Why I'm Hard On Scholars Who Study Mystics

One thing you're bound to notice as you read my posts is that I'm very hard on mystics.

I'm also very hard on scholars and academicians who write about mystics.

Let me put it this way: in one of my recent theology classes, a senior professor recommended that we read Evelyn Underhill's book Mysticism: The Nature and Development of Spiritual Consciousness if we wanted to understand more about the nature of Christian mysticism. The problem I have with this book is twofold: (1) Evelyn Underhill was not a practising mystic herself, and was writing from an academic perspective, and (2) Evelyn Underhill first published her book in 1911. That's one hundred years ago, folks. I can't imagine in all honesty that I would be urged to study a 100 year old textbook in any other field. (Can you imagine what that would be like in a field like chemistry?) Yet this book is still in print, and is still available on the bookshelves of regular bookstores. (I bought a spanking new softcover copy at an Anglican bookstore in 2009). This kind of stubborn denial in the world of theology makes me want to metaphorically pull out my hair by its little grey roots.

For the sake of scholarly balance, a much more recent book that is well researched is The Essential Writings of Christian Mysticism, edited by Bernard McGinn (New York: Modern Library-Random House, 2006).

McGinn's book is a collection of short pieces written by well-known and lesser-known Christian mystics over the past two millennia. He provides a short introduction to each mystic, but he allows the reader to hear the mystics speak in their own words. His approach is in sharp contrast to Underhill's approach. Underhill, in my view, does not show an understanding of her own limits, and seems to believe she is within her rights to make factual claims about the characteristics and interior experiences of Christian mystics.

Thank you kindly, Ms. Underhill, but some of the mystical experiences you describe in your book sound to me an awful lot like various forms of serious mental illness, and I wouldn't be recommending those pursuits to anybody who cares about their mental, spiritual, physical, and emotional health.

Of course, I understand that Underhill was writing her book at a time when research in the fields of psychiatry and psychology was still young, and advanced investigations in neurophysiology and neuroplasticity hadn't yet been contemplated. I get that. What I don't get is the church's refusal to revise its theological understanding of mysticism in light of new neuro-psychiatric research. What I don't get is the desire to shield the church from the realities of science, especially in the tricky areas of prophecy and mysticism. The Christian church was founded on prophecy (revelation) and mysticism. There would be no church without the claims made by early prophets and mystics. You'd think the church would desperately want to know how to use modern scientific advances to help them better understand what makes prophets and mystics tick.

Mystics who take themselves too seriously will be reminded by God to be more humble and more aware of their personal limitations. Mystics are no more important to God than any other human beings.

 

But, of course, if the church took the bold step of researching its closetful of prophets and mystics, some of its traditional heroes might not look so good anymore. And then the church would have to start rethinking some of its doctrinal positions.

You know, stuff like . . . oh, Original Sin. Adam and Eve and the Fall. The Devil. Judgment Day. All that kind of paranoid, obsessive-compulsive, DSM-IV-TR Axis I and II stuff. The kind of thinking that responds really well to a properly managed treatment course with olanzapine.*

Yeah, well, call me a cynic, but when you've had five years of experience working in a lay capacity in the field of psychiatry, it's pretty hard not to think in psychiatric terms when you read some of the things that Christian mystics have written over the centuries.

As a practising mystic, I would never say that mystical experiences don't exist or can't exist. I would never say that all reported mystical experiences are the result of mental illness. I would never say that all reported mystical experiences are pure fabrication, either. But some reported experiences are caused by mental illness, and some reported experiences are pure fabrication.

The trick is to be able to sort out the genuine mystics from both the tragically mentally ill and the enthusiastic fakers. We need science on our side to do this.

That's why I would like to see an introductory course on neuroscience as a requirement in the theological curriculum.


* olanzapine is the generic name for an atypical antipsychotic medication that is particularly useful in the treatment of schizophrenia and psychotic depression.

My Big Fat Idiot Stage

If you had asked me when I was ten years old what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would have said unhesitatingly, "An archaeologist!" I was in grade 5 when this fancy first came upon me. It seemed like a pipe dream then. I didn't know any archaeologists. Up until then, an occasional summer's day spent rock-hounding was the closest I'd come to the somewhat strange avocation of carefully sifting through ancient layers of dirt to uncover their buried stories. But when I was 10, I fell in love with the idea of archaeology. If the Indiana Jones movies had existed at that time, I'm sure they would have been my favourite films.

The house where we lived until I was about 5.

