My correlated outline also gave me an idea for an alternate method of looking at the differences among the major religions, by mapping the differences in the intentional structures of both the believers and the putative deity (or not, in Buddhism and Taoism)—with regards to the religion’s explanation for why the world is the way it is, and the specific recipe the religion gives for finding salvation or transcendence. I’m pretty sure that sounds like nonsense, but I think it’s related to phenomenology and I hope to study it someday. It is a little bit related to what I am doing, here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GrVsLdTtepM

One place where I would disagree with you is about the “elitism” of mysticism. It may be elite inside the main religions, but I think the tendency to it is quite widespread, outside of them—although it is not being recorded, there is no codified tradition for it, there is no scientific understanding of it, and some of it is ending-up sedated, perhaps tragically, under psych meds.

Before the modern era mysticism was not thought to be unusual; Bernard McGinn’s extraordinary history of Western Christian mysticism (4 vols., so far) examines dozens of prominent examples; there must have been many more who didn’t write or teach or leave any record; and the Church was often exercised to burn-out unorthodox varieties.

With the rise of science the Church decided to try to defend its orthodox theology, which had long since become a pseudo-science to explain the cosmos. Mysticism didn’t stop, but recognition of it diminished. In the more liberal environment unorthodox mysticism got a free turn, and went into several different places at once: into Swedenborgian gibberish, into Blake, and into Goethe, who is perhaps the earliest case we know of in the modern era of a first-rate mind who appears to have understood both mysticism and science. A little later, into some of the Romantic poets. The ecumenical movement of the late 19th century brought the Hindu gurus to European, British, and U.S. attentions, and then theosophy and the like flourished. In the 20th century both Brouwer and Husserl claimed mystical insight; in the U.S., Franklin Merrill-Wolff wrote down the process precisely. Then of course the psychedelic 60’s hit, for good and ill, leading to the interest in Zen and the more mystical versions of Buddhism that arose in the U.S. I think it is widespread. With the rise of neuroscience, the mystical path is going to be better understood, and I predict that it will finally be declared to be a part of nature.

That said, I’m equally interested in the differences between religions, what makes them unique as religious worldviews, etc. And I don’t assume that such differences are negative, indeed, they may speak to some interesting features about human nature (at least as historically constituted and expressed to this point in time). Moreover, mysticism is, at least in our time and place, a religiously elitist path : “For the world of the mystic is a rarefied world, perhaps like the heights of Machu Pichu, suited for habitation only by those whose blood has become specially adapted for such altitudes. If religion is not to be confined to a spiritual elite, it must be able to speak a language suitable for ordinary humanity—indeed, to close off that possibility would be a denial of the compassion and universalism that is the hallmark of great religions” (John Cottingham). In fact, one of the things I find most intriguing about religious discourse is its capacity to “speak” to those at various levels of psychological maturity and growth (as well as different ‘character types’ and temperaments), self-knowledge, ethical sensitivity, and spiritual discernment.

I picked these mystics because they are intellectual-type, not devotional-type, and so they left a rather comprehensive rational description through to the end of the mystical process.

I then extracted and correlated all the results into one list. They turn out to very close in order, and so I will posit that my result is rather like the developmental stages in Piaget, which are not precisely the same for each individual, but close enough—and similarly, there are cumulative aspects as well as sudden changes.

The categories by which the descriptions were extracted are as follows: (A) the reported states of being (there are 3 major ones,) (B) the psycho-technology, meaning the mental effort which is to be followed, and© the presiding results, meaning the results which develop at each point. I ended up with 14 solidly distinguishable steps. Again, these are found in all the mystics. Putting them in their most common order:

(1, FIRST state of being)—Waking consciousness;

(2 psycho-technology)—Practice of virtuous conduct and purification;

(3 presiding result)—Quiet and inner strength;

(4 psycho-technology)—Direct the mind to one object, and hold it for as long as possible;

(5 presiding result)—Counterattack by the Sins, that is very specifically, by the Preventers of holding the mind on one object: Greek Christian sin = “hamartia” = “missing the mark,” Vedantism “unwholesome roots,” Buddhism “nivarana” = “hindrances,” Islamic Sufism “Satan’s character traits;”

(6 psycho-technology)—Reapply the mind again and again to one object, and hold it for as long as possible;
—- At this point there is a jump of many months or years until you can maintain:

(7 psycho-technology)—Maintain a continuous, non-discursive flow, via #6;
—- At this point there is a jump of only a few days or weeks until there comes a discontinuous change:

(8 SECOND state of being)—Fusion of subject and object, foreground and background (e.g. Buddhist second dhyana;)

(9 presiding result)—Continuous growth of a combined emotional-intellectual function: usually termed something like “illuminated wisdom-love;”

(10 presiding result)—but the sins or unwholesome roots remain, to resurface throughout;

(11 presiding result)—Powers, visions, pseudo-nirvanas;
—- And then it may take decades until the following is perfected:

(12 psycho-technology)—Via #6, renounce and sacrifice #9,10,11, all entirely, and renounce and sacrifice one’s own self;
—- Which upon total acccomplishment, immediately leads to a huge discontinuity:

(13 THIRD state of being)—“Extinction (nibbana),” “deiformity,” “aloneness;”

(14 presiding result)—Freedom and detachment.

NOTES.

None of these mystics, nor dozens of others it would appear, made much use of the theologies of their religions. Yet these are the people who came closest to “God-consciousness.”

But I had to omit Judaism because I haven’t found a really good classical Jewish mystic! It turns out that this tradition tends not to have recorded many extended personal statements about the process. And what exists, are expressions of the devotional or bhakti path (e.g. Song of Songs) and not the intellectual path.

You could however describe a set of criteria which all theologies have in relation to this basic path. All of them, for example, contain a conceptual explanation of the originating division, or some would say “fallenness,” from the 3rd and highest state of consciousness (#13.) This may or may not be bound-up with the proposal for its remedy.

On #8: Only the most psychologically-advanced religions, Vedantism and Buddhism, separate out #8 and give it its own name and even go further into subdivisions of states. However, #8 is clearly described by John of the Cross, (perhaps the most intellectually advanced of Christian mystics?)

#8 also appears to be very similar to what James Joyce called an artistic “epiphany,” although in mysticism of course the intent is to hold onto it, and extend it as long as possible.

Interestingly, #8 also maps rather directly onto Stanislav Grof’s first step in the process of psychedelic psychotherapy: (1) Aesthetic Experience. (See his book Realms of the Human Unconscious, 1975, just reprinted.) Yet the “presiding results” start rapidly to diverge,—perhaps because there is a different structure to the intentional volition. In psychedelic therapy, as I recall, you are somewhat rammed through the experience, whether you are ready or not. Among many other results this can lead to apocalyptic visions with terrible fear, because the confrontation with ego-death is wholly persuasive and can seem like a genuine medical crisis. The “bad trip.” The Book of Revelation is often forwarded as a perfect description of this. (Of course when LSD went to the streets, some people had bad trips but stopped there, not abreacting all the buried emotional material in further and counseled sessions. This colored their lives for decades more, a real tragedy I believe.)

The devotional paths, such as bhakti yoga and most of Christianity of course, jump-off around #4 into direct worship of god or the avatar. Christianity is in this sense just one large Hindu sub-cult.

It must be allowed however that Christ is unique in combining at least three separate practical functions: (i.) like the Buddha, as a model for the practice of virtuous acts and purification at step #2; (ii.) like a Hindu avatar, as the object of self-abnegating devotion for mental focus throughout; and (iii.) remarkably, the story of the sacrifice on the cross gives a precise metaphor that maps directly onto the ego-death from #12 to #13.

It is perhaps this “functional efficiency” of Christ which leads many of his yet-unrealized followers (stuck somewhere between steps #2 and #11, and by this time spinning madly) to boast loudly of the superiority of their religion. In short, it is Vanity, the root for Christians (and Muslims in particular too) of all of the Satan’s other hindrances.

This incessant trumpeting of the Christian experience is not only annoying to other religions, but it permanently prevents these particular Christians from making the sacrifice of ALL ideas and concepts that is necessary to get to their own Beatific Vision (#13-14.) Ultimate irony. (The advanced Christian mystics are circumspect on this point, perhaps taking their lesson from the likes of poor Marguerite Porete, who unfortunately reported outside of doctrine that she “became God” herself. In a later era though Meister Eckhardt got away with this. John of the Cross used “deiformity”—he became of the form of God—a cleverer and safer locution.)

(P.S.) Since the Roman Church, in an early century, released its priests from the requirement to be in a “state of grace” while giving mass (by “state of grace” let us presume they were talking about something at least like step #8,) we can only speculate on the spiritual condition of its current hierarchy.

I understand that our personal judgments of things are subjective. But you suggested before that something like rock climbing can serve as life’s meaning; that’s what I’m responding to. At that point it’s not just subjective (you enjoy rock climbing – I don’t), it seems to break into a whole different category. But I’m probably missing something again.

