Originally posted by epiphinehas
[b]It isn't at all like a relationship with them. There's no web of interaction. You talk to God, he talks to God, she talks to God, but that interaction is one-on-one. You can't talk to God and get a response about the 'he' or 'she' and neither can they interact with God and get a response about you.
Statements like these cause me to wonder if yo ...[text shortened]... ntal effect upon unity whatsoever; on the contrary, it promotes unity.[/b]
When Ananias heard God “speak” to him “in a vision”, what exactly does “in a vision” mean?
Did God/the Christ/Jesus continue to speak with Ananias? That is, was this an ongoing
relationship, or simply an
encounter?
When the “light from heaven flashed around him” as he approached Damascus, and Paul “heard a voice”, what might various recording apparati have picked up (video camera, sound recording, resonance imaging)?
These are not idle questions. They go to the whole notion of experience of the divine, and what that means. If the whole thing takes place within one’s own mind—an inter-communication between the conscious and the unconscious, so to speak—would that invalidate it spiritually? [I would think not.]
How does one know when a mirage is a mirage? Quite frankly, neither the particular content nor the power or vividness of the impression could be taken as conclusive of there really being “an oasis there”. If one had a map that shows there should be an oasis in the area where one thinks one is...? But what if one is lost and doesn’t realize it? What if others also claim the same experience? But haven’t common illusions been documented in such cases?
Well, the analogy only goes so far, and I don’t intend to limit such things to visual constructs. But the question remains: How does one test whether the impression of a presence is real or illusory? What evidence can one draw upon to decide? There are at least two arguments that I would reject (just trying to clear some territory here): (a) pragmatic things such as “feeling really good”, feeling uplifted, or even “placebo” effects, such as “miraculous” healing, based on believing an illusion, etc.; and (b) that the experience is too strong or profound or whatever to be a product of one’s own mind—to me, such an argument smacks of too paltry a notion of the power of the mind.
And the question is not really why or why not or how an individual might convince someone else of the reality of such experiences—some would freely admit that they cannot. The real question is: how do they become convinced themselves? What are the criteria? [Note: the map example above is aimed, in part, at short-circuiting any circular arguments looping between experience confirming texts, and texts confirming experience.]
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If a child claims an invisible (to us, anyway) friend named Bjorn, we might humor her. If a child claims an invisible (to us, anyway) friend named Jesus, why would we respond any differently? If an adult claims a relationship with an invisible (to us, anyway) friend named Bjorn, we might suggest that she see a therapist. If an adult claims a relationship with an invisible (to us, anyway) friend named Jesus, why should we respond any differently?
In the context of my comments above, I intend those as open questions, not dismissals. What I am really trying to get at is the role of the creative imagination of our mind in such instances. Would our acknowledgement of the power and scope of such imagination invalidate spiritual experiences in which it plays a role? Again, I think not; but I think it does ask of us that we re-evaluate our understanding of such experiences in the light of our own active role.
You ought to know me well enough by now to know that this whole question of our own participation—including imaginative and creative participation—in translating pre-conceptual experience of the pre-conceptual real into
any conceptual content lies at the very heart of my own spirituality. This “translation” is often so quick as to be essentially contiguous with the non-conceptual experience; I might call it an immediate, reactive translation. You also know that I think that much religion runs
the risk of concept-idolatry.
All of this needs to be read in the context of my prior post here—about com-union—as well. I’m really just slapping down pieces of a jigsaw puzzle here; but, again, you already have so many of those pieces that you have some background on where I’m coming from, as clumsily as I may be laying down the pieces here.
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Ultimately, any religionist (you, me, anybody) who places their faith in the translated conceptual content of any spiritual (mystical) experience—any pre-conceptualized experience of the ineffable, inclusive ground of our being—ends up putting their faith in: themselves. That is, in their own conceptual translation, and/or the conceptual translations recorded by others who have gone before (and who may or may not intend their own conceptualizations to become used that way). And this, it seems to me, is true regardless of the conceptual formulations to which they ultimately adhere—and regardless of how much they protest that their faith is really in Jesus, or Buddha, or Shiva, or who/whatever.
I let my faith (and you know that I use that word in a non-standard fashion) rest in what is prior to conceptualization, formulation, naming, thinking-about and believing-about. All my
talk-about it is provisional, whatever religious language I happen to be using at any given time—and I am as willing to use Christic language/symbolism as I am to use Buddhist language/symbolism or (Kashmiri) Shaivite language/symbolism, or . . . My purpose is always to point beyond concept-idolatry or symbol-idolatry or name-idolatry: all religious language (including my own) is either iconographic, pointing beyond itself to the ineffable, or it
runs the risk of becoming idolatrous.
Now,
those statements are intended as a challenge—as an argument , if you will—not as a dogmatic conclusion. In many ways, however, that challenge has developed out of argument with good minds like your own.