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God and
the Soul
by Martin Buber
A definition of mysticism is always open to
question, if, with any other religious teaching, it
is made on the basis of subject matter or chief
principle; for then we only have an idea or
sentence that is at the same time abstract and
somewhat vague, and that fails to comprehend what
makes mysticism in its historical manifestations
such a singular and remarkable type of religious
life. We do better if we take as our starting point
that experience of the soul, which is clearly
common to all mystics, for they all speak of it in
one way or another and, if only in a veiled
reference or even in so objective an expression
that the personal foundation, that very experience,
does not come within our range of vision; here too
are moments when a powerful recollection suddenly
pulsates through the firm notes of the objective
statement. Of course that experience may be called
an experience of Unity; but once again we shall
only have something abstract and indefinite, if we
think merely of a contemplation of Unity, in which
to be sure the one contemplating recedes, his
essential position however, which he still feels to
some extent in the midst of his experience, is no
other than the essential position of all our human
contemplation, the division of Being into the
contemplating and the contemplated. One of the
greatest among the mystics, Plotinus, leaves much
room for such a misunderstanding when, as a true
Greek still in the late period of the fusion of all
spiritual elements, he interprets that experience
in visual language as the image of the eye
contemplating the light. In Plotinus also we
perceive on closer observation that this is only
one, if also the thinnest, of the garments in which
mystical experience cloaks itself so as to be able
to reveal itself, or rather to enable the wearer to
fit his experience into the framework of his inner
life and then into the framework of his cognition.
Indeed the crucial factor in that experience is not
that the multiplicity of manifestations collapses
into the one, that the interplay of colours gives
place to the absoluteness of the white light, but
that in the one contemplating the act of
contemplation is obliterated; it is not the
dissolution of phenomenal diversity but of
constructive dualism, the dualism of the I
experiencing and the object experienced, which is
the crucial factor, the peculiarity of mysticism in
the true sense. And indeed we can only speak of
mysticism in the true sense where we are concerned,
not with men in an early state of
semi-consciousness preceding a clear distinction
between subject and object, but with those to whom
the fundamental position has become a matter of
course: an I complete in itself and a world
complete in itself facing one another. This
fundamental dualism, itself perceived only slowly
by the human spirit, is at certain moments in an
individual life swept aside in favor of an
overwhelming experience of union; this it is which
excites that deep and ever-recurring awe which,
though in varying degrees of expression, we find in
all mystics.
In all mysticism, however, which springs from
the soil of the so-called theistic religions, there
is an additional factor to which a specifically
religious significance is to be attributed. Here
the mystic is conscious of a close personal contact
with God, and this contact has, it is true, as its
goal a union with God, a union which is often felt
and presented in images of the earthly Eros, but in
this as in every contact between Being and Being it
is the very dualism of these beings which is the
primary condition of what is occurring between
them. It is not the dualism of subject and object,
i.e., neither is to the other merely an object of
contemplation, itself having no part in the
relationship, but it is the dualism of I and Thou,
both entering into reciprocal relationship. However
God be comprehended as an absolute Being, He is
here not the whole, but the Facing, the One facing
this man; He is what this man is not, and is not
what this man is; it is precisely upon this that
the longing for union can be based. In other words,
in this close association experienced by the
mystic. God, even if the mystic wants to be merged
in Him, is and remains a Person. The I of the
mystic seeks to lose itself in the Thou of God, but
this Thou of God, or, after the I of the mystic has
been merged therein, this absolute I of God cannot
pass away. That man's "I am" shall perish, so that
the "I am" of God remains alone. "Between me and
thee," says al-Hallaj, the great martyr of Moslem
mysticism, "there is an 'I am' that grieves me. Ah!
through thy 'I am' take away my 'I am' from betwixt
us both." The mystic never thinks of calling into
question the personality of this divine "I am." "I
call thee," says al-Hallaj, ". . . no, it is thou
who callest me to thee! How could I have said to
thee 'It is thou,' if thou hadst not whispered to
me 'It is I.'" The I of the revealing God, the I of
the God Who accords to the mystic the intercourse
with Him, and the I of God, in Whom the human I
merges itself, are identical. The mystic remains in
the sphere of intercourse, as he was in the sphere
of revelation, a theist.
