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Mystical Experience: Unveiling The Veiled: Katherine E. Godby
Mystical Experience: Unveiling The Veiled: Katherine E. Godby
Pastoral Psychology [pspy] ph097-pasp-368093 January 28, 2002 16:19 Style file version Nov. 19th, 1999
Mystical experience is not unusual. Nearly half of all Americans report having
had one or more mystical experiences. The author looks at how these experiences
are moments of knowing—Do they unveil what is hidden?—and at how pastoral
theologians and clinicians may help others come to understand their experience.
Some thoughts on what this area of study may contribute to pastoral theology and
pastoral counseling are also provided.
KEY WORDS: mysticism; epistemology; Paul Ricoeur; William James.
1 KatherineGodby is a Ph.D. candidate at Brite Divinity School, Texas Christian University, Texas.
She received her M.Div. at Brite and is ordained in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ).
Address correspondence to Katherine Godby, 3432 Rogers Avenue, Ft. Worth, TX 76109; e-mail:
katherineg@mindspring.com.
231
0031-2789/02/0300-0231/0 °
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232 Godby
What happened to Anne likely resonates with others who have had similar
mystical experiences. This article is a brief examination of these experiences. I am
interested first of all in their epistemology. In what sense are mystical experiences
moments of knowing? Do they unveil what is hidden? I set the stage by delineating
two basic epistemological stances and two types of mystical experiences. One of
these types of experiences is staunchly disputed by constructivist philosophers,
and I contrast their argument with postconstructivist claims regarding the possi-
bility of transcultural phenomena. The postconstructivist scholar, Robert Forman,
whose argument I briefly describe, however, remains strictly subjective and posits
no “givenness” about mystical experiences whatsoever. William James offers an
intriguing epistemology that is not only open to both constructivist and post-
constructivist claims, but in some ways goes beyond them both by positing that
mystical experiences may indeed unveil what is hidden. I then briefly exam-
ine Jamesian notions regarding how a field model of reality might explain how
mystical experiences connect the mystic to God.
I am also interested how pastoral theologians may come to better understand
mystical experiences. The hermeneutics of Paul Ricoeur offers an engaging lens
in this regard, and I offer a preliminary translation model based on his thought. I
conclude with a word about how mystical experience as a part of the psychology
of religion may contribute to the work of pastoral theology.
The whole of human life may be thought of as one vast exercise in knowing.
From those mysterious moments on the cusp between slumber and wakefulness
to the equally mysterious moments just before we lose consciousness and enter a
world of dreams, every movement we make is based on knowing something. Our
senses, volition, thoughts, emotions, perceptions, intention, and more—indeed,
all aspects of what it means to be an embodied self—work together to provide a
kind of certainty that allows us to function. In my subjective experience, I awake
to a piercing sound and perceive an object outside of me next to the bed. In a
tremendously complex exercise involving all kinds of mind/body connections,
I groggily construct “ALARM CLOCK,” fill that construction with a certain meaning
(UGH! TIME TO GET UP!), and reach out to muzzle its hideous clamor. For better or
worse, this is the ordinary way of knowing.
Non-ordinary ways of knowing, on the other hand, can mean a host of dif-
ferent things—from paranormal/pathological experiences of all types to religious
experiences, some of which are said to be mystical. Anne’s experience in California
illustrates well this second epistemological stance with which I am concerned. Her
sense of nonseparateness at the heart of reality and her sense of having been given
certain insight into the way things are constitute the most crucial components in
what I mean by mystical experience.
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The Greek mystery cults gave us the adjective mystikos, providing us today
with an etymological foundation linking the mystical with knowing, for the cults
involved a higher and secret form of knowledge (Dupre and Wiseman, 1988). Al-
though knowledge is apprehended in various ways, three forms are fairly common
in the Christian mystical literature. Ecstasy is literally a “going-out” from oneself
that enables a type of cognition such that divine things may be known. Illumination
is an apprehension of the Absolute or another order of reality, and a movement
of consciousness from a centeredness in self to a centeredness in God (Underhill,
1995, p. 169, 233–234). Infused contemplation is a “supreme manifestation of that
indivisible power of knowing” in which one grasps Reality itself (Underhill, 1955,
329–330).
