Radical Grace
Oct-Dec 2009

MYSTICAL EXPERIENCE OR UNITIVE SEEING?

By Rev. Dr. Cynthia Bourgeault

        In my own spiritual practice I’m more and more clearly seeing the need to distinguish between two closely-related but distinctly different phenomena: mysticism and unitive seeing. Much of the “bad rap” that mysticism has unfortunately gained in the mainstream Christianity of the West comes from a failure to distinguish between these two terms.

Mysticism means seeing Oneness.

Unitive Seeing means seeing from Oneness.

The first term yields us the familiar “mystical experience” so beloved and eagerly sought by many spiritual seekers, and delightfully summarized in that old joke: “What did the mystic say to the hot dog vendor?” “Make me one with everything.” To perceive oneself as “one with everything” is to directly experience the flow of divine abundance that holds everything together; to know directly (rather than merely deduce) the extravagant Trinitarian joy with which everything is at all times giving itself away and receiving itself back from the molten flow of love at the center of everything. Physically, it creates an ineradicable experience of belonging, and thus is usually accompanied by feelings of bliss, peace, and an overwhelming sense of felt meaning. Sometimes the experience is so strong that it overwhelms the normal circuits of our usual cognitive perception (which perceive through differentiation), and hence results in that ecstatic and even incoherent babbling for which mystics are so celebrated.

Because the emotional content is so delicious, however—and given the overall affective and relational bent of Christian metaphysics—the tendency is to put the emphasis on the experience itself rather than the shift in perceptual field that it signals. The word “mystical” is almost always immediately coupled with the word “experience,” and a mystical experience becomes something that you have—or want to have, anyway. It becomes a sign of God’s special favor—a kind of spiritual “peak experience”—and circumstances promising to deliver that experience are eagerly sought after: from sacred chanting and Eucharistic devotion to Sufi whirling, solitude in the desert, or peyote. In the usual way of looking at things, it is an altered state of consciousness, ecstatic, something that takes you far beyond your usual self, a straight shot into divine consciousness.

What’s so bad about that?

Well, nothing, really. But from the point of view of real spiritual growth, it’s an immature state— a “state” rather than a “stage,” in the helpful language of Ken Wilber. A state is a place you go to; a stage is a place you come from: integrated and mature spiritual experience. It’s true that a mystical experience can indeed be a sneak preview of how the universe looks from the point of view of non-dual consciousness. And it’s true that this consciousness does indeed operate at a higher level of vibrational intensity, which at first can overwhelm our normal cognitve systems. But the point is not to squander this infusion of energy on bliss trips, but to learn to contain it within a quiet and spacious consciousness and allow it to permanently bring about a shift in our operating system, so that unitive (or non-dual) perception becomes our ordinary, and completely normal mode of perception.

I have spoken quite a bit in other places (particularly in my book, The Wisdom Jesus) about these operating systems: a good metaphor from the computer world to describe the very different physiological undergirdings of our normal egoic consciousness (which perceives by differentiation) and mature unitive consciousness (which perceives by instantly grasping the whole). Unitive consciousness can hold both ends of a paradox at once and look directly at the Oneness in which all the bits and pieces of our normally atomized field of vision find their whole. What is not normally recognized in discussions of these two distinctly different modes of consciousness is that they do, indeed, operate on different energetic frequencies. Our normal egoic consciousness is a relatively low-level state. Unitive consciousness both requires and confers far greater capacities of spiritual attention, surrender, clarity, and equanimity. What is “ecstatic” for egoic consciousness is simply the new baseline—enstatic—for a higher and more mature spiritual consciousness. “The love that moves the sun and the stars” (in Dante’s beautiful words) neither overwhelms the system nor results in chaotic utterance or “weird” behavior. It is utterly steady on its feet and can communicate, rather than merely indulging in self-expression.

There is a learning curve involved here, of course, which is why some schools of esoteric Christianity speak of ascetic training as “a strengthening of the nervous system.” But one does not have to resort to esoteric training in order to find the basic teaching explained and developed; the core methodology is right there in classic contemplative Christianity, lurking under the terms “humility” and “kenosis,” and 100% grounded in the teachings of Jesus himself. It is simply: “let go.” If you would see as God sees, you must flow as God flows.

The contemporary mystical theologian Ramon Panikkar expresses this idea beautifully in his book Christophany (pp. 115-116): “I am one with the source insofar as I, too, act as a source by making everything I have received flow again—just like Jesus.” As a foundational principle of Christian theology and ethical conduct, this kenotic principle has long been acknowledged. What is not usually seen, however, is that it is also Jesus’s basic—and revolutionary—principle for the rewiring of consciousness.

To arrive at this unified whole, there is only one route to get there, and it has been known to all the spiritual traditions of the world: dying to self. The consciousness that “has” mystical experiences must finally be let go, as consciousness steps out into that bare, positionless freedom that is unity.

Jesus is emphatic in his insistence on kenosis (letting go); it is the tie-rod connecting his theology, his practice, and his sacramental selfoffering. But the kenosis he has in mind is not a stoic stance against a pitiless reality; rather, it is a direct gateway into a divine reality which can be immediately experienced as both compassionate and infinitely generous—as coherent Oneness. Abundance surrounds and sustains us like the air we breathe; it is only our habitual self-protectiveness that prevents us from perceiving it. Thus, the real problem with any constrictive motion (defending, hoarding, accumulating, clinging) is that it makes us spiritually blind, unable to see the dance of divine generosity that is always flowing toward us. In Jesus’s teaching, then, kenosis is first and foremost a visionary tool; its primary purpose is to cleanse the lens of perception. For it immediately restores the broken link with the dynamic ground of reality, and ushers us into unitive wholeness.

We all yearn for mystical experience; it is one of the most prized of spiritual consolations. But it does not necessarily mean that one is spiritually “advanced” or on the fast track to transforming union. There are people who have plenty of mystical experiences but never acquire stable non-dual consciousness. And there are people who have never had a mystical experience in their entire lives, who gradually, over the course of faithful kenotic practice, simply come to see from Oneness. I have met many of these people in monasteries; they are the old, usually simple monks in whom humility has gradually carved a heart that can contain the infinite.

In fact, there is a school of Sufism—the so-called “Silent Sufis”—who make this enstatic route their entire practice. On the outside, they are simple, ordinary tradesfolks. They bake bread, drive taxis, make small talk with you as they count out your change. Nothing betrays their quiet, alert presence. But inside, their hearts are on fire with divine love and mystical cosmoses whirl all around them. To hold the tension between the two realms gently and unassumingly is seen as the very essence of a mature human being and the highest form of spiritual servanthood.

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