I wasn't that far off, as it turns out. When I was in Grade 13, I was invited to participate in a 2-week archaeological dig at an historical site in Toronto. When I was an undergraduate university student, I worked for three summers at a Toronto area museum. Then a dream come true . . . graduate school in the field of art conservation, with the chance to work on museum objects. I knew that if I had the chance, I'd like to work on site as an archaeological conservator. So I was pretty close to my childhood fascination.

But, you know, the universe had other ideas about what I ought to be doing, and a week after I finished the research paper for my graduate degree, I was pregnant. By the time I was 25 years old, I was a full-time married stay-at-home mom (a choice I was very happy with).  

Not that I left behind my interests -- I took them in new directions. By the time I was in my early 40's, ready to start my full-blown mid-life crisis, I found some new layers of dirt with buried secrets to dig in. That's when I began my spiritual journey.  

You have to understand that until I hit age 40, I was the most ordinary middle-class Canadian you can imagine. My spiritual experiences had been modest, to say the least, even when my younger son had died of leukemia when he was 3 years old (and I was 31). This had changed me, of course, but it had changed me at an emotional level rather than at a spiritual level. I had become less harsh and less judgmental towards others as a result of our family's terrible trauma. But I can't honestly say I understood God any better when my son went through the hell of cancer treatments, and I can't say I liked God any better when my son died. My then-husband, who was a devout Baptist-High Anglican (go figure) seemed to have some pretty old fashioned fears about divine punishment being visited upon the sons, although he wisely didn't express such thoughts in front of our older son. I basically thought God was being pretty mean. I don't think that now, but that's what I thought in 1989.  

Some years later, in 1998, I started to ask spiritual questions. I didn't know what I was looking for -- I just felt an inner impulse to search for, well, to search for answers. The fact that I didn't understand the questions was no impediment to my search for answers. This is how I led myself down the garden path. This is how I spent several years of my life -- right up until mid-2003, in fact -- in my Big Fat Idiot Stage.  

In my Big Fat Idiot Stage, I read tons of New Age material. I read most of the "big names" in the New Age field. I started with Brian Weiss (Many Lives, Many Masters) and Elizabeth Stratton. I took Reiki classes (this turned out to be a huge part of my Idiot Stage), and I avidly read books by Barbara Ann Brennan (Hands of Light) and many others. When I read Neale Donald Walsch's first book in the "Conversations With God" series, I thought I'd struck spiritual gold. And when I first read Eckhart Tolle's The Power of Now, I thought I'd finally found the "answers." 

I still own copies of these books in case I need to transcribe exact quotes from them, but I now keep these books in my "Toxic Book" section. I also keep a copy of Rhonda Byrne's The Secret in my "Toxic Book" section. I tell you this so you'll know ahead of time that you won't see me promoting any of the ideas put forward by these New Age writers. 

Some of these New Age ideas, interestingly, are not new at all, but in fact are very old -- much older than the oldest parts of the Hebrew Bible. So you also won't see me promoting the sections in the Hebrew Scriptures and the New Testament that promote these damaging "New Age" teachings. These teachings should come with a warning tag on them: Warning: Insistence on Scrupulously Following These Teachings Will Turn You Into A Big Fat Idiot, And Cause You to Embarrass Yourself And Your Family In Ways You Never Thought Possible.

Yes, I have no one but myself to blame for the time in my life when I embarrassed myself and my family by naively embracing the messages of these books. 

During my Big Fat Idiot Stage, I foolishly co-purchased this humongous country house with a Reiki master who prophesied that our spiritual healing centre would be a huge success. It wasn't.

  

As it turned out, I eventually found redemption in the teachings of Jesus, although how this happened, and why, is not the usual story.  

My journey of redemption began when I realized that I hadn't lost the scholarly skills of my younger years, that I could bring that process of methodically digging away at different layers -- each with its own story to tell -- to the mysterious journey of spiritual healing.  

That's when my work really began as a scientifically oriented, liberal, blond mystic.  

That's when I turned to my background in hard science, especially Chemistry, and to my five years' of work experience in the mental health field to help me begin to ask what the questions were.  

That's when I finally started to grow up.

The Blonde Mystic

Okay, so I'm a blonde mystic. What's the big deal about that? 

June 2014

 It's not a big deal at all if you believe, as I do, that the call to be a mystic is no better than -- and no more extraordinary than -- the call to be a teacher or a police officer or a nurse or whatever. I have a job to do, and I try to do the best job I can. I'm no different than anybody else who feels drawn to a particular path. My path is a bit uncommon, but I take it seriously, just as teachers and police officers and nurses take their paths seriously. 

