True Love is Not Mystical
Mysticism can be understood in many different ways. One way, and only one, is to understand it as seeing and feeling the presence of God in everything: all events, all people, all living beings. It is to see everything as a theophany, a revelation of God. If we define mysticism this way, then I can imagine that, on ethical grounds, God might condemn mysticism. The condemnation is not that God worries mysticism neglects God's transcendence—it is that it neglects the world's transcendence: the ways in which events, people, and all living beings have intrinsic value.
Imagine that God is like a parent to the world, and that all people—and indeed all creatures—are like God’s children. Imagine that God's deepest desire is that these children love one another, just as God loves them. God loves each one on its own terms, for its own sake, not because it reflects something else.
Now imagine that one of God's children says, "I will love my neighbors, human and non-human alike, only if I can see some trace of you in them. I will love them only if I can see them as reflections of your glory or embodiments of your spirit."
God pauses, and asks, “Why must this be necessary?”
The child replies, “Because you alone are glorious. I cannot respect anything that is not glorious like you. I must see you in them—indeed, I must feel you in them—in order to love them.”
Would God approve?
No. God would not approve. Because true love is not mystical.
True love is not dependent on glimpses of the divine or on some inner vision of glory. It does not require that the beloved shimmer with holiness. It does not wait for spiritual ecstasy or sacred signs. True love is grounded, ordinary, difficult, and faithful. It is about presence, about patience, about attention. It is love for others as they are—not as reflections, not as revelations, but as themselves.
If mysticism is understood as seeing God in the world, then God is not a mystic. God does not love the world because God sees God’s self in it. God loves the world because the world is lovable. Because the creatures are worth loving. Not as icons, not as symbols, but as beings with value in and of themselves.
God does not wait for signs of divinity before loving. God does not require perfection, insight, or even gratitude. God loves what is vulnerable, what is struggling, what is confused. God loves the parts of the world that seem furthest from any glory. That is why God's love is trustworthy. It is not mystical—it is real.
I learned the heart of this lesson many years ago from a rabbi who visited my classroom. We had just finished a week discussing a form of Hindu mysticism that sees the world as an emanation of the divine, like sparks from the sun. The students were so taken with this image that they began to dismiss any worldview that dared suggest the world is anything other than God.
One student, with a hint of a sneer, raised his hand and asked, “Am I right that Judaism does not see the world as God?”
The rabbi, without missing a beat, gave the warmest, brightest smile and said: “We Jews—we like being not God.”
I’ve never forgotten that answer. It was full of joy, full of dignity, and full of love for the world as it is—not because it glows with divine fire, but because it is other, distinct, real, and worthy. That is the heart of the matter. The worth of the world does not lie in its resemblance to God. It lies in its own existence, its own integrity, its own becoming.
And so God would say:
“Love them not because they are like me, but because they are themselves.
That is how I love you—not because you reflect me, but because you are you.
And I want you to do the same.”
Imagine that God is like a parent to the world, and that all people—and indeed all creatures—are like God’s children. Imagine that God's deepest desire is that these children love one another, just as God loves them. God loves each one on its own terms, for its own sake, not because it reflects something else.
Now imagine that one of God's children says, "I will love my neighbors, human and non-human alike, only if I can see some trace of you in them. I will love them only if I can see them as reflections of your glory or embodiments of your spirit."
God pauses, and asks, “Why must this be necessary?”
The child replies, “Because you alone are glorious. I cannot respect anything that is not glorious like you. I must see you in them—indeed, I must feel you in them—in order to love them.”
Would God approve?
No. God would not approve. Because true love is not mystical.
True love is not dependent on glimpses of the divine or on some inner vision of glory. It does not require that the beloved shimmer with holiness. It does not wait for spiritual ecstasy or sacred signs. True love is grounded, ordinary, difficult, and faithful. It is about presence, about patience, about attention. It is love for others as they are—not as reflections, not as revelations, but as themselves.
If mysticism is understood as seeing God in the world, then God is not a mystic. God does not love the world because God sees God’s self in it. God loves the world because the world is lovable. Because the creatures are worth loving. Not as icons, not as symbols, but as beings with value in and of themselves.
God does not wait for signs of divinity before loving. God does not require perfection, insight, or even gratitude. God loves what is vulnerable, what is struggling, what is confused. God loves the parts of the world that seem furthest from any glory. That is why God's love is trustworthy. It is not mystical—it is real.
I learned the heart of this lesson many years ago from a rabbi who visited my classroom. We had just finished a week discussing a form of Hindu mysticism that sees the world as an emanation of the divine, like sparks from the sun. The students were so taken with this image that they began to dismiss any worldview that dared suggest the world is anything other than God.
One student, with a hint of a sneer, raised his hand and asked, “Am I right that Judaism does not see the world as God?”
The rabbi, without missing a beat, gave the warmest, brightest smile and said: “We Jews—we like being not God.”
I’ve never forgotten that answer. It was full of joy, full of dignity, and full of love for the world as it is—not because it glows with divine fire, but because it is other, distinct, real, and worthy. That is the heart of the matter. The worth of the world does not lie in its resemblance to God. It lies in its own existence, its own integrity, its own becoming.
And so God would say:
“Love them not because they are like me, but because they are themselves.
That is how I love you—not because you reflect me, but because you are you.
And I want you to do the same.”