Scholars generally agree that in a mystical experience either the mystic is
“given” certain knowledge during the experience itself or the experience itself is
free of all content and the mystic comes to “know” something after the experience.
In both instances this knowledge is said to transcend the usual human ways of
knowing. Richard H. Jones delineates these two types of mystical experiences as
either “nature-mystical” or “depth mystical.” The former occurs when sensory and
some kind of conceptual awareness remain present, as in Anne’s visual conception
of her body in the shape of a cross. While a perception of a subject merging with an
object (or with all of reality) may be present, a sense of differentiation within the
whole remains detectable. In nature-mystical experiences, knowledge is obtained
during the experience itself. By contrast, in the “depth-mystical experience” the
mind is completely stilled or emptied. The mystic has no sense of differentiation
and her or his mind is free of all conceptual and sensory content whatsoever.
Knowledge comes only after the depth-mystical experience is over (Jones, 1993).
The claim of “depth-mystical experience” is philosophically controversial.
Philosophers liken this type of experience to a PCE, Pure Consciousness Event, and
define them both as claims of unmediated, contentless awareness—states of con-
sciousness empty of thought and containing no subject/object dichotomy (Barnard,
1997). One part of the epistemological debate centers on mystics’ claim, based
on their own experience, that PCE’s do exist, versus philosophers like Steven
T. Katz who maintain that PCE’s cannot possibly exist because all experience
is constructed and has a conceptual element. Some mystical experiences, cer-
tainly those of Buddhist flavor, are not described as PCE-like contentless expe-
riences. Content is part of the experience, but the Buddhist mystic maintains an
attitude of non-attachment toward it. The similarity lies in an eventual awareness of
nonseparateness.
Katz expresses a certain frustration with adherents’ assertion that unless one
is already a mystic, there is little chance of true understanding (1978):
A body of literature [is created] which is primarily enthusiastic, committed, and personal
rather than sober, careful, and reasonable. Thus, generally, the studies produced under these
inspirations have the dubious distinction of preaching to the converted while dismissing
the “unenlightened” as poor souls who must still await their entrance into this enchanted
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234 Godby
mystical paradise. At the same time such approaches usually limit, a priori, all serious
conversation about the subject and certainly preclude it altogether between the mystic and
the non-mystic. (p. 2)
He carries this view as well into the mystics’ reporting of the “givenness” or
“suchness” of a mystical experience:
Closely allied to the erroneous contention that we can achieve a state of pure conscious-
ness is the oft used notion of the “given” or the “suchness” or the “real” to describe the
pure state of mystical experience which transcends all contextual epistemological col-
oring. But what sense to these terms have? . . . Analysis of these terms indicates their
relativity . . . Phenomenologists seem especially prone to this fruitless naivety—all intuit
the “given” but their intuitions differ significantly . . . [T]here is no evidence that there is
any “given” which can be disclosed without the imposition of the mediating conditions of
the knower. All “givens” are also the product of the processes of choosing, shaping and
receiving. (pp. 58–59)
Constructivists argue that the mediated aspect of experience means that mysticism
is no indicator of any kind of ultimate reality. Postconstructivists like Franklin
counter that while any one culture may indeed produce a certain flavor of mysti-
cism, the experience of “passing beyond discursive thought into nonseparateness
would remain a transcultural phenomenon” (p. 242).
Forman’s brand of postconstructivism, which he calls perennial psychology,
argues that mysticism is an expression of our own consciousness, of awareness
itself. He writes that
Those constructivists who have suggested that remembering a PCE necessarily signifies
that one was using language, thinking thoughts, or remembering something in particular
were wrong. They have misunderstood the nature of awareness’s self-recollection. While
we often employ these processes to think about ourselves, awareness’s merely tying itself
together through time is of a wholly different order—and it is that other order that is tapped
by . . . mystics. (1998, p. 27)
This awareness of our own consciousness is “separate from all sensation, percep-
tion, and thought, and thus separate from the cultural aspects of human experience”
(p. viii). He also asserts that this ability to become aware of our own consciousness
is sui generis, reflexive and self-referential, and an immediate and direct form of
knowledge. It is an innate human capacity, arising from deep structures within the
psyche which enable it. For Forman, however, this unique capacity is kept within
the bounds of subjectivism. He makes no claims for it to serve as a bridge to an
objective other.
