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Chapter Five
If It Exists, Why Is It Unseen?
Considering the amount of attention given to religious and spiritual concerns throughout human history, what then is William James calling “unseen?” If we consult those whom history has judged to be the primary mediators of this dimension for humankind, we discover that these historical wisdom figures have conveyed over and over, by word and by action, that the realm of the spirit is ineffable – that is, it is impossible to put into words, or to convey directly to another. Thus the warning of Lao Tzu in the Tao Te Ching rings down the corridors of history for almost 2500 years:
The tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao.
The name that can be named is not the eternal Name .”
In essence, whatever you can say directly about the sacred dimension is not “It.” Which suggests not so much that it has never been “seen,” but that those who have had a deep experience of it can only convey the smallest hint as to what is really there. (I think this is what William James meant to convey when he called it “unseen.”)
Thus Jesus used metaphor and analogy throughout his ministry as the best way to communicate his teachings. For instance, one of his most frequent messages was that the goal of life is to seek the kingdom of heaven. But in trying to describe this kingdom, he would create worldly images to which he would compare his “kingdom.” He would say, "The kingdom of heaven is like," and proceed with a common image people could understand. But metaphors and analogies have to be interpreted to understand their meaning – which can lead to confusion and differences of opinion. Why didn’t Jesus just say directly what he had to say? Why all this metaphor and analogy? Surely it was because what he was trying to convey could not be put directly into words – and thus a comparison was the only way to evoke the listener’s own imaginative response to his instruction.
Another great teaching tool Jesus employed was the extensive use of parables – imaginal stories that have to be interpreted by the listener in order for their meaning to be understood. Like all stories, parables are subject to widely differing interpretations – accordingly, these parables have been interpreted in wildly different ways in the two thousand years since Jesus’ death. Countless sermons and homilies have been delivered in cathedrals and churches the world over in support of one interpretation, versus another, versus another.
Even those in the best position to understand these parables frequently did not understand them. Several times after Jesus had given a sermon, one of his disciples (who had heard him speak many times) asked him what the parable just given meant. For instance, in Matthew 15 Peter asks Jesus to explain a particular story, and Jesus says in an almost exasperated tone, “Are ye also yet without understanding? Do not ye yet understand?” and then Jesus proceeds to explain once again what he was trying to convey. Or in Luke 8 we hear this strange response, “And his disciples asked him, saying, ‘What might this parable be?’ And he said, ‘Unto you is given to know the mysteries of the kingdom of God: but to others in parables; that seeing they might not see, and hearing they might not understand.’”
Besides demonstrating that often the disciples did not understand the parables Jesus was teaching, this cryptic passage is hard to understand. Did Jesus mean that the crowds were not supposed to understand the meaning of his stories? Some have interpreted the passage in just this way. But if we assume that Jesus wished to be understood, a more likely conclusion would be that he was using the best tool he could find to convey what was impossible to convey directly; that metaphor, analogy, and parable – though requiring interpretation by the listener, and subject to dramatic differenes of opinion – were still the best, and perhaps only, way to give a glimpse of the truth he was trying to convey.
But if the disciples, the people who were closest to Jesus – and who had been listening to him day after day for months and even years – did not understand the parables when they heard them, it is small wonder that we who hear them today do not easily understand. Especially since there have been so many different interpretations of these stories through the ages. Right now, in churches all over the world, there are many, many different interpretations of these stories being taught.
How, then, can we know which interpretations are “true?” How do we know whether we are “able to hear” correctly at this moment in our lives? Might not our pride or our vanity be making us think we are the “special ones” who see the truth, when in actuality we are simply “hearing” what we want to hear. How do we know that we are not simply embracing the interpretation that justifies what we already believe?
Perhaps this thought gives a clear hint as to why the unseen is ineffable: because what is heard depends on the degree of wisdom and understanding the listener brings to the listening. Perhaps the unseen is ineffable because most people are not ready to understand, to “hear” its deep truth. Perhaps it is there to be seen for all who can see, but our prior opinions keep us from “seeing.” As the poet Rumi said, it is an “open secret.” Or as Jesus often remarked, “He that hath ears to hear, let him hear.”
Yet there is a very positive side to the use of these ambiguous teaching stories: they are much easier to remember than abstract thoughts and ideas. Stories stay in the mind better than most other discourse, and are much easier to pass along to others. And each new person who hears them is more likely to remember them and pass them on to another. This is one of the reasons stories have been used through the ages to convey the wisdom of the culture or the tribe to each new generation.
Further, stories and parables can hold within themselves many different levels of meaning. We hear them one time, perhaps when we are young, and interpret them with the understanding of youth. If we hear them when we are full of pride in our own ideas, we interpret them accordingly. Later, perhaps when we are more open, more receptive, more humble – we hear them in a very different way. And if we gain in understanding through the years, we are more and more able to understand the teachings at deeper and deeper levels. Then, when we are ready to “hear” – that is, understand them at the deepest level of understanding – they are there to guide us to the most profound truth. As is said in Mark 5, “And with many such parables spake he the word unto them, as they were able to hear it.”
Thus the parables and stories of the great wisdom teachers have been left to do their work within the minds and hearts of listeners through the ages, holding different levels of meaning, and waiting for the moment when the listener is ready to understand at each new level of meaning. These stories and parables have been left with us like buried treasures, ready to “explode” in us when we are ready to hear.
Is It Always Ineffable?
This message of the unspeakable nature of the deepest wisdom is amazingly widespread. To continue the passage in the Upanishads quoted in Chapter 2: “Self is everywhere” but “Eye cannot see it, ear cannot hear it, nor tongue utter it; only in deep absorption can the mind, grown pure and silent, merge with the formless truth.” This is the message we hear from the great spiritual leaders all over the world: It is possible to enter into a direct experience of the mystery – to be in a state in which one experiences it for oneself – but it is not possible for the mind to completely understand it, nor for the tongue to speak it directly.
In the Jewish tradition, this idea is conveyed symbolically by the image of Moses coming down from Mt. Sinai after his encounter with the divine source. In the story, it is reported that when he descended the mountain, he had to wear a veil over his face because the light from his presence was so bright people could not stand to look at him directly. Taking this symbolically, he had been so close to the sacred domain he had absorbed some of its energy, and those still in a purely mortal condition could not bare to look at this radiance with their normal eyes. Only after a number of days, when the energy had begun to dissipate, could the veil be removed.
Also in the Jewish tradition, the name of God cannot be written or spoken. One of the greatest modern Jewish scholars, Adin Steinsaltz, captures this idea very clearly: “THE HOLY ONE has any number of names. All of these names, however, designate only various aspects of divine manifestation. Above and beyond this variety of designations is the divine essence itself, which has not, and cannot have, a name. We call this essence by a name that is itself a paradox: ‘the Infinite’.”
Among the Greek philosophers, the same idea abounds: we hear from Plato concerning mystical knowledge, “It is not something that can be put into words like other branches of learning. No treatise by me concerning it exists or ever will exist.” Yet this is the man of whom it was said that “all of philosophy is but a footnote to his work.” At the center of his teaching, Plato recounts one of his most important images, the parable of the cave. In this story, we are told of an imaginary people who live out their lives in a cave. When they look out and see “reality,” what they see and take to be real consists merely of shadows on the wall of the cave. These people are chained there, looking at these shadows - believing that the shadows are true reality. Behind them, outside the cave, the real light is shining, but they do not see it, or even know that it is there. Because they already think they see reality, they can’t (or won’t) turn to look and see the true reality. They cannot or will not look directly at the real truth. And Plato makes it clear that in his view, this is exactly the state in which most of us live out our lives.
In the Buddhist tradition, this theme is repeated in several different ways. First, it is often told that when Siddhartha Gautama finally achieved his awakening after many years of seeking the deepest truth, his next thought was, "I can’t possibly explain this to anyone." This thought was apparently so strong that he did not plan to share what he had understood – he had to be persuaded to do so by his fellow ascetics when they noticed the great change that had come over him.
In another story it is told that toward the end of his long life, an assembly of the Buddha’s followers were called together on Vulture Peak. As they sat, waiting for the Buddha to speak, he stood before them and, without saying a word, held up a single flower. In the audience, one (and only one) of his followers understood the full message of the teaching, and a glance from the Buddha confirmed the realization – which could not have been conveyed in words. In some traditions, this was the first full realization of the teaching by anyone other than the Buddha himself, and the reason that Mahakashyapa became the Buddha’s first successor.
This difficulty of trying to approach the deepest truths with the thinking mind, and the impossibility of conveying it directly in words has lead some branches of Buddhism to use riddles as a primary teaching tool – Koans that cannot be solved by the rational mind. The attempt is to help the practitioner break out of the prison of their enculturated concepts, to experience directly for themselves that which cannot be spoken, or grasped by intellectual thought.