I do not subscribe to the orthodox Christian view that says contemplatives and mystics have a "higher calling" than other Christians. This is the view that puts monks and nuns in a special category compared to other people.* It says this select group of people is closer to God, higher on the ladder of ascent, or chosen -- take your pick. I think this traditional view of "spiritual ascent" is a big part of the problem with orthodox Christianity. 

I usually don't tell educated Christians about my daily mystical practice. I keep my practice to myself because I'm kind of tired of having other Christians make the false assumption that I think I'm better than they are. I don't think that. I think we're all in this life together, walking side by side, rather than trying to scramble up some sort of spiritual ladder (and mashing each other's spiritual fingers in the process.) "Different" shouldn't be a synonym for "better," although the history of Christianity is in some ways the history of certain groups of people believing they are both different and better than everybody else. 

Police officers have a different path from nurses, but police officers aren't "better" than nurses. Same thing with mystics. Mystics have a different path from most people, but they aren't "better" than other people. I just want to be clear about that. 

I am no longer a natural blond. I was blond as a child, but later my hair darkened, and after that my hair turned grey. I am a blond thanks to chemical intervention from L'Oreal. I am a blond because I'm not an ascetic. 

I'm not an ascetic because I live according to a "mystical rule" of moderation, balance, common sense, and brain health. 

These four "rules,"especially the rule about brain health, put me far outside the traditional understanding of how Christian mystics live. But I'm a person of science as well as a person of mystical inclination, and recent advances in neurophysiology have convinced me that many traditional mystical practices are dangerous and have no place whatsoever in the modern church. This is why I don't fast as part of my spiritual practice. 

Intentional, long-term fasting for "spiritual" reasons will damage anyone's brain. (Naturally, I'm not talking about short-term occasions of fasting that may arise, which your body can handle.) I'm a mystic who believes in eating balanced foods in moderation because God seems to have designed the brain with a balanced lifestyle in mind for everyone, including mystics.

Crazy ol' me, thinkin' my brain and body are a natural, beautiful part of God's creation! 

As I said above, I am NOT a Gnostic. I'm a mystic who thinks we should be listening more to what God is saying through science, and less to what Christian tradition is saying through, well, tradition, when it comes to healthy spiritual practices. 

I'm a fully practising mystic who thinks it is irresponsible and naive for church leaders to ignore the serious health risks that arise when traditional ascetic practices are embraced. 

If I didn't know better, I might think the church was more interested in preserving its traditions than in protecting and enhancing the mental, physical, and spiritual health of its congregants! 

Gosh . . . where would I get such an idea?

  * If you want to read more about this tradition, you can check out the chapter called "The Monk Who Rules the World" in Jaroslav Pelikan, Jesus Through the Centuries: His Place in the History of Culture (New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 1985).

Some Reference Books I Read & Recommend

I think it's important that readers have a chance to assess a writer based on the writer's own influences. The contents of a writer's own bookshelves tell you something about the core perspectives of the person.

(Notice how I made the assumption that writers have more than one bookshelf!)

The books related to Christianity that I resonate most strongly with are books that are written for a lay audience by highly respected academic researchers who are not afraid to ask difficult questions, and are not afraid to cross the tightly drawn lines that artificially separate academic disciplines from each other. (As one example, biblical scholars and systematic theologians and religious studies scholars often won't speak to each other.)

In other words, I like books that are clearly written, well researched, and inter-disciplinary.

Some favourite books (c) JAT 2015

I write notes all over my books, which is why I try to buy books rather than borrow them from the library. I'm on a budget, though, so I look for good reference material in used bookstores, etc. I've never met a dictionary I didn't like.

A lot of today's progressive Christians are reading books by Marcus Borg, John Dominic Crossan, and John Shelby Spong. I have books by these authors on my bookshelves, but these aren't the books I go back to, and these aren't the books I would recommend. These well-respected scholars are trying to reenvision Christianity, and I respect their motives, but I disagree with their suggestions about how to do it. I don't think they're asking the right questions.

One book I really like is York University professor Barrie Wilson's How Jesus Became Christian (Toronto: Random House Canada, 2008). Don't be put off by the cover, which is really, really dreadful (sorry Dr. Wilson!), and is a good example of why authors should try to get "veto rights" in their publishing contract for the title and the book design. