Good read!
July 22, 2010, 9:04 am
Posted by Margaret O'Brien Steinfels
Last night I finished The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet by David Mitchell. I bought it (on Kindle) despite good reviews in the Times Book Review and The New Yorker because it sounded more interesting than they tediously made it out to be. Set in Japan at the turn of the 19th century, on a foreign-trading island adjacent to mainland Nagasaki, the plot tracks back and forth between the Japanese on Nagasaki and the Dutch traders who live on the sequestered “island,” Dejima. It seems to me (not ever an English major) a picaresque novel in the vein of Pickwick Papers, i.e., a sequence of related stories that recount 20 years of history between the island and the mainland. Anyone else read it?
No, I haven’t read it, but I just gave it to my son-in-law (an Episcopal priest with Japanese interests) and told him I wanted it back when he was through with it.
Just by way of historical background, in the late 16th and early 17th centuries Japan, under the Tokugawa shogunate which was they running the show, launched a major persecution of Japanese Christians and Christian missionaries, primarily Portuguese and other Jesuits, who had been pretty successful earlier in building up Catholicism. The Dutch, who were also there as traders, egged on the Japanese authorities, no love being lost between Protestants and Jesuits in those days. By the time the dust settled, and many Japanese Christians had been martyred (as had a number of missionaries) Japan sought to close itself off, restricting all foreign contact to the small Dutch trading mission on the island of Deshima (as it’s usually spelled). One a year the traders would send a mission to Edo (today’s Tokyo) the shogunal capital, to report on what was going on in the outside world. And it was through this medium that, among other things, the first stirrings of modern science, modern art, and modern knowledge of the wider political and diplomatic world, came to Japan.
The Catholic author, Shusaku Endo (or Endo Shusaku, if you prefer Japanese style surname first — 1923-1996) wrote a wonderful, but wrenching, novel called Silence, about the persecutions.
That’s more than you want to know.
I must confess that I have not read this book as yet, but it is high on my list of books to read. You might be interested in listening to Eleanor Wachtel’s interview with David Mitchell on Writers and Company at the CBC. You can listen to the audio at
http://www.cbc.ca/writersandcompany/audio.html . That’s how I first got intrigued by the book.
By the way, Deshima may be how it is spelled, but Dejima is how it is pronounced. The devil’s language, as Francis Xavier characterized Japanese. And I second the recommendation to read Silence by Endo.
Japanese the devil’s language? I had always heard that of Chinese, so characterized by early Jesuit missionaries (not including the extraordinary Matteo Ricci, who mastered it). I tried years ago to pass on that description, in a joking fashion, to my Chinese teacher (a Christian herself), but found my own skills insufficient to explain my intended light-hearted move, and I think she found the characterization just another insulting example of imagined western superiority. Lost in translation, in other words.
For you fellow Japanophiles and short short story lovers there is a new edition of Lafcadio Hearn’s “Kwaidan”, Japanese ghost stories. I can’t praise it too much, except that the quality of the physical book itself doesn’t match the quality of the writing and illustrations.
To me Hearn is the very greatest of short story writers. These are superb. Some are downright frightening, and I don’t scare easily. He manages to make both the people and the ghosts and goblins seem real. Here’s a masterful description of one of them:
“She appeared as if standing in front of a *tansu*, or chest of drawers, that still contained her ornaments and her waring apparel. Her head and shoulders could be very distinctly seen, but from the waist down the figure thinned into invisibility; — it was like an imperfect reflection oh her, and transparent as a shadow on water.”
Those who enjoyed the thread on fireflies might like Hearn’s chapter on butterflies. Did you know that the souls of dead people inhabit them, and in some cases even the souls of living people? So one must be kind to them.
No wonder Francis Xavier said he loved the Japanese best.
Horror of horrors, I have been without the internet all day as well as phone and TV (much less alarming).
I am just now finding all this helpful addenda. In the book the island is spelled Dejima. In the margins of the story-telling, there is reference to the killing of Christians and one character in one story secretly says her evening prayers. One of the intriguing plot devices here is the role of the Interpreters, Japanese scholars who serve as translators for the Dutch, who are forbidden/discouraged to learn the language. Jacob manages to teach himself over his twenty years on Dejima. But the interpreters, of whom there are several, are by turns friends or spies, who contribute to the vastly complicated plot.
