Transformation Hesitation

“As soon as we have to say no to something, we develop a point of view. As soon as we say black but not white [or] good and not evil . . . we've split our otherwise undivided universe into this and not that and chosen one over the other. . . . Like cutting a melon in two, we choose to keep one half and push the other half away.”

The Translucent Revolution, pp. 96–97

In a state of meditative absorption in the transcendent nondual Self, reality is directly realized to be a seamless whole, eternally perfect and complete. There's no time, there's no mind, and so there's nothing much going on. But from the normal, relative self's perspective, there are plenty of things happening all the time, with the mind racing and the clock ticking as we strive to navigate the vicissitudes of the human experience in the midst of an ever-changing world. How to integrate these two very different dimensions of our experience into a singular expression of human wholeness seems to be exactly what Ardagh is pointing us to. That is “translucence.” As he himself suggests, it's something that most Neo-Advaitins—by valuing the absolute over the relative in their one-sided “homogenous goo of Oneness”—would never even consider. There's only one slight problem: the “translucent” alternative doesn't stray that far from “homogenous goo” either. In fact, for the past few decades, ever since the mysticism of the East started making friends with the pop psychology of the West, the postmodern spiritual world has been struggling to find a way to integrate the timeless realization of enlightenment with the process of human development in a way that doesn't simply dissolve one side of the equation in favor of the other. Hence, from a certain point of view, Ardagh's Translucent Revolution is merely the most recent in a series of attempts to create a palatable blend of the absolute and the relative. And like many of its innumerable predecessors, it succeeds in primarily one regard: by making clear (albeit unintentionally) that the merging of nondual consciousness with postmodern relativism could arguably be the greatest obstacle yet to the continued evolution of contemporary spirituality. Why? Because, interestingly enough, the universal egalitarianism of the sensitive self and the universal oneness of the nondual Self just so happen to present strikingly similar relationships to the everyday world—ones that are comfortably numb to dualities, differences, and opposites of any kind. And whenever you have a sensitive self as the human vehicle for the nondual Self, the combined neutrality of those two selves will inevitably flatten all potentially meaningful distinctions and value judgments into the ground.

Lest they take a “position” in life or maintain a critical stance of some kind, sensitive selves typically do whatever they can to remain firmly in the neutral zone of inoffensive ambiguity. With their sophisticated postmodern cognition wisely perceiving the relativity of all opposites—how light shades into darkness or how “up” could not exist without “down”—sensitive selves choose to abide in the gray areas of life, vocally opposed to sharp distinctions and judgments of any kind. Moreover, once they have a deep spiritual experience, they find themselves newly empowered in their hazy relationship to life by their realization of the absolute Self—which, being the foundation of absolutely everything, takes no relationship to any particular thing. The Self makes no judgments; the Self makes no distinctions; the Self has no preferences. And if we wish to be translucent, according to Ardagh, then obviously neither should we.

“As we get older, we polarize everything,” he warns. “We start to say this is acceptable and that's unacceptable. We inhibit the natural flow of energy in our lives.” Only by freeing ourselves, more and more, of our dualistic judgments, distinctions, and preferences will our transcendent, impersonal Self be able to “continuously marinate the personal and to become ever more embodied . . . [an] endless process of evolution and transformation [called] 'translucence.'”

Thus conflating the divine indifference of the absolute Self with the friendly nonjudgment of the sensitive self, the well-intentioned nondual relativist commits a major metaphysical error. It is a confusion of levels of reality, dimensions of ontology—a haphazard merger between the absolute and the relative, the unmanifest and the manifest, being and becoming, emptiness and form. Rather than recognizing fully the difference between these two distinct sides of the coin called Reality and striving to understand the mysterious connection between them, the philosophy of nondual relativism lazily blurs the lines. In the name of “compassion,” its extreme manifestations even whitewash all dualities and opposites—including all of the multidimensional complexity of the human condition—into nondual oblivion.

For instance, in his chapter on “translucent relating,” Ardagh explains how we can learn to make “judgments” while still remaining true to the revelation of the nondual Self—or, at least, without offending anyone (remaining true to the sensitive self). “It really does not matter if you make judgments,” he writes, “as long as they are inclusive rather than rejecting. Tell your friends that they are lazy or stupid, and you risk losing the friendship. Tell them, 'You are so lazy, just like me,' and you may invite empathy. As we call back judgment, we are calling back the fragmented parts of the psyche we have evicted. . . . When we have called back our judgments, our feedback is free of 'othering'—making it all about another rather than ourselves—and only then can it be received.” (His other examples of calling back judgment include: “He is so arrogant—just like me,” “The Dalai Lama is so wise—just like me,” and “You aren't really listening to me—just like me.”)

Clearly, true translucents—or nondual relativists—are sweet and generous people, going out of their way to make sure that not a single soul is offended and all are embraced. (Just like me.) But could the very saccharinity that makes a nondual relativist so spiritually reassuring also be surreptitiously sedating the soul of everyone he or she encounters? By immediately “calling back” all criticisms or judgments, the nondual relativist virtually guarantees that he or she abides perpetually in flatland, the spiritual ice rink of the sensitive selves. Liberated from the responsibility of ever having to challenge another, the nondual relativist revels in human relationships that remain smoothly uninspiring. Any impulses to rise up, to change and grow to a higher level of spiritual integrity, are happily nullified on the spot. Flatland reigns, and the sensitive self is soothed. And the real reason behind all this is that the sensitive self is acknowledged, by the nondual relativist and the Neo-Advaitin alike, to be pretty much perfect just as he or she is (beyond the unnecessary flow of critical thinking generated by the time-bound psyche). Never mind that Ardagh's book is peppered with injunctions to help us to “change” and “grow” and “evolve”; when it comes down to it, it seems that the perspective of a nondual relativist never rises more than a few inches from the ground.

Indeed, if there is a central tenet to the translucent revolution, it is the conviction that apart from the deluded views of Iago-consciousness, all human beings are the same perfect Self, essentially equal in every way. Beyond the mind, beyond belief, there can be no meaningful distinctions between oneself and anyone else. Elucidating this egalitarian ideal in his chapter on parenting, Ardagh, the father of two sons, writes: “Translucent parenting means to see our utter incompetence to teach anyone anything useful at all. Don't follow me, I'm lost.” The eternal and infinite Self Absolute, as the only certain truth in this relativistic world, will somehow take care of the complexity of the human predicament all by itself. We need only get out of the way in order to let it shine through.

Our Translucent Future

The Translucent Revolution, p. 5

Where is this all headed? What kind of a world is Arjuna Ardagh really envisioning? In the last chapter of The Translucent Revolution, he considers three potential near-future scenarios for a world on the brink of catastrophic collapse due to the insidious effects of Iago-consciousness everywhere, including: 1) “total annihilation”; 2) “global crisis”; and 3) “the miracle.” In the first, the “damage to the environment, the continuing violence fueled by blind fundamentalism, the disparities of our economic system are all so great, and the number and effect of translucents is so small, that we are heading for extinction within our lifetime.” In the second, “we survive” but Western civilization has crumbled, and the world is in a state of chaotic disorder, with translucents braving plagues of suffering and despair through “a very flexible sense of humor.” And in the third scenario, “the translucent paradigm is already well in place,” and no matter what happens, the situation will “only fuel the global awakening.” Ardagh doesn't favor one scenario over any other but concludes that, whatever happens, cultivating our translucence is the only way we will ever defeat the Iago mind within and without. That may be true, but given what I now know of translucency, I think it's only fair to share a fourth vision of the future that seems the most attuned to the facts at hand.

Imagine: coming over the endlessly flat horizon, waving white flags against a clear blue sky, the translucent revolution marches toward the Iago battalions, determined to unleash a few million friendly blows to humankind's perennial adversary. Despite the natural flow of their collective gait, every translucent soldier marches to his or her own cadence, singing his or her own favorite tune. Some wear boots, some wear sandals, and even though all are dressed exactly as they please, there is no religious paraphernalia to be seen. Finally approaching the vicious Iago ranks, the translucents begin to laugh—first a few, then rippling out more and more—after suddenly realizing the familiar mistake they've made. How could they have fallen, again, for the foolish belief in opposites, for the ridiculous story of “others”? Sitting upon the empty ground, they playfully nudge each other back and forth, smiling into each other's eyes. At first, they don't notice as the Iago forces descend upon them, and when they finally do wake up to the carnage all around, they can't quite take it seriously enough to do anything about it. Hours later, sadly, the translucent revolution is no more. Stepping over the remains of its softly luminous foe, the Iago army marches in tight formation toward the horizon, looking forward to many future victories in a world too kind to care.