The epistemology of William James does offer a bridge to an objective other,
and it is to his work that I now turn. James acknowledges that mystical experi-
ences are shaped by our cultural, linguistic, social, and historical milieu. Indeed,
according to G. William Barnard, James often stresses that our minds construct
sensory data into recognizable forms so that what we perceive attains meaning.
We are “co-creators” of the world we experience (1997, p. 123). This creative
action takes place by selecting certain aspects of our experience to notice. Such
things as cultural assumptions and memory, personal desires and interests, and the
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236 Godby
spacio-temporal aspect of the mind all play an important role in which aspects of
the chaos of experience we choose to help us construct reality (pp. 123–124).
For James, however, this is not the end of the epistemological story. Unlike
the constructivists, a radical empiricist understanding of mysticism is open also to
the objective otherness present in many mystical experiences. While the world is
“malleable, waiting to receive its final touches at our hands” (Barnard, 1997, 125),
it is also given to us. We can change it somewhat, but we do not create it per se.
The constructivism advocated by Katz and others has:
. . . difficulty accounting for any mystical experiences that appear to contradict the mystic’s
theological and cultural assumptions, since these experiences are understood as completely
constituted by those very assumptions. James’s “incomplete constructivism,” however, can
easily account for [them], since it postulates the existence of an extra “something” that is op-
erative within mystical experiences in additional to the mystic’s psychological and cultural
categories, “something” that the mystic finds (or that finds the mystic), . . . “something” that
has . . . the power necessary to transform the mystic’s self-understandings and tacit world-
views. This “something” is malleable; it can and does appear to mystics in forms that they
are most easily able to comprehend, but it also can and often does appear to mystics in ways
that they never imagined, in ways that confound the mystics’ personal expectations and
cultural assumptions, in ways that surprise and disturb them. (Barnard, 1997, pp. 125–126)
both a “field of consciousness” and the physical object, yet remaining one thing. My
flow of consciousness—with its cognitions, feelings, categorizations, movements,
etc.—ends in the present moment and intersects with the box-shaped object with
numbers that shine in the dark, which is also here in the present moment. Since
there are consequences, obviously, to this intersection, James would say that we
can classify the experience as at least partially objective.
The distinction between subjective and objective experience is not made from
some inherent quality, but rather from the context or function of the experience. In
this way James notes that since mystical experiences often carry significant con-
sequences, we cannot simply dismiss them as totally subjective. Plus, when the
overall subject/object distinction itself is called into question, the mystics’ claim
of nonseparateness, i.e., the mystics’ claim to know a distinct realm of being, is
fortified (Barnard, 1997, p. 144). By maintaining that experience arises from a
more basic non-dual reality and by placing the distinction between subjective and
objective experience in the context or function of the experience itself, James offers
an epistemology that bridges the chasm between constructivism and postconstruc-
tivism. The non-dual reality posits a given and the specific context or function of
the experience will depend on our construction of it.
The non-dual foundation of experience has important ramifications in
Jamesian thought. Throughout the whole body of his work, Barnard notes James’
continuing attempts to address issues of unity within diversity, the many and the
one, etc. After all, how are differences to be accounted for when working from
a foundation of non-dualism? How can a Christian mysticism viewing God as
“wholly other” explain the mystical experience of unity? And how can monistic
traditions in which All Is One account for ordinary experiences of subject/object
dichotomy (p. 208)?
In response to these questions, Jamesian epistemology posits the field model
of self and reality. This theory begins with the notion of the compounding of
consciousness, which means that simpler states of consciousness combine to form
complex states of consciousness. For example, as I move to turn off the alarm clock
buzzer, I feel irritated, I think “I don’t want to get up yet!,” I realize I’m too groggy to
hit the “off” button with precision, and I feel the air on my arm and realize it’s cold
outside the covers. All of these separate awarenesses, feelings, movements, and
thoughts are simple, diverse states of consciousness, but they are experienced as a
unity. When this unity-within-diversity aspect of our consciousness was added to
his already formulated nonduality of pure experience, James concluded that reality
was more than logic alone (Barnard, 1997, p. 200). He realized that the immediate
feeling of life “has no problems with a oneness that is also a manyness, or with
the philosophical dilemma of how something could possibly be itself and yet still
manage to be connected with something else” (p. 201).
From this base, James began to envision reality as fields of energy. And he
began to see individuals not as monads with an essential unchanging core, but
as constantly moving, porous fields—fields of behavior, hopes and anticipations,
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238 Godby
he says he lives. His answer is basically “Yes,” that perhaps in reflecting on the
experience of death something fundamental may express itself. He likens this to
the experiences of mystics, of which he has no experience at all, he says. He then
quickly moves on to talk about areas that have been of interest to him (Ricoeur,
1998, p. 145). Although I believe this translation model is beneficial, I am aware of
using Ricoeur’s work in a limited and incomplete way. It is not in any kind of one-
to-one correspondence but rather in a fairly loose sense that I am proposing a link
between Ricoeur’s text and “mystical experience,” between reader and “mystic.”
One of the most important applications of Ricoeur’s hermeneutics to mystical
experience is the crucial role he gives to reason and to meticulous intellectual anal-
ysis. In his study of Freud, for instance, Ricoeur identified two types of language:
language of force and language of meaning. The language of force included Freud’s
sense that human beings are subject to certain internal drives that determine our
behavior. The language of meaning pointed toward the understanding of symbols
and symbolic acts (Thiselton, 1992). But even when Ricoeur is moving inside
the language of symbol, myth and poetry, he insists on rigorous methodologies,
rarely if ever resorting to human intuitive capacities. This provides a helpful bal-
ance in interpreting mystical experience. Despite thoroughgoing inquiry, as James
and others have provided regarding epistemological foundations for mysticism,
pastoral theologians require an exacting interpretive method to help people avoid
the dangers of a radical and perhaps dangerous subjectivity. I will look briefly at
some specifics below, but before that, three preliminary areas of convergence must
be delineated.
First, in Ricoeur’s hermeneutics, texts have immense power to disclose whole
new worlds, and the worlds they make known have the power to transcend the im-
mediate situation of the text itself and of the reader. Indeed, the relationship between
the text and the reader is a reciprocal one. Readers interpret the text, but texts also
interpret readers by confronting them with new possibilities, new concepts, news
ways-of-being in the world, etc. which the reader may then appropriate or not. If
the new world is appropriated, the reader is then empowered to transcend her or
his immediate situation (Capps, 1984).
Second, in his interest in what kind of world the texts open up, Ricoeur
pays close attention to genre. In developing a hermeneutic of revelation, he lists
five types of biblical genre, each of which in its own way provides a doorway
to an aspect of revelation. Prophetic discourse, for instance, carries within it the
implication of a Voice behind the voice (Ricoeur, 1977, p. 25), while in wisdom
literature, the sage “knows that wisdom precedes him” and that he “participates in
wisdom,” which is held to be a gift from God (p. 13).
Third, understanding how a text opens up a new world is accomplished, for
Ricoeur, through an analysis of metaphor. Metaphors allow multiple meanings to
address the reader who can choose to stay within its local, immediate meaning or
move into its broader, world-disclosive meaning.
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242 Godby
have much potential for a powerful harmonization with aspects of quantum physics
as well as with the neuropsychological study of consciousness.
At its heart, this article has looked at an intellectual synthesis of science
and religion, reason and faith. The desire for this synthesis no doubt arises from
the human quest for knowledge, the desire to allay a dark ontological anxiety
with a sense of certainty’s light, and the intuition that mystical experience may
indeed provide a brilliant window into ultimate reality. I think it appropriate then
to conclude, from a faith perspective, with the words of Evelyn Underhill who
writes of mystics coming back to us:
. . . from an encounter with life’s most august secret, as Mary came running from the tomb;
filled with amazing tidings which they can hardly tell. We, longing for some assurance,
and seeing their radiant faces, urge them to pass on their revelation if they can . . . But they
cannot say: can only report fragments of the symbolic vision, not the inner content, the final
divine certainty. (1955, p 450)
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