In these examples, and many more that could be given, those who have created the world's great belief and meaning systems have conveyed over and over that the deepest truths cannot be spoken directly – that these truths are mysterious, ineffable, and can only be approached through words indirectly. Thus we have the great wisdom teachers using stories and parables and riddles, all of which require interpretation, and that require us to wrestle within ourselves with who we are, what we believe, and what we think we know.*
*It is important to note that creating moral codes and rules is a very different matter. Moral codes have to do with life in the everyday world, and can be stated in clear terms, as in the ten commandments of the Judeo-Christian tradition, or the precepts of Buddhism. Later we will explore more fully the difference between following the “rules for living” your family, culture, or religion have given, versus finding a right relationship to the “unseen” for yourself.
The Limitation of Language
Let us assume for a moment the possibility that one or more of the foundational figures quoted above did have a direct experience of the mystery of the unseen. What they seem to be telling us is that language is not a very good tool for conveying what they have experienced. Joseph Campbell once remarked that any words that can be said about the sacred are by their very nature twice removed from the truth. The way I have come to understand this statement goes like this: Whatever the mystery is, it cannot be put directly into words, because language developed as a tool to deal with the everyday world – its function is and has always been to serve a different purpose than to describe the unseen.
It has served its primary purpose very well, for there are many things for which this wonderful tool called language is well-suited. For instance, through language we can give warnings; we can organize to build things together, or for a hunt, or co-ordinate our other activities with each other; we can convey our intentions and plans; we can make jokes and create entertainment for one another; we can share with each other our personal, family, and cultural history; and we can try to communicate our feelings and emotions.
But just because a tool is useful for one function does not mean it is useful for another. A hammer is quite useful for driving a nail, but is not very helpful for putting in a screw. Since language developed as a tool to communicate with each other about our lives together in the everyday world, we can rely on it for that function – but not necessarily to describe the unseen. In fact, trying to use it for that purpose might well create more confusion than clarity.
Looking through the many reports of transcendent experiences in human history, we discover that oftentimes no words are spoken to anyone while it is occurring. Sometimes, when words are spoken, they seem to arise spontaneously from within the state, but those on the “outside” who might hear them experience these words as cryptic, nonsensical, or mysterious. (Perhaps this is why the messages of seers and prophets through the ages have often come across as riddles, or as highly enigmatic.) It is as if there is a great divide between the experience of reality in a transcendent state, versus an ordinary state of mind, and the difference in perspective is so dramatic that words as they are normally understood just do not mean the same thing. (Analogies that might give a hint of this difference would be trying to describe what it feels like to fall in love, or give birth to a child, or to listen rapturously to music – to someone who has never had a similar experience themselves.)
“Eye cannot see it, ear cannot hear it, nor tongue utter it.” Perhaps this is the heart of the problem – our human speech and understanding were not designed to capture the unseen, and it is only when we manage to escape from the prison of our normal perceptions and thinking that a glimpse is possible. But to do this, we have to leave behind our normal ways of seeing and hearing. And those who wish to help us with this understanding can only give us hints and clues until we are ready to “cleanse the doors of our perception,” until we are ready to “hear” for ourselves.
Whatever the reasons, the fact seems to be that the rule-based nature of language makes it a poor tool for the purpose of describing the mystery of the unseen. So what does a person who has had an extraordinary experience do? Keep silent? Perhaps many do. But others, if they choose to speak, start with the understanding that they cannot name the unseen directly. So they speak in riddles, in parables, in metaphors. They know that the words they are using aren't “the truth.” The words are but “a finger pointing at the moon” – and not the moon itself. The words are once removed from whatever “it” is – from whatever the deepest truth really is.
This inability to put the mystery into words takes us one step away from a direct communication about the sacred. For Campbell’s second step away, consider the people who are hearing the words about the mystery for the first time. Any listeners who haven’t had such an experience themselves will not be able to fully understand what is being said – the words will mean one thing to the speaker, and something quite different to the listener. An analogy might be to imagine sitting in a lecture by a Greek scholar, given to a group of other Greek scholars, on the intricacies of the Greek language. How would you take it in, when so much of what was being said was unknown to you?