Deshima/Dejima difference in spelling is a problem of transliteration. The real “spelling” lies in the character shima, meaning island, not in letters or even phonetic syllabaries. For reasons beyond my knowledge of Japanese, the character shima is pronounced jima in many place names: Iwojima, Sakurajima, Miyajima, while in others — like Hiroshima — it retains the pronunciation of the isolated word. The “spelling” of Deshima/Dejima contains the character shima, but it is pronounced jima. If you refer to the island in English, I suppose you can choose with a bias toward “spelling” or towards pronunciation. Since the Dutch trader probably learned to speak Japanese before or even without learning to read it, that could be reason that the place was called Dejima in the novel.
I read part of Kwaidan many years ago. Those Japanese ghost stories are really terrifying. When I taught English there many years ago, I asked a question from the textbook to one of my students: What would you want to know about an apartment before you rented it? She replied that she would want to know if there were any ghosts. My jaw dropped.
Thank you, Barbara D., for admitting your terror at reading folk tales. I thought my reaction was adolescent or childish even. Now I”m trying to figure out why the stories would frighten an 80 year old woman.
I wonder if it’s because those tales are in fact highly sophisticated portrayals of spiritual malice. It’s my understanding that the Japanese believe that all spirits, whether a butterfly’s or a goblin’s or a person’s, is the same kind of thing — there is no hierarchy of spirits/souls. What is revealed by many of the Japanese ghosts and goblins stories is that spirits can be brutal, even murderous, with no apparent cause needed for them to act hatefully. That’s really frightening. Hearn is almost a magician in the way he makes us believe it.
Yes, some of the Hearn is most charming, but there is hate there too. That’s why I won’t read Endo’s “Silence”. More horror, from what I hear.
Here’s one of Hearn’s most famous stories, very, very short.
MUJINA
On the Akasaka Road, in Tokyo, there is a slope called Kii-no-kuni-zaka,–which means the Slope of the Province of Kii. I do not know why it is called the Slope of the Province of Kii. On one side of this slope you see an ancient moat, deep and very wide, with high green banks rising up to some place of gardens;–and on the other side of the road extend the long and lofty walls of an imperial palace. Before the era of street-lamps and jinrikishas, this neighborhood was very lonesome after dark; and belated pedestrians would go miles out of their way rather than mount the Kii-no-kuni-zaka, alone, after sunset.
All because of a Mujina that used to walk there. (1)
The last man who saw the Mujina was an old merchant of the Kyobashi quarter, who died about thirty years ago. This is the story, as he told it:–
One night, at a late hour, he was hurrying up the Kii-no-kuni-zaka, when he perceived a woman crouching by the moat, all alone, and weeping bitterly. Fearing that she intended to drown herself, he stopped to offer her any assistance or consolation in his power. She appeared to be a slight and graceful person, handsomely dressed; and her hair was arranged like that of a young girl of good family. “O-jochu,” [1] he exclaimed, approaching her,–”O-jochu, do not cry like that!… Tell me what the trouble is; and if there be any way to help you, I shall be glad to help you.” (He really meant what he said; for he was a very kind man.) But she continued to weep,–hiding her face from him with one of her long sleeves. “O-jochu,” he said again, as gently as he could,–”please, please listen to me!… This is no place for a young lady at night! Do not cry, I implore you!–only tell me how I may be of some help to you!” Slowly she rose up, but turned her back to him, and continued to moan and sob behind her sleeve. He laid his hand lightly upon her shoulder, and pleaded:–”O-jochu!–O-jochu!–O-jochu!… Listen to me, just for one little moment!… O-jochu!–O-jochu!”… Then that O-jochu turned around, and dropped her sleeve, and stroked her face with her hand;–and the man saw that she had no eyes or nose or mouth,–and he screamed and ran away. (2)
Up Kii-no-kuni-zaka he ran and ran; and all was black and empty before him. On and on he ran, never daring to look back; and at last he saw a lantern, so far away that it looked like the gleam of a firefly; and he made for it. It proved to be only the lantern of an itinerant soba-seller, [2] who had set down his stand by the road-side; but any light and any human companionship was good after that experience; and he flung himself down at the feet of the soba-seller, crying out, “Ah!–aa!!–aa!!!”…
“Kore! kore!” (3) roughly exclaimed the soba-man. “Here! what is the matter with you? Anybody hurt you?”
“No–nobody hurt me,” panted the other,–”only… Ah!–aa!”
“–Only scared you?” queried the peddler, unsympathetically. “Robbers?”
“Not robbers,–not robbers,” gasped the terrified man… “I saw… I saw a woman–by the moat;–and she showed me… Ah! I cannot tell you what she showed me!”…
“He! (4) Was it anything like THIS that she showed you?” cried the soba-man, stroking his own face–which therewith became like unto an Egg… And, simultaneously, the light went out.
Next: Rokuro-Kubi
Ann: Endo related. The ultimate act of apostasy in “Silence,” is annually re-enacted in one of the stories in “The Thousand Autumns…” I would say that it has a more powerful effect in Silence than in “The Thousand Autumns…” in part because it has been ritualized in the latter, an act proving that one is not Christian. In “Silence,” there is profound and direct effect from the same act. I found “Silence” a moving story, and not terrifying or horror-inducing, but certainly profoundly disquieting.
Anybody have a clue as to why our little tribe here on this post has such a fascination with Japan. Or maybe I only speak for myself.
Endo, in Silence, refers to the “swamp of Japan”, how Japan is capable of absorbing and transforming all that comes into its territory. I spent a sabbatical there about 25 years ago and it has changed me. I only stayed about a year, but others tell me that, if you stay two years, you never really leave. In many ways, looking at Japanese culture is like looking in a mirror — everything looks normal, only it is reversed. It forces you to examine everything you do and are at a deep level. The language, for example, is so profoundly different from European languages in structure that it makes the latter seem like variations on a theme.
I also found Silence to be very, very disquieting. That is why I love it so. It was supposed to be made into a movie. I wonder what happened to that project.
I suspect the ghost stories, like the one Anne included above, are meant to teach people how important it is to perform the rites for the dead so that they might find peace and not return to terrorize the living.
Last I heard regarding “Silence” the movie, Scorcese had hired Daniel Day-Lewis and Benicio del Toro for the leads, and he had also scouted the location shooting in Japan. Originally the movie was to come out this year or in 2011, However, when I did an Internet search a short while ago, I learned that Scorcese has another movie to shoot before “Silence,” and that we may not see the finished product until 2012 or so. Whenever he gets around to it, let’s hope he does the book justice.
Ms. S. –
Thanks for your comments about “Silence”. I’ll surely get the book.
I’ve loved Japanese art and crafts since I was young. I started out by loving their prints and ceramics and how beautifully they finished even their simple, everyday objects, at least they used to. (Hear that, Toyota??) More generally I think that the Japanese realize that opposites can be complementary, they don’t have to be mutually destructive. It’s a great metaphysical/ethical/aesthetic/spiritual insight, and the foundation, I suspect, of the splendid Japanese civility. The tea ceremony is a paradigm of human behavior.
That principle is present in Christian thinking, but not so explicitly. (In fact, in the West it took an Enlightenment thinker Thomas Jefferson to start to appreciate diversity as such.)
I look to the Japanese to contribute a lot to the future Church. (What would the Vatican be like if it were situated in that ancient Buddhist city Nara? Would Mass be similar to the tea ceremony?)
Late to the book party, but noticed you’re now talking about “Silence,” which I read at least once a year.
Thanks, Margaret, for the recommendation here.
William C., let’s hope Scorcese makes “Silence” in 3-D! Cuz all the cool movies are now! I’m just sick Peter Jackson didn’t have the technology available so we could see arrows and orcs flying at us. Like the paddle ball in “House of Wax.” (sorry, ranting now)
Sounds like a good cast. I’m a grudging fan of Day-Lewis. Get sick of the hype about his being an actor’s actor, but he was awfully good in “There Will be Blood” or whatever it was.
