Beyond Boundaries: Mysticism, Process Thought, and the Limits of Religious Difference
Adis Duderija
"it should be mentioned that differences within a particular religious tradition are often as great as differences between such traditions. Hartshorne, for example, finds one strand of Vedantism in Sri Jiva Goswami more congenial than classical theistic strands in the Abrahamic religions. Or again, Jewish or Christian process thinkers might find the process thought of Mohammed Iqbal more congenial than the thought of classical theistic thinkers in their own respective religious traditions. Further, it seems to me that there is a certain unity in the reports of mystical experiences once adventitious elements from different traditions are removed from them, as Hartshorne (who was once invited to speak at a Trappist monastery) attests."
Public debates about religion often proceed as if religious traditions were internally unified, sharply bounded entities, Christianity over here, Islam over there, Hinduism somewhere else, each defined by a stable set of doctrines and metaphysical commitments. These debates then stage encounters between traditions as if they were coherent blocks in competition or dialogue with one another. But as Daniel Dombrowski reminds us in Process Mysticism, this way of thinking fundamentally misrepresents the lived and intellectual realities of religion. Differences within religious traditions are frequently as great as, and sometimes greater than, differences between them. Once this fact is taken seriously, both interreligious dialogue and the philosophy of religion are transformed.
Consider Dombrowski’s invocation of Charles Hartshorne, the American process philosopher. Hartshorne’s work already unsettles conventional religious categories by rejecting classical theism in favor of a dynamic, relational conception of God. God, in process thought, is not an immutable, omnipotent monarch standing outside time, but a being who is affected by the world, grows with it, and responds creatively to its unfolding. What is striking, as Dombrowski notes, is not merely that Hartshorne diverges from traditional Christian or Jewish theism, but that he sometimes finds a strand of Vedantic thought, specifically in Sri Jiva Goswami, more congenial than many classical theistic strands within the Abrahamic religions themselves.
This example exposes the inadequacy of treating “Hinduism” or “Christianity” as monolithic wholes. Vedanta alone contains multiple, often incompatible schools: Advaita’s nondualism, Vishishtadvaita’s qualified nondualism, and Dvaita’s robust theism, among others. To say that Hartshorne resonates with one strand of Vedantism is not to say he endorses Hinduism as such. It is to recognize that philosophical and mystical affinities cut across confessional boundaries. A process philosopher may find a metaphysical cousin in an unexpected place, precisely because traditions themselves are internally plural, layered, and contested.
The same dynamic appears in Dombrowski’s suggestion that Jewish or Christian process thinkers might find the process-oriented philosophy of Mohammed Iqbal more congenial than the classical theistic thinkers of their own traditions. Iqbal, a Muslim philosopher-poet deeply influenced by both Islamic sources and Western philosophy, rejected static metaphysical conceptions of God and reality. For him, the universe is not a finished product but an ongoing creative act, and God is intimately involved in this becoming. Such views can feel alien within certain strands of Islamic orthodoxy, just as they may feel subversive within classical Christian or Jewish theology. Yet for those already inclined toward process thought, Iqbal can seem like a natural ally.
What follows from this is not a flattening of religious differences, but a more nuanced map of them. The most significant fault lines do not always run between traditions; they often run through them. The real philosophical debates are frequently between rival metaphysical visions—static versus dynamic, substance versus process, omnipotence versus persuasive power—rather than between religions as such. When we ignore this, we risk caricaturing traditions and misunderstanding the genuine points of agreement and disagreement that matter.
Dombrowski pushes this insight further by gesturing toward mysticism. He suggests that there is “a certain unity in the reports of mystical experiences once adventitious elements from different traditions are removed from them.” This is a controversial claim, but it is not a careless one. Mystical experiences are always reported through the language, symbols, and expectations of particular traditions. A Christian mystic may speak of union with Christ, a Sufi of annihilation (fana) in God, a Vedantin of realizing Brahman. Yet beneath these doctrinal overlays, there are recurring themes: a loss of ego, an overwhelming sense of unity, a profound love or peace, and a perception of reality as more interconnected and meaningful than ordinary consciousness reveals.
Hartshorne’s own experience of being invited to speak at a Trappist monastery underscores this point. A process philosopher addressing Catholic monks is not an obvious pairing—unless one recognizes that mystical practice often destabilizes rigid doctrinal boundaries. Mystics have long been both cherished and suspected within their traditions, precisely because their experiences sometimes strain against official theological frameworks. If mystical reports display a deep family resemblance across traditions, then the sharp doctrinal lines drawn by theologians may be less ultimate than they appear.
This does not mean that all religions are “really the same,” a claim that rightly provokes resistance. Doctrines can matter. Practices can matter. Ethical visions do matter. The differences between, say, Trinitarian Christianity and non-dual Vedanta are not trivial. But Dombrowski’s point is subtler: when we attend to lived experience and philosophical nuance, we discover overlapping patterns of insight that challenge simplistic oppositions. Unity here does not mean identity; it means resonance.
For contemporary public discourse, this insight carries significant implications. In a world fractured by religious conflict and cultural misunderstanding, it is tempting to reify traditions into hardened identities. Doing so may serve political or ideological purposes, but it obscures the internal diversity and self-critical resources within each tradition. Process thinkers, mystics, and philosophical reformers often function as bridges, sometimes unwelcome ones—between communities. They show that loyalty to a tradition need not entail uncritical acceptance of its dominant metaphysical assumptions.
Moreover, recognizing intra-traditional diversity can foster intellectual humility. If my own tradition contains strands I find alien or even objectionable, then I cannot easily claim that its dominant form exhausts religious truth. Conversely, if I find wisdom in a thinker from another tradition who shares my deepest intuitions, then interreligious dialogue becomes something more than polite tolerance; it becomes genuine learning.
Dombrowski’s brief passage thus gestures toward a reorientation of how we think about religion itself. Rather than imagining religions as sealed systems competing for allegiance, we might better see them as evolving conversations, internally diverse, historically contingent, and permeable to insight from beyond their borders. Mystical experience and process thought, in particular, highlight the dynamic, relational character of both reality and religious understanding.
In an age when religious identities are often mobilized for division, this perspective is not merely academic. It invites us to look for unexpected allies, to listen more carefully to marginal voices within traditions, and to take experience as seriously as doctrine. The deepest differences, and the most promising convergences, may not lie where we have been trained to look.
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