It is otherwise when mysticism, penetrating
beyond the sphere of experienced intercourse, dares
to deal with God as He is in Himself, that is
beyond the relation to man, and indeed beyond the
relation to the created world generally. Of course
it knows well that, as the greatest thinker of
western mysticism, Meister Eckhart, put it, no one
can really say what God is. 'But its conception of
absolute unity, a unity therefore that nothing can
face any more, is so strong that even the highest
idea of the person must yield place to it. Unity
which is in relationship to something other than
itself is not perfect unity; and perfect unity can
no more be personal. By that mysticism, sprung from
the soil of a theistic religion, in no way means to
deny the personal nature of the God; but it strives
to raise that perfect unity, which is faced by
nothing, above the God of revelation, and to
differentiate between the Godhead abiding in pure
being and the active God. Perfect unity merely is,
it does not work. "Never," says Eckhart, "has the
Godhead worked this or that, it is God Who creates
all things." To that primal existence before the
creation, to that unity transcending all dualism,
the mystic strives finally to return; he wishes to
become as he was before the creation.
Theistic mysticism does not always strain its
conception of unity to the extreme of setting up
thereby a dualism in the very being of God. Islamic
mysticism avoids it by seeking to raise the
attribute of work to an abstract height, where it
is compatible with perfect unity. Certainly its
success here is only apparent, for it transfigures
as it were mystically the monotheistic tradition of
the active God, without allowing any of the work of
the worker to penetrate the mystical sphere itself;
-- the one is directed towards the world, the other
is essentially acosmic; the one displays God's
doings in the community of mankind, the other is
only acquainted with Him in His contacts with the
soul; so Islamic mysticism, at the price of
dividing religious life into two, achieves a
questionable unity of God. Christian mysticism, in
the best of its theology, proceeds here more boldly
and more consistently. With unsurpassable precision
it locates the tension in the divine itself. "God
and Godhead," says Eckhart, "are as different as
heaven and earth. . . . God becomes (wird) and
vanishes (entwird)." So here "God" is the name of
the Divine, in so far as from perfect unity, faced
by nothing. It made Itself in creation and
revelation the One facing the world, and thereby
the partaker in Its becoming and vanishing. For
"God" only exists for a world, by the Divine
becoming its, the world's. God; when "world"
becomes. God becomes; and if there is no world, God
ceases to be, and again there is only Godhead.
Already here it can be seen that it would be a
grave error to attribute to mysticism the view that
the distinction between Godhead and God is only one
of perspective, that is, one consisting not in
itself but in the viewpoint of the world. Apart
from all else such a view would nullify the
historical revelation. Such is far from genuine
theistic mysticism, which sees the distinction
instead as founded in God's very being and
consummated by Him.
Thus far has Christian mysticism proceeded with
Eckhart, as Indian mysticism earlier in Sankara;
further it has not attempted to penetrate. But by
that an enigma that confronts us on the borderline
of human being, at the point where it touches the
Divine, has been only shifted into the Divine
itself, and so for the time being withdrawn from
further investigation. Not for ever; for there is
in the history of later mysticism yet one more
endeavour, even if only fragmentary and if
apparently coming to a standstill in its very
start, to penetrate still further and here again to
ask "Why?" The question may be formulated
provisionally thus: Why did God become Person? That
Hasidism so far as I can see, Hasidism alone) has
ventured to attempt to answer this question -- or
rather, as will be shown, a related question -- is
indicated by the words of its greatest thinker, the
Maggid of Mesritch, which we are able to extract
from the notes of disciples and to some extent to
put together. Here is one of the few points, in
which Hasidic theology surpasses that of the later
Kabbala, whose paths it follows here too, even if
only gropingly.
Excerpted from Hasidism,
by Martin Buber
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I
And Thou,
by
Martin Buber
The
Way of Man:
According
to the Teaching of
Hasidism,
by
Martin Buber
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