That is why, when presenting something new to an audience, gifted speakers search for analogies and metaphors – to begin to give their listeners a hint of what they are talking about. But initially, this often creates questions and confusion, for listeners can only grasp a little beyond what they already know. Significantly, they tend to take what is being said and try to fit it into what they know already – even if it is quite different. They try to fit the new into the framework of knowing in which they are already immersed.
Therefore, only slowly, and with great effort, do they begin to open to the new ideas – and eventually, to their own experience of the new dimension, to the new way of seeing and knowing. This process is true for all types of learning, but for something as different from ordinary experience as the mystery of the unseen, the difficulties of communication are enormous. Or as Campbell put it, “The best things cannot be told, the second best are misunderstood. After that comes civilized conversation; after that, mass indoctrination; after that, intercultural exchange. And so, proceeding, we come to the problem of communication.”
Not fully understanding what we have heard, however, has never stopped we humans from reporting what we think we have heard to others. In fact, this is probably as basic to being human as eating and sleeping. So having heard a report about something as dramatic as the unseen, most of us can’t wait to rush out and tell someone else what we have heard, to explain it to our friends and neighbors – even though we are attempting to explain something we don't fully understand ourselves.
As an analogy, imagine that you have just heard a lecture about quantum mechanics, or brain surgery. Also assume that you had little knowledge about either subject prior to the lecture. If you were then talking to your neighbor, and he asked what you had learned, you would probably try to explain it to him. You might make up your own examples and analogies and comparisons, and your words might help your neighbor understand a little – but you wouldn’t be conveying a true understanding of quantum mechanics or brain surgery. And you would probably say several things that a physicist or a brain surgeon would consider misguided and inaccurate.
Now imagine that your neighbor is talking to another friend, and begins to explain to her what you have reported. But your neighbor is twice removed from an actual experience of the original lecture, so this report will very likely be even less accurate and more distorted than yours. But this process is the exact situation that occurs when people hear reports about the mystery of the unseen – they seldom hear the reports from the person who had the actual experience, but from those who heard such reports far down the chain of communication. It is like the old children’s game, where people sit in a circle, and someone whispers something to the person next to them, and that person to the next, and so on around the circle. When the words have made the complete circuit, they usually bare little resemblance to what was originally spoken. And so it is with reports and descriptions of the unseen.
The fact that the unseen cannot be captured in language has led some to argue that the sacred dimension must not exist, because only that which can be captured in language is real. But this is not logic, only circular thinking. Since language was not developed to capture the unseen, it cannot do so – at least, not very well. Even our logical thinking was not developed to capture the unseen – it was developed to solve practical problems. Thus it is not the least bit surprising that the mystery cannot be captured by language, nor by our ordinary logical conceptions. If it exists, it is in a different realm. Language and logical thinking are very effective at what they do, but they do not capture all truth. There is in fact no evidence to suggest that language and logical thinking can capture all that is true. To hold the belief that they do capture all truth is purely an act of faith. It is possible that this is true, but there is absolutely no evidence for it.
In a similar way, one could choose to believe that little green beings came to earth from outer space and started human civilization. One could make this one’s act of faith – and it could even be true. But there is no evidence for it. In just this way, one can make one’s act of faith that things that cannot be explained by language are not real, or that things that cannot be proved by logic do not exist. But since there is no evidence for either of these propositions, believing them is a metaphysical act of faith with no rational or logical basis. Such beliefs inevitably arise out of starting assumptions for which there is no evidence, let alone proof.
Knowledge Is a Function of Being
Because the difficulty of communicating about the unseen dimension is so universally observed, let us delve deeper into the nature of this dilemma. Consider, then, that it is very hard to explain sight to someone who has been blind from birth, or to describe hearing to those who have always been deaf. Even in the world of practical things, it is very hard to explain anything to those who have never seen a similar thing themselves. For instance, it is hard to explain football, or chess, or many other real-world things, to those who have not seen something similar for themselves. Generally, after several frustrating attempts, the one trying to explain the unknown thing resorts to the refrain, “Let me take you and show you.” And perhaps it is just so in the realm of the unseen.
“Knowledge is a function of being. When there is a change in the being of the knower, there is a corresponding change in the nature and amount of knowing.” In other words, what we are able to “see” depends to a great extent on what we have already learned to see up to that point in time – on what we have been conditioned to see. It has been observed that Eskimos have many different words for snow, that they notice many different kinds of and nuances about snow that other people do not notice. It is not that most of us are incapable of noticing these things. We do not see snow in this way because this “seeing” has not been defined as important to us, and because we have not been trained to see snow in this way – thus we cannot “see” what Eskimos see.
