement. This "movement" is also described by the Japanese Buddhist scholar Nagao in his various articles on Madhyamika and Yogachara.

This emphasis upon immanence is taken over by the Tantric schools such as the Vajrayana and Kashmiri Shaivism, both of which were heavily indebted to the Yogachara, and melded with the generally "world-centric" orientation of Tantrism. Historically, what the Vajrayana does is take the "three-fold turning" over from the Yogachara and apply it to a kind of "pseudo-historigraphy" so as to justify Tibetan Buddhism. There, inn the self-understanding of Tibetan Buddhism, we find the three "yanas," Hinayana, Mahayana, Vajrayana, where we once found the three "turnings."

Something very similar could be done with the Hindu traditions of Samkhya, classical Advaita Vedanta, and Kashmiri Shaivism. One could probably extract just such a conception from the works of Abhivanagupta, who speaks of the Shaiva Kaula dharma as "transcending and including" all other traditions, including classical advaita vedanta, just as the elephant's footprint obliterates the tracks of all other animals.

Da's use of these ideas in Nirvanasara are not identical to the above, but he makes use of the same dialectical structure. Generally, he speaks of classical Advaita and classical Buddhism as reifying nirvikalpa samadhi and "classical nirvana" (or nirodha if we want to bring Goleman's language into the picture as Ken does). According to Da, these traditions discriminate "nirvana" and nirvikalpa samadhi from the world. Da refers to these two traditions as two poles, one "realistic" and the other "idealistic" (an idea he may have picked up from Western scholars), but he calls both forms of "transcendentalism" and by this I take it that he means to say that both emphasize transcendence over immanence.

In Da's writings, the term "discrimination" becomes a kind of catchword used when referring to "merely six stage" soteriological strategies. This idea, "discrimination" as a kind of "bug-bear, is, I believe, taken over from D.T. Suzuki's translation of the Lanakavatara Sutra, a work, it should be noted that has a pronounced Yogachara orientation. Throughout his translation, Suzuki repeatedly translates the term "vikalpa," which loosely means dichotmous or dualistic thinking, with the English term "discrimination." This, as some reviewers have noted, is highly misleading as it does not differentiate vikalpa (bad) from viveka (good). However, in at least one place in the text, the Sanskrit term "viveka" does indeed appear where Suzuki uses the term "discrimination; moreover, the Lankavatara does indeed repudiate viveka at this point. On this count and to this extent, both Suzuki and Da are correct: the general orientation of the Lankavatara is indeed one that emphasizes non-discrimination over discrimination; immanence over transcendence. It was for this reason that Da once called the Lankavatara a "seventh stage" text.

To return to my point about Ken's most recent work, insofar as Ken still remains attached to such conceptions -- which are clearly at work in his conception of "enlightenment" as "union" with objects -- he still remains attached to a specific metaphysical conception and orienttion. To give a specific example, to say that immanence is "superior" to transcendence implies that one accepts the historiography that takes the Vajrayana as "superior" to Mahayana and "Hinayana." Only a tantrika, a Vajrayanist or Kashmiri Shaiva, could say such a thing. For the rest of the tradition, historically speaking, we have been in a state of spiritual decline; this is the Kali Yuga, after all!)

It goes without saying that any such "historigraphy" is by its very nature teleological in nature. And to that extent is remains metaphysical at its core.

One thing that is noticable in Wilber's most recent work is a continuing refinement and adjustment of the relationship between "states," "structures," and "stages." Gone, for example, is the highly problematic, and perhaps ridiculous, idea that we are all, somehow or other, "evolving" into the "subtle mind stage" of human development, as if, someday, the future evolution of man will involve everyone walking around in a dream-state.

In Integral Spirituality Wilber attempts to carefully distinguish states and stages. (This distinction is not new, of course; I simply want to highlight aspects of his most recent comments on the problem of the relationship between the two.) At the end of chapter three, Wilber calls the issue of their relationship the "$64,000 question." It is a question, however, that tends to remain a question. In chapter four, "States and Stages," Wilber says:

As for transformation itself: how individuals grow, develop and transform is one of the great mysteries of human psychology. The truth is, nobody knows... this is an extrodinarily complex subject, which I will set aside for the moment...(p. 87)

In chapter six, "The Shadow and the Disowned Self," Wilber does give some actual indication of the possible relationship between states of consciousness and stages of development. He first makes this statement:

But in the long haul, research indicates, meditation can engage vertical development (or the unfolding or vertical stages of the same self line). (p. 137)

The question, of course, is how this is possible. A few pages later he gives this explanation:

Conventional researchers have discovered the zone-#2 structure stages of consciousness development...whereas the contemplative traditions... have plumbed the depth of the major zone-#1 trained states of consciousness.... Moving horizontally through those major #-1 states of consciousness can also help vertical or zone -#2 development.... The reason that state-meditation can help with vertical stage development is that every time you experience a non-ordinary state of consciousness that you cannot interpret within your present structure, it acts as a micro-disidentification -- it helps "I" become "me" (or the subject of one state-stage becomes the object of the subject of the next -- and therefore helps with vertical development of the self line. (p. 140)

Presumably then, there is empirical data that supports the contention that those engaged in a "spirtual path" and/or meditation tend to "grow" or "develop" in various ways. This seems plausible. But, and here is my first problem, is this development the result of "meditation?" Perhaps it is the result of interaction with a teacher. Perhaps such growth is inherent in those who seek out such paths, and a natural result of their cultivation of spirituality. What I'm getting at here is the mechanistic idea that altering one's consciousness is the primary agent for growth among those engaged in spirituality. This is a lesser point and though I find it interesting, I don't want to pursue it at this time.

There is also, implied in the above, the added problem as to what it is we mean, exactly, by "development." This is to say, that it is not at all clear as to what it is that is "developing" in general, apart from the rather vague category of "consciousness." If consciousness is, as Ken suggests, empty, what is the criterion within consciousness that allows us to gauge the various levels, and that, just as importantly, also allows us to distinguish levels from lines? Ken makes it clear that we need to distinguish between levels and lines of development, and the various lines of development are relatively clear. We can, for example, speak of moral development, or intellectual development, and so on, in terms that can be understood by most of us. But as soon as we begin to talk about "levels" in general, things become very vague.

My sense is that levels can only be understood in terms of some particular line, that as soon as we attempt to characterize "levels of development," we are, in fact, understanding that development in terms of some line. The difficulty here appears to reveal itself in chapter nine, "The Conveyer Belt," wherein Wilber attempts to distinguish lines of phylogenetic development (i.e., Lower Left development) from levels of development. But when Wilber is required to speak of these general levels in more specific terms, he resorts to of the well-known color scheme of red, amber, orange, and in doing so, make use of a particular characterization: modern/orange=the "rational," etc. Now one might wish to go along with a particular characterization in such a manner, but unless some criterion can be given as to the general nature of this development, it comes off as merely an arbitrary, a priori imposition upon "consciousness"; and if some criterion is given, then, I would suggest, we are merely understanding development in terms of some particular line of development.

One final point. In chapter four, "Stages and States, " Wilber says the following with respect to the relation between states and stages, "But a person will interpret that state according to the stage they are at." (p. 90) This characterization has become widely known. But I think that this kind of comment, does not jibe with what Wilber says above about meditative states "aiding" in development through stages of growth. As we noted above, Ken had talked about "a non-ordinary state of consciousness that you cannot interpret within your present structure" contributing to the development of consciousness. But here, he is saying that we tend to interpret such non-ordinary states in terms of the structure-stage we are at. These two comments do not appear to jibe. If we tend to interpret non-ordinary states in terms of the structure-stage we are at, would this not tend to reinforce the stage we are at, rather than contribute to its transcendence? To me it seems as if there are two competing models of the role of state-meditation in stage development at work here. It seems as if Wilber cannot entirely let go of the older model that related stages more intimately with states and that gave a more central and important role to meditative disciplines in human "development."

On pages 201-205 of One Taste, after indulging in his typical penchant for hyperbole, Wilber offers us his "Introduction" to Talks with Sri Ramana Maharshi. He says:

Ramana, echoing Shankara, used to say:

The world is illusory;
Brahman alone is real;
Brahman is the world.

The world is illusory, which means you are not any object at all -- nothing that can be seen is ultimately real. You are neti, neti, not this not that. And under no circumstance should you base your salvation on that which is finite, temporal, passing, illusory, suffering-enhancing and agony-inducing.

Brahman alone is real, the Self (unqualified Brahman-Atman) alone is real -- the pure Witness, the timeless unborn, the formless Seer, the radical I-I, radiant Emptiness -- is what is real and all that is real. It is your condition, your nature, your essence, your present and your future, your desire and your destiny, and yet it is always ever-present as pure Presence, the alone that is Alone.

Brahman is the world, Emptiness and Form are not two. After you realize that the manifest world is illusory, and after you realize that Brahman alone is real, then you can see that the absolute and the relative are not-two or nondual, then you can see that nirvana and samsara are not-two, then you realize that the Seer and everything are not-two, Brahman and the world are not-two -- all of which really means the sound of those birds singing!...

I would like to know where in his works Shankara speaks this way. The fact of the matter is that Wilber's presentation of Shankara is completely backwards to how Shankara orders the teachings of Advaita.

For Shankara, the teaching that "Brahman is the world," as found in the Chandogya and Brhadaranyaka Upanishad, is merely a propaedeutic teaching. This is to say that it is preliminary to the final teaching that Brahman and the world are absolutely distinct (vivikta).

Shankara says that the teachings of Vedanta make use of both assertion or imputation (aropa) as well as negation (apavada). As Shankara says in his Upadeshasahashri, first the student is taught oneness (aiktva). Then the student is taught the specific nature of Brahman or the Self. This means that the teaching of oneness preceeds the subsequent teaching that negates the limiting adjuncts (upadhi) of the Self -- the mind, body, etc -- by way of discrimination (viveka), that is, by way of the neti neti.

Now, the heterogeneous Vivekachudamani, which contains both the classical teachings of Advaita and later tantricized elements, teaches that the world is distinct from Brahman, just like Shankara, and also that the world is the same as Brahman. But since Mr. Wilber is not a scholar of Shankara, he thinks that the Vivekachudamani was written by the Acharya Shankara. But it was not; it was written in the 15th century, since it contains language that could not have come from the period of Shankara.

Wilber's presentation of the teaching of Ramana is interesting. It parallels, almost exactly, Vivekananda's presentation of the classical Advaita. Vivekanananda offers us three "great sayings" (mahavakya) of Advaita:

"You are Brahman (tat tvam asi)."
"I am Brahman."
"Brahman is the world."

The last saying is presumably a reference to the Chandogya Upanishad, which says in the third chapter, "all (sarvam) this (idam) is brahman." And yet, this saying is not one of the "great sayings" of classical Advaita. Vivekananda has made that up. He derives this idea about Brahman and the world from Ramakrishna's tantricized version of Vedanta. And he puts it toward a specific use: he wishes to say that since the world is Brahman, it is worth "saving." This is to say, it provides him a metaphysical backdrop against which he will figure his "practical Vedanta." I will deal with this idea in greater detail at my site shortly.

But what about Ramana? Is Wilber's characterization of Ramana fair and accurate?

Notice, first of all that it completely contradicts Godman's description of Ramana's teachings about "creation theories." According to Godman, the final teaching, for Ramana, is the teaching of ajata-vada. But a-jata, non-arising, is clearly a reference to negation. On the other hand, drshti-srshti-vada, which according to Godman is merely propaedeutic, is clearly a form of affirmation. It says: the world is the same as "seeing," the same as mind, which ultimately means that it is the same as consciousness.

So what is going on here?

Maybe both presentations are correct. My own sense is that the teachings of Ramana are themselves heterogenous. This is to say that they are a mixture of the classical Advaita of Shankara, as well as elements from tantricized forms of Advaita. Ramana also made use of Tamil Shaivism in his teachings, as is well known. This being the case, it is no accident that Ramana chose to translate the Vivekachudamani. It too is a heterogenous work, as I have noted above.

The "logic" or dialectic that Wilber makes use of here ultimately derives from the Samdhinirmocana Sutra, which is a foundational text of the Yogachara. There, three "turnings" of the wheel of Buddhist dharma are described.

1. The Hinayana teachings, which are realist and therefore a form of assertion (samaropa)
2. The Madhyamika (and Prajnaparamita) teachings, which are a form of negation (apavada).
3. The Yogachara or Vijnanavada teachings, which are again a form of assertion (samaropa).

First off, notice that the terminology here precisely parallels the language of the Advaitins. As we noted above, and as we saw in Sarvajnatma, Shankara spoke of "aropa" and "apavada." The only difference in the terminology here is the slight variation on the term "-ropa."

Now notice that whereas Shankara and the Madhyamika stress negation and discrimination, the Yogachara stresses affirmation and non-discrimination. As I noted in a post some time ago, in his translation of the Lankavatara Sutra, which is a Yogachara work, D.T. Suzuki stresses time and again, this aspect of non-discrimination. This, I noted, and I have found a review of Conze that raises a similar point, is rather misleading. Suzuki is here translating "vikalpa," dualistic thought, as "discrimination." This misleading since discrimination is usually rendered as "viveka." But I have found a passage in the Lankavatara Sutra that also criticizes "viveka," so Suzuki is not entirely off base.

As I theorized in that post, I believe that Da was influenced by Suzuki's rendering of the Lanakavatara Sutra. Throughout his earlier works, Da stresses that the so-called "seventh stage" texts, such as the Lankavatara Sutra and Ashtavakra Gita, are all "non-discriminative." This is actually a fair representation of such works, even if we don't accept Franklin's distinction between sixth stage (discriminative) and seventh stage (non-discriminative) texts.

Historically, what happened was that the Buddhist Tantrikas took over the dialectic that had first been presented by the Yogacharas. In their self-understanding we get the following idea of a kind of "progressive" revelation of the Buddhist dharma.

1. Hinayana
2. Mahayana
3. Vajrayana

Da takes this idea over in his book Nirvanasara. There, he essentiallly collapses the Vajrayana into the Mahayana, and introduces his own term, "Advaitayana" in its place. But this had already been done by the Buddhist Sahajikas, who rebelled against the institutionalization of the Vajrayana. They used the term "Sahajayana" for their final term. In any case, the "logic" of affirmation-negation-affirmation remains the same in every case.

Tantrism in general stresses this "affirmation" that the Yogacharas spoke of. In its various Hindu forms, it tends to stress the idea that the world, represented by Shakti, is non-different from the transcendent absolute, represented by Shiva. The classical Advaita of Shankara, on the other hand, tends to emphasize the transcendence of Brahman or the Self. Tantrism, as I say, tends to emphasize the immanence of the absolute, or the "non-duality" of transcendence and immanence, the absolute and the relative, as the tantric term "saha-ja" signifies. This term derives from the same root as the term "a-jata." Basically, "saha" means "together" and the idea is the the absolute and the relative "arise" (ja) together.

This "dialectic" that both Wilber and Da notice and make use of is not something they are making up. It is actually there in the self-understanding of the Yogachara and in Tantrism. As I say, this is most plainly evident in the Samdhinirmocana Sutra. This same "dialectic" has also been noticed by the well known and well respected Japanese scholar of Madhyamika and Yogachara, Nagao. Over and over he points to various instances of this three fold dialectic in Yogachara works. According to Nagao, for the Yogacharas, there is something "remaining" in emptiness. And that positive "thing" is the fact of cognition, or "vijnana."

This "dialectic" is a powerful and pursuasive rhetorical tool precisely because it works on two levels: the ontogenetic and the phylogenetic. Ontogenetically, it offers a kind of map for the path. This logic-that-moves can, for example, be found in the 10 ox-herding frames. We start with the world, then move to emptiness in the 8th frame, then move back to the world in the tenth frame, "entering the market with open arms." It can also be found in the Zen saying:

at first mountains are mountains.
then mountains are not mountains.
then mountains are mountains again.

Or as Trungpa used to say:

at first form is form and emptiness is emptiness.
then form is emptiness,
and emptiness is form.
then form is form again.

What is being described here is a kind of circular movement. First, there is the path of return to the source. This is the "upward" arc on the left hand side of the circle moving toward the top of the circle, the transcendent absolute. Then there is the "downward" arc back to the bottom of the circle, back to the world as it were. This kind of dialectical description offers a way of understanding the history of tradition. It is as I say, put to use by both Wilber and Da. But whether or not one "buys into" such a scheme depends on whether or not one buys into the idea that "affirmation," non-discrimination, immanence, and "inclusiveness," is superior to negation, descrimination, transcendence, and exclusion.

To get the gist of the two 'forms' of non-duality in Wilber's writings, we need to go back to Da. And from there we need to backtrack to the contrast between trancendentalism and immanentism found in traditions like Mahayana Buddhism, Vedanta, and Shaivism. Actually, if we follow this line of thinking in detail, there are three structurally distinct forms of the "non-dual."

In the traditional conception, the "causal state" is deep dreamless sleep. We might say that corresponding to this are the formless samapatti or attainments, sometimes called the formless jhanas. Transcending this "causal formlessness" are respectively, the nirvikalpa samadhi of Yoga/Vedanta synthesis of the 15th century, and what is called nirodha samapatti, the cessation of ideation/perception, in the Buddhist tradition. Both states are uderstood as super-worldy (loka-uttara), that is, as transcending conditioned states of consciousness, which for both traditions is a three-fold structure.

What Da does is purposely conflate traditional conceptions of the third 'causal' state, traditionally a conditioned state of consciousness, with the implied "fourth" state of consciousness, nirvikalpa samadhi/nirodha samapatti, which is traditionally considered a transcedent, if transitory, state. This is to say that he calls both nirvikalpa samadhi and deep dreamless sleep "causal." That Da breaks with tradition here can be seen by way of his description of the so called "cosmic mandala," or what Yogananda calls the "spiritual eye." Yogananda clearly identifies the yellow ring of the mandala with the "subtle" realm and the blue ring with the "causal" dimension. Da, however, says that the red-yellow ring is "gross" and associates the blue ring with the "subtle." Yogananda identifies the white star at the centre of the field with nirvikalpa samadhi and with transcendence of the three states. Da however relates the star with the "causal" domain.

The effect of Da's classification here is to "ratchet up" his terminology a notch. In effect, what Da is saying is this: "What was causal for you is now merely subtle for me." This is an old move, and Da is not the first to use this kind of gambit. We find similar moves among the statements of various yogis and sants of the later tradition. This is another reason why their statements cannot be taken phenomenologically at face value: statements about such states and their hierarchy often contain polemical content, and this content needs to by made clear before actual structural comparisons can be drawn.

That Ken follows Da's account is made clear by the fact that Ken calls both dreamless sleep and nirvikalpa samadhi "causal, " and associates the third formless samapatti, or arupa jhana, with nirodha -- something that the Buddhist tradition never does, since one is worldly (lokiya) and the other is superworldly (lokottara).  This attempt to follow both tradition and Da at the same time makes Wilber's account confused, and confusing.

We can now begin to clarify what is going on here vis a vis the terminology of "non-duality."

In a certain sense, we can call the third state of dreamless sleep "non-dual" in so far as there is no object, no other, no second in this state. This is what the word implies, after all, no (a-) second (dvaita), and this is precisely the sense used by the Brhadaranyaka Upanishad: the third state has no object of consciousness, no other, no second.

But according to the Gaudapada Karika, this third state is still merely a relative state of consciousness. It is different from transcendent states insofar as the "seeds" (bija) of karmic impulses (samskara; vasana) remain in it. But does this mean that the "seeds" of karma, dissappear in the transcedent state? Here the tradition itself gets cloudy. The Gaudapada Karika only refers to the end result, turiya, the enlightened condition (bodha) of release (moksha) in its constrast with deep dreamless sleep. The Yoga Sutra, does speak of a seedless or "nirbija" samadhi. This, the commentaries equate with something they call "asamprajnata samadhi," which the later Vedanta tradition of Vidyaranya and Sadananda identify with "nirvikalpa samadhi." But the Yoga Sutra nowhere mentions any such state. It merely makes use of the term "asamprajnata," and the later commentators like Vijnanabhikshu take this as referring to some sort of samadhi. This identification with "nirbija samadhi" is problematic. For according to a later tradition, the "seeds" of mental karma (samskara) are "burnt up" by repeated entry into asamprajnata samadhi. Thus, asamprajnata samadhi cannot simply be nirbija samadhi since the latter can only refer to the end of the process, to a kind of final state.

In any case, what we find in the Yoga commentaries and later Advaita tradition is the description of a state in which conditioned existence is temporarily transcended. This corresponds with the earlier Buddhist descriptions of "nirodha samapatti" and "asamjnika samapatti," which the Buddhist texts themselves describe as a kind of "foretaste" of nirvana. This state, then, corrosponds with the "second" form of "non-duality."

According to Da, this state is but a temporary manifestation. And it remains relative to conditioned existence. While it can be called a kind of absolute state in that it absolutely transcends conditioned existence, it remains relative to conditioned existence. It can, in this sense, be designated a kind of "relative absolute." According to Da, certain traditions make this state their primary goal and objectify it in their metaphysics (the nirguna brahman of Advaita Vedanta for example). But, he thinks, this state is still a "limited" state. And those traditions that attempt to turn it into a kind of permanent condition, the condition of permanent absorption in perfect formlessness, remain "limited" traditions. According to Da, these traditions discriminate nirvikalpa/nirodha state from worldly existence. In so doing, they create another duality, or, we might say, one duality remains.

In this paper by Edward Conze, in subsection "C," Conze distinguishes various sense of the term "non-dual" (advaya) in the Prajnaparamita texts. The first two need not interest us as they refer to two senses of the term that can be understood historically; they are associated with the Yogachara and Madhyamika schools, respectively. It is the third sense that we are interested in here; it refers to a sense that needs to be understood structurally. This is the non-duality between the absolute and the relative.

This form of non-duality, it should be noted, is of a different order than the ones we have been discussing so far. Its structural relation can be understood as follows. The first two kinds of non-duality can be understood in horizontal terms. For example, we can think of a constrast or duality between two relative terms, say left and right, male and female, light and dark, etc. We can then think of their "resolution," a kind of "coincidence of opposites," as their "non-duality." But then we have generated another duality, a duality between, on the one hand, the two terms understood as a constrasting pair, and on the other hand, their resolution understood as a unity. This duality I refer to as a vertical duality. The important point to note is that this is a duality of another order. It is in fact a kind of ultimate duality, and it is expressed by the contrast between Brahman and Maya, Shiva and Shakti, Nirvana and Samsara, etc. It is the duality between the absolute and the relative.

What the traditions of "immanentism" attempt to do is "resolve" this final duality. According to them, pure transcendentalism seeks to maintain this final duality, and it does this by laying stress on the absolute term. But this "absolute" is, according to them, but a mere relative absolute since it remains in conflict with, in duality with, conditioned existence (maya, samsara, etc.) Da appropriates this tradition and makes it his own. Hence he begins to speak of "open eyes" (a term taken from Kashmiri Shaivism) samadhi, or "sahaja samadhi," a kind of "continuous samadhi" in which transcendence is resolved with everyday waking consciousness. Ken refers to this state by means of various metaphysical equations: Emptiness is Form, "nirvana and samsara are the same," etc.

The term "causal" (karana) can be traced back to the Book One of the Gaudapada Karika. Here are the pertinent verses:

11 Visva and Taijasa are conditioned by cause and effect. Prajna is conditioned by cause alone. Neither cause nor effect exists in Turiya.

12 Prajna does not know anything of self or non-self, of truth or untruth. But Turiya is ever existent and all-seeing.

13 Non-cognition of duality is common to both Prajna and Turiya. But Prajna is associated with sleep in the form of cause and this sleep does not exist in Turiya.

14 The first two, Visva and Taijasa, are associated with dreaming and sleep respectively; Prajna, with Sleep bereft of dreams. Knowers of Brahman see neither sleep nor dreams in Turiya.

15 Dreaming is the wrong cognition and sleep the non-cognition, of Reality. When the erroneous knowledge in these two is destroyed, Turiya is realized.

In his commentary, Shankara says that the third state is called "causal" because it is the "seed" (bija) of the other two states. What this means is that the "seeds" of thought (memory, inclinations, etc.) remain in deep sleep and then present themselves when we emerge from deep sleep. What the tradition is doing here is attempting to give a theory for the continuity of consciousness, that is, an account for how it is that the same consciousness (vijnana) reappears after seemingly disappearing for a time (as in sleep, trance, or fainting). Along these lines, the "causal body" is presented as a kind of repository for these "seeds" (= vasana; samskara) of mental states. The alaya-vijnana or "storehouse consciousness," is posited in Mahayana thought for exactly the same reason: it is the repository (alaya) for the vasanas. (There is no "experience" of the alaya-vijnana. It is a metaphysical postulate). Note that Shankara is not saying that "causal formlessness" is the cause of the world, etc. Note also that the Gaudapada Karika explictly says that turiya is beyond cause and effect.

So much for "causal." What do we mean by "formlessness," anyway? It would appear that Wilber has conflated two different applications of the English term "formlessness." Here's how: First, he takes the Buddhist term "arupa," as it applies to the formless attainments (samapatti) in Buddhism, and he associates it with the state of "deep sleep," found in Vedanta. This much is fine, since the two can indeed be seen as analogs, referring, as they do, to a kind of "third" worldly domain in their respective contexts. Both are also similar insofar as they both refer to states bereft of objects of consciousness. At the same time, however, many standard English translations of Vedanta texts translate the term "nirguna brahman" as the "formless brahman". The problem here is that traditionally, the macrocosmic equivalent of the third state/causal body is, saguna brahman, or brahman with form. So, the formless nirguna brahman cannot be said to be the equivalent of the third state of deep sleep. In his various writings, Wilber also relates both the arupa dhatu, the "formless realm," and the dharmakaya, the truth body of the Buddha. But it is not accurate to relate the two in this manner, since the arupa dhatu still pertains to the domain of samsara, while the dharmakaya does not.

Again, to a significant extent, this mess can be traced back to Wilber's appropriation of Da's cateogories, and his attempt to use Da's discourse alongside traditional terminology. In his works, Da refers to nirguna brahman, and nirvikalpa samadhi, as "causal."  Since nirguna brahman is also called the "formless brahman" Wilber begins to use the term "causal formlessness" with reference to nirguna brahman and nirvikalpa samadhi. To repeat my point, at the same time, "formlessness" is also used to refer to the third dhatu or loka of Buddhism, which can be seen as the analog of deep dreamless (formless) sleep. However, deep sleep is not traditionally aligned with nirguna brahman: the former is still within the realm of samsara, still worldly, while the latter is transcendent. It is no accident, then, that Ken avoids the classifications "worldly" (laukika) and "superworldly" (lokottara) in his writings, as they would wreck havoc on his system.

The discourses of contemporary Western appropriations of Indian spirituality can be said to be characterized by a series of rhetorical dichotomies. These oppositions or "dualities" (dvandvas) define these "new" expressions of Indian spirituality by rhetorically demarcating appropriate and "authentic" forms of spirituality from inappropriate and "inauthentic" forms.

The duality between the "pundit" and the "sage," and between "talking school" and "practising school" are among two of the most important of these dichotomies. Also important in this regard is the rhetoric involving the category of "experience," which in its own way implies whole a series opposing categories. Although these polarities are presented in ways that are supposed to reflect actual Indian pedagogical categories, they can also be understood as, and perhaps more accurately reflect, extensions of modern Western interests. The polarity between "talking school" and "practising school" in particular can be said to reflect the modern European obsession with the problematic relation between "theory" and "practice."

These polarities characterizing the new Indian spirituality, I contend, are for the most part taken over, almost entirely, from the polemical categories of the Neo-Vedanta. This makes the Neo-Vedanta, in itself, worthy of study. That the Neo-Vedanta is an Indian phenomenon does not contradict the thesis that these dichotomies in fact reflect modern Western concerns, since the Neo-Vedanta itself is a kind of fusion of Western interests with Indian forms of thought and spirituality.

While "Neo-Vedanta" as a phenomenon can, in a real sense, be said to be the appearance of something new, and modern expressions of the "new" Indian spirituality can be said to reflect modern interests, both draw upon the classical traditions of India in significant ways that cannot be ignored. Thus, one tack might be to unravel the various interwoven strands that feed into the rhetorical discourse of the Neo-Vedanta and contemporary Western expressions of "Indian" spirituality.

But first, it might be of benefit to examine various aspects of the semantic range of the above polarities. The three are, in their own way, interwoven with each other, and one of the initial tasks here will be to show how the three are inter-related.

As already noted, the dichotomy between "talking school" and "practising school" is, in one sense, clearly related to the problem of the relation between theory and practice. One implication that can be drawn from this is that the "talking school" does a lot of "talking," but does not "act" upon its subject of discourse. Thus, there is a potential element of hypocrisy involved in the charge of "talking school." In other words, it does not practice what it preaches.

Also implied is a notion of authenticity, by which I mean being committed to the spiritual life. According to this line of thought, "true" spirituality is not merely a discourse about spirituality; it is the "inner struggle," the dedication to "personal transformation" that the practice of spirituality actually demands. Here another distinction is implied: that between discourse about spirituality and the practice of spirituality itself. And so someone who merely engages in discourse about spirituality is "talking school" whereas someone who is actually engaged in the spiritual life itself, in an existentially committed way, is "practising school."

There is another context to be examined, that in which the related expression "mere talk" may arise. In this case, someone may make the charge of someone else that their "talk" is describing something that they themselves have not "experienced." The implication here is the rhetorical charge that it is "mere talk" to discourse about spirituality when one has not "experienced" it. It is worth noting that this application of the term "experience" is ambiguous and that it implies two senses of the term "experience." In the first case, it implies "experience" in the sense of some form of particular experience (like dreaming or doing LSD, or a mystical experience or "realization"). In the second case, it implies "experience" in the sense of the "life experience" of someone who is "spiritual": going on retreats, doing one's "sadhana", interacting with other "spiritual" types" -- the general experience of being a "spiritual" person and living the life of spiritual "practitioner."

In both cases, vis a vis experience, there is an implied charge that only those with "experience" may legitimately "discourse" about "spirituality" (whatever "experience" may mean, and regardless of the fact that someone can live his entire life consumed by "spirituality" without ever actually having undergone a genuine mystical experience). This kind of charge finds its particular use in the polemical context wherein there is an attempt to authorize only a certain kind of discourse: that of the "qualified" people who are "experienced."  This kind of move can be interpreted as an attempt to wrest control of spiritual discourse from those in positions authority, usually, the traditional "pundits."

A rather clear application of the "talking school" and "practising school" dichotomy can be found in some of the writings of Adi Da.  

In his essay, Ad Da describes "talking school" as represented by those proponents of Advaitism whose, "contact with disciples is primarily one of conversation, and the process in which they engage their listeners is basically a matter of attendance to verbal argumentation." Over against this mere "talking" and "listening," he contrasts, "the real practising ordeal and deep meditative process," the "self- transcending ordeal of sadhana," the "great practice and Great Realization," and "Yogic discipline and deep meditation..." etc.

In an interesting rhetorical gambit, Adi Da associates what he calls the "practising school" (of which, he is, of course, a proponent and principle exponent) with what he calls, "the original tradition of Advaita Vedanta" and "the original tradition." Now, by the "original tradition" he does not necessarily mean the traditional Advaita Vedanta of the Shankaracharya Maths, for he speaks of both "traditional" and "modern" exponents of "talking school." By speaking of "the original tradition" he is clearly invoking the authority of Shankara, and in the process, associating his own position with that of the Acharya. He is, in other words, giving his own position a form of legitimacy, and he is doing so in a very archaic manner.

In his essay, Ad Da then draws three significant differences between "talking school" and "practising school."

First, "talking school" does not require the "great preparations and real qualifications" that the "original tradition" requires, qualifications such as renunciation and the indirect means (see my chapter on Shankara at blogspot for a discussion of the "qualifications for enquiry"). Adi Da's characterization here cannot be said to apply to the "traditional" talking school, whoever that may be, as traditional Advaita Vedanta, in all its forms, does indeed make such qualifications necessary for all. As for modern Advaitins, such a lack of qualification is, to a significant degree, quite normal and to be expected, given that many of the traditional qualifications are derivative of brahmanic culture, and by definition, Westerners are not, and cannot be, brahmins. In other words, the problems that Adi Da describes here are, in general, endemic to Western appropriations of Advaita in general, in so far as such appropriations tend to be abstractions drawn from what is originally a lived process involving the traditional brahmanic movement toward the renunciatory ideal.

As a second charge, Adi Da says that the "talking school" -- and here Adi Da refers to both traditional and modern proponents of "talking school" -- tends to isolate "listening" and make it the "only method" when it is actually only the initial stage of an incremental process involving hearing, enquiry, and meditation. It is not entirely clear who Adi Da has in mind here, though he does mention the names of a few moderns. As applied to traditional Advaitins such as Sureshvara - if, indeed, this is who he has in mind -- such a characterization is but a caricature. Sureshvara no where says that listening is the "only method." At various times, Sureshvara, like his master, says that shravana can be sufficient. This is because for both Shankara and his closest disciple, Sureshvara, shravana, listening, is the most essential and primary means.

Third, and significantly, Adi Da makes a distinction between two forms of "rational enquiry" (manana). The first, he says, is characterized by mere "attendance to verbal argumentation" on the part of those who are "habituated to constantly talk, listen and think," and whose discipline is "superficial... and merely mental (or intellectual)." The second form of manana is characterized as the "profound examination of the Teaching arguments," and "right (and most profound) enquiry into... the Inherent and Transcendental Nature."

It is not at all clear here how these two forms of manana differ from each other, besides the flowery language and vague designations like "profound," whatever that means, that apply to the latter. This kind of language, it should be noted, is purely rhetorical. It is also typical of the "new" spirituality in general, wherein we find that the "intellect" becomes a kind of "great satan," and any allusions to "mere thinking" must be either avoided or dressed up with adjectives like "profound enquiry" so as to not sound like "mere thinking."

It is perhaps worth pointing out that the distinction between manana1 and manana2, as suggested by Adi Da, has little to no basis in tradition. Shankara himself says that manana is no more than "attendance to verbal argumentation." The difference for him is that reasoning is not argumentation for the sake of mere argumentation -- sushukta-tarka, or independant (svatantra) argumentation, as the Madhyamika call it. Argumentation always stays close to scriptural revelation, for that is what authenticates it (as opposed to the whimsical personal experience of the "guru"). But any qualification that invokes scripture smacks of dogmatism to the modernist, and dogma tends to subvert the modern interest in so-called "free" enquiry. And so the one who champions the bastard form of enquiry that makes use of "manana2" must do his best to find some other way to dress up this second form of manana -- perhaps through the use of Capital Letters, or perhaps through the use of showy, but ultimately vacuous, adjectives like "profound."

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.