Jean…above I described “The thousand…” as picaresque (though admitting I was no English major). But I have been called on that. Do you know what constitutes a picaresque novel??? And how to spell that.
Margaret, you spelled it correctly. “Huckleberry Finn” and “Tom Jones” are English-language classics in the genre. It’s been years since I read it, but I think “Candide” qualifies.
Anyhow, the genre originated in Spain, and revolves around the roving adventures of a “picaro” (or “picara” in the case of “Moll Flanders”). “Picaro” is usually translated as a rascal or rogue, but I think “live wire” really captures it better. There often isn’t any harm in the picaros; they’re usually just out to seek their fortunes and perhaps have flexible morals by necessity.
The novels are usually satiric, often contain a lot of slapstick or broad/racy humor.
Thank you. This lacks the rogue element, but Jacob is out to seek his fortune so he can marry his true love Anna back in Holland. And it is not satiric although it has satiric moments: the English navy, for example, which shows up for a couple of chapters. Okay, let’s just say quasi-picaresque.
On the other hand rogue-wise, there is the evil abbot of the nearby monastery.
I look to the Japanese to contribute a lot to today’s Church.
Adolfo Nicolas was born in Spain in 1937 (I wondered who he was named for?) but was ordained in Tokyo in 1967, and has lived there most of his life. In 2008 he was elected to head the Jesuits worldwide, a position called “the black pope” because of its great influence.
Another Jesuit in Japan, the irishman William Johnston, translated Silence into English.
Jim McK –
William Johston presents a problem, I think. I read a book of his on meditation/prayer and, like Fr. deMello SJ, I think he had some real theological problems involving identity of self and God in mystical experience. Of course, many Christian mystics, even most of them, have problems describing the unity of self and God in mystical experiences. But are the problems primarily linguistic ones, psychological ones, theological ones, or what?
Zaehner shows convincingly, to me, at any rate, that there is a kind of meditative experience occurring in the depths of the self that is truly extraordinary, but which is apparently not an experience of God at all — it leads to pride and indifference to others. It’s certainly a fact that some Christian mystics have been condemned by the Church as heretics. There are also Buddhists whose experience seems to be of the basic pan-en-henic type which is definitely a kind of pantheism. So where does the truth lie?
I expect that meditative experiences of various sorts will become a big issue between Far Eastern and Western theology as the Far East becomes more and more Catholic and Far Eastern theology develops, as I expect it will.
Ann,
I would say Zaehner poses the problem, not Johnston. Johnston, building on years of experience in Japanese society, offers a solution that respects Western and Japanese philosophy, theology and mysticism. His deep respect moves us past Zaehner’s dualisms, something Zaehner never resolves afaik.
Johnston exemplifies what the Church can, and will, learn from the East. Zaehner is still engaged with what the Church can learn from the dualistic religions of the Near East, a struggle that goes back to before Augustine’s rejection of the Manichees. These are not contradictory, though there is tension.
Margaret, or it could be picaresque-esque.
Rereading James Woods’s review in the New Yorker (linked above), I find that David Mitchell lived for eight years in Japan and is married to a Japanese woman. [BTW, Woods review is still tedious though favorable; note to myself when reviewing: You don't need to tell them everything you know!]
Ann at 11:38 above: Your comment reminds me that I have puzzled over the fine line between detachment and indifference, that is, freeing the self from undue attachment to person or thing to the degree that you also sever whatever feelings of empathy or compassion you might have.
[FOLKS: Sorry about the length of this, but Jim seems really interested in these things, and my karma seems to be to make Zaehner better known.]
“His deep respect moves us past Zaehner’s dualisms, something Zaehner never resolves afaik.”
Jim McK ==
While you appeal to Johnston, Zaehner ‘s appeal to mystics in the Christian, Jewish, Islamic, and Hindu traditions (with a bit of Buddhism) is equally proper, I think, especially considering the weight of the mystics he appeals to in support of his theses (for instance, Ruysbroeck, alGhazzali, and Ramanuja). The theses are:
1) “isolation mystics” do not describe a meeting with and identification of God and the depths of the soul; rather, there is only one reality involved, their own ravishingly beautiful immortal soul,
2) “pan-en-henic” mystics describe an identification of self and cosmos, with each thing being identical with every other thing at the same time, the whole often (though not always) being called “G0d”;
3) some mystics (who are found in ALL mystical traditions) do “meet God” in the depths of their souls, but they say after the encounter that they were not identified with Him — they were simply unaware of themselves.