And once again, you appear to be deliberately misreading me in order to jam that stick a few inches further up your arse. Whatever, lab rat.

“The fact is that philosophy cannot provide a rational explanation for everything, rationalizing all of its claims ‘all the way down.’ Sooner or later the process of rationalization and explanation must—to all appearances—come to a halt in the acceptance of unexplained explainers.”

With regard to logical derivation at least, “we must accept some inexplicable ultimate, unless we are to descend into an infinite regress.”

Rescher suggests that we consider the possibility of philosphical explanation as being “sytemically holistic,” meeting criteria having more to do with fit and coherence rather than as simply or solely a process of axiomatic linear justification. The latter prefers a type of philosophical exposition that relies on inferential expression and argumentation to vindicate its claims, while the former generally resorts to a rhetoric of persuasion: “Like inferential reasoning, rhetoric too is a venture of justificatory systematization, albeit one of a different kind.”

Rescher uses examples from the writings of Nietzsche to illustrate this form of philosophical discourse although he reminds us that most philosphers will employ both methods of philosophical vindication even if, in the end, one predominates, as it usually does (I think Sartre’s Being and Nothingness is a nice example of shifting back and forth between these two modes of philosophical exposition, sometimes in an irritating way).

As Rescher further explains,

“Reflection on the contrast between the argumentative and the rhetorical modes of philosophical exposition leads to the realization that these two styles are congenial to rather different objectives. The demonstrative/argumentative (inferential) mode is efficient for securing a reader’s assent to certain claims, to influencing one’s beliefs, The rhetorical (evocative) mode is optimal for inducing a reader to adopt certain preferences, to shaping or influencing one’s priorities and evaluations.”

Religious discourse (save that of theologians committed to natural theology) is written typically in the rhetorical and evocative mode, indeed, often in figurative language more appropriate to the types of “things” it is endeavoring to speak about, things that are beyond the limits of rational cognition and literal description. But philosophical discourse as well often finds sufficient reason to rely on the rhetorical and evocative mode:

“the rhetorical…mode of philosophical exposition is by nature geared to securing acceptance with respect to evaluations: to enlisting the reader’s agreement to certain priorities or appraisals. It is preoccupied with evaluation, with forming—or reforming—our sensibilities with respect to the value and, above all, the importance of various items. It is bound up with a view of philosophy that sees the discipline in axiological terms, as an enterprise that has as its prime task the securing of certain evaluative determinations and the establishment of certain prizings and priorities. It aims primarily to induce people to an evaluative standpoint. It exerts its appeal not in reasoning from prior philosophical givens, but rather by rhetorical means that exert their impetus directly upon the cognitive values and sympathies we have fixed on the basis of our experience of the world’s ways.”

And Rescher’s pellucid conclusion:

“Even the most demonstration-minded philosopher cannot avoid entanglement in evaluation by rhetorical devices. For even the most rationalistic of thinkers cannot argue demonstratively for everything ‘all the way down,’ so to speak. At some point a philosopher must invite assent through an appeal to sympathetic acquiescence based on experience as such. On the other hand, even the most sentimental philosopher cannot altogether avert argumentation. For a reliance on certain standards of assessment is inescapably present in those proffered evaluations, and this issue of appropriateness cannot be addressed satisfactorily without some recourse to reasons.” (Please see, Nicholas Rescher, a System of Pragmatic Idealism, Vol. III, Metaphilosophical Inquiries, 1994: 36-58)

Keeping this in mind, we might now consider the following from John Cottingham:

“In the history of philosophy, the epithet ‘spiritual’ is most commonly coupled not with the term ‘beliefs’ but with the term ‘exercises.’ Perhaps the most famous exemplar is the sixteenth-century Ejercicios espirituales (‘Spiritual Exercises,’ c. 1522-41) of St. Ignatius Loyola. As its name implies, this is not a doctrinal treatise, nor even a book of sermons, but a structured set of exercises or practices; it is a practical course of activities for the retreatant, to be followed in a prescribed order, carefully divided into days and weeks. [....] In Ignatius…we are dealing with a practical manual—a training manual—and the structured timings, the organized programmes of readings, contemplation, prayer, and reflection, interspersed with the daily rhythms of eating and sleeping, are absolutely central, indeed they are the essence of the thing. Ignatius himself opens the work by making an explicit parallel with physical training programmes: ‘just as strolling, walking and running are exercises for the body, so ‘spiritual exercises’ is the name given to every way of preparing and disposing one’s soul to rid itself of disordered attachments.’ [....]

What holds good for any plausible account of the tradition of spiritual exercises also holds good more generally for any true understanding of the place of religion in human life: we have to acknowledge what might be called the primacy of praxis, the vital importance that is placed on the individual’s embarking on a path of self-transformation, rather than (say) simply engaging in intellectual debate or philosophical analysis. [....] The philosopher Blaise Pascal was a striking advocate of this line of thought. His famous nuit de feu or ‘night of fire’ on November 23 1654—the intense religious experience that led to a radical change in his life—generated in him what he describes as feelings of ‘heartfelt certainty, peace and joy’ [cf. the Sanskrit formula, saccidananda in orthodox Indian philosophy and comparable descriptions of the Buddhist’s nibbana.] But the God who is the source of these feelings is ‘the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob,’ not the God of ‘philosophers and scholars.’ Commentators have discussed the exact import of these words, but the general point is clear enough: faith, for Pascal, must arise in the context of a living tradition of practical religious observance, rather than from debate and analysis in the seminar room. This is consistent with Pascal’s general philosophical stance on the epistemic status of religious claims, which may be described as proto-Kantian; questions about the nature and existence of God are beyond the reach of discursive reason. ‘If there is a God,’ says Pascal, ‘he is infinitely beyond our comprehension…and hence we are incapable of knowing either what he is or whether he is.’ And since reason cannot settle the matter, we have to make a practical choice, a choice on which our ultimate happiness depends.”

Lastly, consider the following points from the late Ninian Smart and Hilary Putnam respectively:

Who can say that Christianity is false because it is supposedly not rational? What if it be rational to expect worldviews to proceed substantially form symbolic sources? What if it is rational to expect revelation from the Beyond if God is ever to address the world that she, having created other than herself, is hidden behind? And if it is not irrational to believe in God, why not the Qur’an, why not Islam? Can the Christian prove her revelation or the Muslim his, over against the other? So [perhaps] it is not rational to think there are clear rational answers to the question of the truth of worldviews.” (From Smart’s Religion and the Western Mind, 1987: 12-13)

The philosopher Hilary Putnam puts Smart’s point this way: “’Is our own way of life right or wrong?’ is a silly question, although it isn’t silly to ask if this or that particular feature of our way of life is right or wrong, and ‘Is our view of the world right or wrong?’ is a silly question, although it isn’t silly to ask if this or that particular belief is right or wrong.”

In any case, and in many respects, sensitive, empathetic, reflective, and critical global worldview description and analysis is in its infancy, and thus it seems highly unlikely anyone is (at least today) sufficiently well-versed in all the planet’s religious and philosophical worldviews to engage in such an enterprise. For we are only now beginning to appreciate the unique logic and forms of rationality found in non-Western worldviews. And we are still in the process of formulating the possible candidates for acceptable cross-cultural and comparative criteria for the analysis and evaluation of worldviews, especially if we grant that the assumptions and methods of modern Western philosophy are not necessarily privileged in such an enterprise, and in fact remain open to learning (about contemporary philosophy’s own myths and presuppositions, for example) from this cross-cultural encounter. Another way to put this would be to concede that Western philosophy (or science for that matter) does not possess an a priori monopoly on, or privileged possession of, the truth in any absolute sense. This is not equivalent to denying we can or should strive to make rational and ethical assessments of particular beliefs or practices within worldviews (cf. Martha C. Nussbaum’s Sex and Social Justice, 1999, or think of Gandhi’s critique of Hinduism and his belief that no religion should countenance in theory or practice the violation of fundamental ethical values and precepts), for we do and should. And this is all the more urgent if we happen to believe religions are first and foremost about “ways of life” and personal conduct, rather than dogmas, doctrine, or orthodoxy (i.e., more a question of orthopraxis). Smart himself argues, and I think persuasively, that it is through the comparative analysis of worldviews that we will generate the normative conceptual resources and categories for worldview evaluation, if only because the process itself will serve to “detribalize Westerners,” that is, enable us to overcome our dispositional tendency to “treat our tradition normatively, either explicitly or secretly.”

In some measure, of course, and particularly in the beginning, we unavoidably treat our own tradition(s) as normative in the comparative study of worldviews. (As Henry McDonald has argued, we ‘see’ or act and think on the basis of our own norms, rules and values, i.e., ‘on the [normative] basis of our own concepts, because they are the logical space in which we move and without which we could see nothing at all.’) Smart and others who have thought long and hard about the comparative examination of worldviews, being at the same time pioneers and trailblazers in this enterprise, believe that it will eventually allow if not encourage us to become more self-critical about our own worldviews, and that the result of such encounters and dialogues need not lead to either absolute relativism or radical scepticism.

