Philosopher, author responds to 'a world of woe'

At a time when many people feel disconnected and uncertain about what gives life meaning — "a world of woe," as he describes — philosopher Simon Critchley invites readers to explore mysticism as a way to deepen their everyday lives.

Critchley is the author of a multitude of books on a variety of topics — Greek tragedy, football, David Bowie — and his most recent philosophical publication explores the belief system and spiritual as a way to push back against the violent pressure of reality.

This week, he will bring his philosophy to two upcoming events at the Humanities Institute. 

Read the below Q&A with Critchley to learn more about how he responds to being human in a constantly changing world.

Question: You’re the author of some 40 books on a variety of topics. What made you choose to write about mysticism, and how is it different from other books you have written?

Answer: I wanted to explore the transformative potential of mysticism as a remedy for the pervasive melancholy and doubt of the modern world. By examining the lives and writings of figures like Julian of Norwich, Meister Eckhart and Marguerite Porete, I wanted to illustrate how self-annihilation and detachment can lead to a state of ecstasy and "released existence." Mysticism is not merely a religious historical artifact but an aesthetic experience found in art, poetry and music, where the boundaries of the self dissolve.

Ultimately, I wanted to write in a way that pushes aside the ego, and where readers can transition from misery to a profound sense of liberation and joy. For me, it represents something new in my writing and thinking.

Q: It is very hard to convey mystical experience. How were you able to write about the ineffable? And what advice do you have for faculty and graduate students looking to transfer their complex experiences and ideas to the page?

A: We begin from the idea that the divine is incomprehensible and ineffable. But all the mystics insist on trying to "eff" the ineffable. This requires persistence and tireless effort — what the ancients called "askesis" or "studium." This is what it means to be a student in my view.

Q: With your band suggestions, we recently curated a Spotify playlist exploring themes of mysticism. Can you talk about some of these bands or songs and how they fit with your ideas on mysticism?

A: I don't know how they fit with mysticism really, but these are some of the songs that first opened up my self and the world. Listen to “Hallogallo” by NEU! and just relax into it. In my view, music allows us to inhabit an animistic, vibrant world.

Q: We're looking forward to welcoming you to the desert for events on Jan. 29 and 30. What are your favorite stories of desert mystics?

A: In the mystical tradition, the desert is a recurring figure that belongs to a poetics of negation, standing alongside themes of darkness, annihilation and the abyss. It serves as both a literal and a figurative landscape for the logic of ascending negations, where the mystic moves away from creaturely attachments to peer toward the divine.

The concept is deeply rooted in the historical practices of the Desert Fathers, such as Saint Anthony, who pioneered the movement of anachoresis — a retreat from the city into the solitude of the wilderness. To these early monks, the desert was a "temple without walls" and a "mystical laboratory" where one could encounter God. This environment facilitated the cultivation of hesychia (stillness) and apatheia (equanimity), even as the seeker had to struggle against the "noonday demon" of listlessness and the heaviness of depression.

Theologically, the image of the desert reaches its most radical expression in the work of Meister Eckhart, who uses it to describe the "Godhead." He speaks of the "quiet desert into which distinction never gazed," representing a sheer, open One where the soul and God enter a zone of indistinction. This is a place where both the soul and God evaporate in the "shimmering desert heat" of mutual emptying. While I find this image powerful, I sometimes worry it is too arid to capture the dynamic, fluid flux of the released existence I seek to describe.

Finally, the desert remains a potent symbol in modern aesthetic experience, such as in T. S. Eliot’s “Four Quartets,” where the "Word in the desert" hovers like a mirage, receding even as it is approached by words that slip, slide and perish. Whether as a literal site of withdrawal or a conceptual landscape for the "via negativa," the desert remains the essential terrain for those seeking to "nothing themselves" to find what lies beyond the self.