Since the work of Otto (see “Mysticism: East and West) it has be almost universally assumed that there is one “perennial philosophy”, that is, one “philosophy” based on one particular kind of intuition in which everything is experienced as one, identical thing. This is the thesis which ecumenists seem to assume is true. But in the 50s Zaehner challenged this, and there are now other scholars outside the Catholic tradition who have followed Z.’s lead.
What sort of dualism are you talking about? A twoness of God and creature? It seems to me that unless you’re willing to accept that a thing can be BOTH *only itself* AND *completely another being*, there is no way you can maintain that a creature is the Uncreated. Either way, you are a dualist too.
Ecumenism is a great thing, but should it require that one side abandon what it sees as the truth for the sake of a united affirmation of . . . nonsense? Calling it nonsense seems to imply that the isolation mystics and pan-en-henic mystics are fools, and that disagreeing with them must be intended as highly insulting. But such, it seems, is not the case, it’s just a major disagreement.
It is obvious that such intuitions are affectively overwhelming, that is, such mystics are unable to abandon the truth-value of their experiences. But we know from our everyday experience that strong feelings can and do overthrow our judgement, and it seems this is what has happened with the pan-en-henic and isolation mystics. Zaehner tells us it never occurred to him even when undergoing his own pan-en-henic experience he never thought that he was experiencing God, and that afterwards, he saw it for what it was — nonsense though ecstatically pleasurable nonsense. He also shows, with the testimony of drug users, that certain the same sort of experiences can be produced by drugs (at least their descriptions are the same). There is no question that Zaehner sees these mystics as sincere. But he also sees them as profoundly mistaken.
Empirical science tends to bear him out. One neurological study shows that there is a tiny part of the brain that allows us to differentiate our own bodies from the rest of creation. If it doesn’t operate properly there is “a loss of ego boundaries”, and the mystic thinks she *is* the world. It seems to me that an encounter with God caused automatically by a drug which affects that center, is not a good prospect for understanding God’s intimate presence to mystics in this world. Further, Zaehner has shown that Charlie Manson (yes, him) was inspired by his crazed drug-inspired intuitions, and it is not unusual for the non-religious kind of mystic to think that they are “beyond good and evil”. In fact, that there is ultimately no good and evil is one of the tenets of Buddhism, even thought Buddhism does (contradictorily) preach compassion.
The issue, as I see it, is ultimately whether or not we are justified in accepting nonsense and rejecting goodness. (Yes, there is a moral dimension to this, I think.) True, our limited notions of God always end in the contradictions of our insufficient notions of infinity, and there is also the terrible problem of evil. But at least we *see* that these are *problems* and not *solutions* to problems posed by the mean oppositions we find in this life.
You seem to be hopeful that there is an ecumenical resolution, as if non-pantheists (Christians) can remain unchanged in their thinking while accepting new insights contrary to their old ones. The usual grounds for such a hope is that the differences are essentially linguistic, and that there is some one “perennial philosophy” (as touted by Otto and practically all scholars of mysticism after him until Zaehner), a “philosophical” intuition of God in which the identity of all is grasped.
The big empirical problem with that is that there are great mystics in both Eastern and Western mystical traditions who caution against accepting those identities. Zaehner quotes mystics who have had more than one kind of mystical experience, and they caution us not to mistake one for the other. It is the testimony of these mystics on which he bases his theses, not on any conclusions he draws from some airy-fairy specifically Catholic and intolerant set of assumptions.
If you’re wondering why you don’t hear more of Zaehner, I suspect it’s because he had some really weird theological opinions about the problem of evil. I wouldn’t want to have to defend them. (Very Hindu, acutally.) But might I point out that one of his fans is his friend Michael Dummett, perhaps the most distinguished British philosopher of the moment. My point here is that Zaehner is a truly heavy-weight scholar, and his appreciation in the Church is probably yet to come, specifically when the Far Eastern theologians really get to arguing with Rome.