This kind of realization gave rise to one of the crucial insights of modern philosophy. The brilliant Scotsman David Hume, followed by the philosophical giant of the 18th century, Immanuel Kant, developed the idea that the world we see is not some hard, objective fact, but that what we see and experience is greatly determined by the assumptions and beliefs we hold in our minds at the moment of any new observation or experience. We do not just record facts from the outer world in our minds. Of the millions of facts available to us at any given time, our minds select the facts that fit in with what we already know and believe.
And crucially, our minds then organize the new facts or experiences into a pattern that is meaningful to us, based to a large extent upon the current state of our understanding of ourselves and of the world. What we believe about reality at any given moment, therefore, greatly determines how we will experience and understand the next thing that happens to us. Our mindset even determines to a very great extent what “facts” our minds will let in and register as facts. Or to say this in a slightly different way: The world you see – both the information your brain lets in, as well as the meaning patterns the information is organized into once it arrives there – will be determined largely by the assumptions you have previously made. (And many of these underlying assumptions were enculturated into you when you were young, and are not even conscious to you.) Or we might say that, to a very great extent, the way you currently understand yourself and your world will create the reality you will “see” when the next moment arises in your life. This truth is so powerful that it led William James to declare that “believing is seeing.” So if there is an unseen, and you wish to see it, you must “cleanse the doors of your perception” before you will be able to see it, before you will be able to “see” or “hear.”
An analogy from science would be the theory of quarks. We are told that quarks are the building blocks of all matter. But have you ever seen a quark? Has anyone? How do you know they exist? If you are not a specialized physicist, and you believe that quarks exist, the only reason you believe this is that you rely upon the testimony of those who have spent years learning how to infer the existence of quarks through the mathematical theories and experimental processes that suggest their probable existence. Those who tell us they have “seen” quarks have spent years preparing to “see” them, studying with people who themselves have organized their thinking in this way.
Or in the macroscopic world, we are told the universe is filled with black holes, and that these black holes make up a great deal of all the matter that exists. Most people who keep up with astronomy tend to accept this as true. But if you are not an astronomer, have you ever seen a black hole? If you went to a physics lab filled with the most modern equipment, do you think you could find one? I suspect not. Only by being trained to understand in the proper way could you begin to “see” a black hole for yourself (or perhaps more accurately, interpret the evidence that suggests their existence). In the same way, if an unseen order does exist, you will have to prepare in the appropriate way if you wish to “see” it. Just as in physics and astronomy, if you have not yet trained yourself to see in the realm of the sacred, then you must turn to the reports of those who have been appropriately trained if you are to acquire any credible information.
Another analogy might be to imagine two scientists sitting around over dinner talking about a phenomenon they have heard about, but have never seen for themselves – lets say, for instance, juggling. Let’s assume that these two are very smart scientists, but that they live in a culture in which no one has ever learned to juggle. They have heard rumors about juggling from travelers to far off lands, but they have not personally seen anyone juggle. Finally, after much debate, one of them proposes a test: They will go out into the street and ask the first one hundred people they meet to juggle three balls in the air. They meticulously set up and conduct their test, and after one hundred trials with one hundred different people, not one has been able to juggle the three balls in the air. So the scientists conclude that juggling is impossible.
This is exactly the mistake that is often made by those who dismiss or disbelieve things that are outside their normal way of seeing – without realizing that they cannot see because they have not made the necessary preparation to see. Just as one must prepare oneself in order to juggle – just so – if one wishes to discover the unseen, one must prepare oneself for this undertaking. And as in physics, and juggling, and most other areas of life, if you wish to learn something, you will probably learn much faster if you find a teacher who have mastered the ability themselves. So if you wish to learn about juggling – or quarks – the best approach would be to visit those who have mastered this knowledge. And if you wish to know more about the unseen, or perhaps even to experience it for yourself, you would do well to find those who have changed their being in such a way as to acquire that knowledge for themselves.
Tao Te Ching, Stephen Mitchell Verse 1
Stephen Mitchell, The Enlightened Heart, p.4
The Masks of God Creative Mythology p 84
Aldous Huxley, The Perennial Philosophy, p. vii
Ibid
This thought was stimulated in part by the above-cited introduction to The Perennial Philosophy by Aldous Huxley.
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