So while we may be critical of specific worldview beliefs, practices, interests or themes (the latter in the sense perhaps of undue or misplaced emphasis), it is fruitless to make truth claims about worldviews as worldviews. With regard to this more modest critical endeavor, for example, we might assess the potential or capacity of a particular worldview to rationally, ethically, and creatively respond to various urgent issues and problems in our contemporary (and future) world: be it nationalism, uneven or unfettered technological development, public health and general welfare, various kinds of violence, ecological deterioration and devastation, the recognition of basic human rights, the commodification of values, global distributive justice, the awakening and exercise of functions and capacities thought essential for human flourishing or eudaimonia, and so forth and so on. This serves to remind us that, at bottom, our traditions and worldviews are the repositories of our normative conceptions of the good life, and only a clear and deep understanding of such conceptions will enable us to find the evaluative criteria essential to critically assessing ideologies and worldviews in the interests of our shared humanity or individual and collective flourishing.

1) It’s not as though people have very much direct control over the coffers.

2) I think spending money on “the romance of science” has led to, e.g., advances in our understanding of physiology, which in turn facilitated medical developments, for public health. And the money spend on “exploration” (I’m assuming you mean exploration of outer space) has pretty clearly resulted in technology advancement. Ironically enough, one such advancement was in wastewater treatment (it’s as though you were trying to devise examples which would undermine your own point).

3) But maybe I just don’t know what you mean by romance. It’s like “pork barrel spending” in this respect—what falls within the “romantic” category is probably highly contingent

4) Romance-science with profit is justified, in the minds of those who pursue it, by the profit. E.g. space exploration, publicly funded, fairly profitable (and in my mind worthwhile by point 2 alone).

Again, you’re obfuscating through wordplay. Adopting your odd definition of the word “meaning,” even if you believe in some god, this does not imply the world has any “meaningful” attributes. After all, it’s not as though creating something imbues you with the authority to call it meaningful—meaning in the sense you’re using, insofar as it exists, is an intrinsic property, not dependent on any relationship. So, ok. The world can’t possibly have the kind of “meaning” you seek to prove it doesn’t have. I would call this a misuse of the word “meaning.”

After all, you go on to say/imply that:
(1) we’re all operating on “faith”
(2a) more specifically, and this is the irksome part, you are arguing that we are all completely equally arbitrary in our choice of faith.
(2b) As a consequence of 2a, you are implicitly claiming there is no appropriate criterion we may use to objectively judge Person A’s “faith” superior to Person B’s “faith”

Do I have this more or less right?

If I were a religious believer reading this thread I think would probably be questioning my belief in a benevolent creator by this point.

Could it be… SATAN???

Alden Pyle found comfort in pattern. Brad DeLong finds comfort that way. Steve LaBonne finds comfort that way. And so do I and everyone else. I don’t argue with religious people about the details of their faith. I’m only arguing with LaBonne because he refuses to accept that he’s subject and acts on the same desires. We invent patterns and narratives to give order to the world. LaBonne has invented a pattern of meaning to give order to his:
—-”And by your logic we wouldn’t need a black man or a woman on the Supreme Court because reason dictates that once we understand [by reason alone!!] what racism and sexism are we have no need for a black or female ‘perspective.’”—-“Sigh. Reason ‘dictates’ no such thing. Valid reasoning from pretty well-accepted psychological premises would surely ‘dictate’ the exact contrary.”—-”And those premises are based on the premise that pure reason is impossible.”

The reasons for diversity are substantive not merely political and practical. Platonists may argue against “perspectives” as opposed to truth [Colin McGinn does] but most of us would oppose a philosopher king.
LaBonne made a clear logical mistake. He slipped. He assumed. He argued from faith.

We are partial: we have preferences and can not escape having them. The world is mostly inert and absolutely meaningless. Mr LaBonne, you have as hard a time accepting that as any Catholic.
The rule of law is not the rule of reason. The rule of reason will always end up as the rule of experts; and the rule of experts is the rule of an unelected elite. There is no God. There is no Truth. There is no telos beyond entropy and even to call it a telos is to give it a meaning when there is none. That mankind has spent trillions on the romance of science and exploration rather than spending a third of that on the mundanity of water-treatment plants and public health is just bizarre to me. But the geology of Mars is somehow considered ‘meaningful’ to people. As meaningful as whatever there is on the top of Mt Everest. As someone who defends a disinterested reason I can only scratch my head. Love is blind I guess.