(Have you read Z.’s “Mysticism: Sacred and Profane”? I wish you would. Then we could really argue about it :-)
For those, like me, who have never heard of Zaehner, here is wiki: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Charles_Zaehner
I hope Ann will correct any errors there!
Ann,
I have read Mysticism Sacred and Profane and some other things by Zaehner like the Gifford lectures. (Do you not recognize the dualism in dividing everything into sacred and profane?) Much of what he says is quite admirable, but it is marked by his appreciation of the near Eastern dualism in Zoroastrianism and other religions.
I have also read a couple of things by Johnston, most importantly Mystical Theology. His immersion into Japanese religious culture seems to have taught him a deep respect rather than the analytical divisiveness that characterizes Zaehner. That he believes every person was created by God, and is in a relationship with that Creator, is not a sign that every person’s religion is the same. I am not sure how you got that impression. (Frankly, I think those criticisms are better directed at Keating’s centering prayer than at Johnston’s work.)
It has been a few years since I read Johnston (am I even remembering right that he translated Silence?), and many more since I read Zaehner. So I could be wrong in saying your problem is not with Johnston but in your use of Zaehner’s near eastern dualism to understand Japanese complexity.
And there is a lot more relevant stuff written in the meantime, from V2′s Nostra Aetate to Eliade’s The Sacred and the Profane to the academic discussions of whether to use “History of Religion” or “History of Religions” as the title of a discipline. (I kid you not) I hope others who may know more could add to the discussion.
Thanks for the reference, Ms. S. I’m not much of a Zaehner scholar, and I can’t comment on the parts about Zoraostrianism, but the subsection entitled “Popular Works” is full of errors. (It seems to be left over from an earlier Wiki article which was very bad.)
But the rest of it looks fine to me, except for this statement: “he aims to uphold a distinction between an amoral monism on the one hand and theistic mysticism on the other.” As I understand him, he didn’t think that monists were “amoral”, at least not in the ordinary sense of the word. And he didn’t think that all the mystics claiming to meet God had actually done so — some had, some hadn’t.
I didn’t know that Zaehner had later made a division of mystical experience into 5 types. Hmm. Must look into that. Thanks.
I’m particularly glad that this new article gives him credit for his deep appreciation of religions other than Catholicism. Early in his career he was often (and I suspect maliciously) said to have appreciated only the Catholic mystics, but nothing could be further from the truth.
I’d add one thing to his biog. The over-throw of Mossadegh which he orchestrated was morally quite a nasty business involving at best a great deal of serious lying and underhanded behavior. (Zaehner himself “bought” the votes of two English MPs in furtherance of his goal.) But apparently he became so disgusted with the lying (his own included) that he resolved never to tell another one. I think this accounts for the often provocative tone of many of his writings, which in turn might account for some of the hostility his writings have encountered. He stepped on lots of toes in no uncertain terms.
I wish somebody would do a biography of him before all his friends die. Fascinating character.
” (Do you not recognize the dualism in dividing everything into sacred and profane?) Much of what he says is quite admirable, but it is marked by his appreciation of the near Eastern dualism in Zoroastrianism and other religions.”
JIm McK –
I don’t think that a division of mystical experience is a dualism. It’s just a simple classification of mystical experiences into those which are meetings with God and those which aren’t. The latter class is varied with a number of sub-sets.
I also don’t think that Zaehner is for the Zoraostrian dualism — one of the opposites is the god of evil and certainly he isn’t appreciative of that. He just recognizes that Zoroaster was a dualist. I don’t think Zaehner a dualist of any sort. What is admirable according to him is Mazda, the Zoroastrian god of light, a god who is pure good, who orders the world and who will ultimately prevail over the evil god.
“That he believes every person was created by God, and is in a relationship with that Creator, is not a sign that every person’s religion is the same. I am not sure how you got that impression.”
I don’t know whether this refers to Zaehner or Johnston. At any rate, so far as I know neither of them held that all religions are the same. Otto was the one who thought that there is one fundamental religious experience.. My objection to Johnston (which I didn’t specifically mention) is that he seems to accept the sort of identification of self (or no-self) with the Absolute which I see as wildly mistaken, and a position contrary to what the Church rightly teaches. Maybe I read him wrong, but that is my objection.
I agree that Fr. Keating’s later position seems to be that “the point of the soul” and God are identical. At least when he was asked in a public lecture which I attended whether there is an identify of God and the point of the soul of the mystic, he replied, “What else could it be?” Many mystics seem to be OK with having it both ways — identical but non-identical. That doesn’t cancel out the value of Centering Prayer, it just calls into question his sometime interpretation of what happens at the extreme of such experiences.
Ann,
I don’t think Zaehner is a Zoroastrian either, just that he has been influenced by Zoroastrian ways of thinking. So his separation of mystical experiences into sacred and profane is not a benign, both-equally-valid classification, but a judgment on their relative value. Sacred experiences are good, profane are not. That can be a useful mindset for a crossroad like Iran, but it fares less well in an island nation like Japan.
Your objection to Johnston’s monism was apparent all along, which is why I pointed to Zaehner’s dualist influences. Oversimplifying, the Japanese assimilated a variety of religious forces, while the Iranians dealt with a variety of conflicting religious forces. The problem you described has more to do with Zaehner’s conflicting forces, than with Johnston’s transpersonal identifications, imo.
And, as I have said before, while it is correct that the Church teaches the self is not identical with the Absolute, it is also correct that the Church teaches that God is in each of us, and we are in God. As St Augustine described his own journey “I sought you outside of myself, but you were within me.” That is the heart of Christian teaching, whether in Augustine or Johnston. The two principles are easily confused with one another, but zeal to suppress what is incorrect should not lead to suppressing what is correct.
Jim McK –
True, to disagree is to divide, but what if one side is true and the other is in fact false? What sort of unity is it that glosses over real differences that cannot be reconciled or which accepts contradictions for the sake of unity?
In fact I don’t doubt that some Buddhists do describe aspects of what the West calls “God” (i.e., the unborn, undying, unchanging — the I AM WHO AM ???), and because their experience leads to compassion for all living things, I have no doubt that theirs is a meeting with God, that it is a genuinely religious experience. It is simply not an experience of the Absolute as personal or as Love. I think the many mystics Zaehner quotes show very clearly that different ones gain access, so to speak, to different aspects of God, so I accept that some Buddhists might have anomalous experiences. I should note here, however, that Zaehner doesn’t offer any Buddhists as religious mystics, though he doesn’t deny the possibility that there are some either.
On the other hands, there are some Buddhists who emphasize that there is no good nor evil and whose experiencces do not result in compassionate lives. I infer that they are of the same genre as the proud, indifference nuns of Port Royale whom Zaehner classified as isolation mystics.
In other words, it seems very likely that Zaehner’s thesis holds for the Buddhists as well as for different Christians, Jews, Muslims and Hindus — the all include all sorts of mystics.
Far from suppressing the experiences of meeting with God in the depths;heights of the soul, Zaehner thinks that the greatest of religious mystics of whatever tradition have precisely that sort of experience. These include Teresa of Avila and St. John of the Cross, Ghazzali and Junayd among the Muslims, and Ramanuja among the Hindus. Yes, this interior experience is similar to what he calls “isolation mysticism” — the latter is also an extraordinary, blissful experience which shuts out consciousness of the body and the world, and which takes place in the depths of the soul. But the latter does not have the same consequences of the religious type — it results in pride, indifference towards or even scorn of others. Further, some mystics who have had both the isolation kind and the religious kind tell us that the religious types is even more blissful than the non-religious one. True, many isolation mystics identify themselves with God, but Zaehner suspects they have simply mistaken the wonderfully beautiful depths of the human soul for God. Hence their pride.
It’s also true that some of the religious ones (e.g., St. John of the Cross) talk as if during the experience they are God, but outside of the experience they say they aren’t the same. Zaehner maintains that what happens is that within the experience they are so focused on God because they are so astonished by His goodness and beauty that they are simply unaware of themselves being part of the experience.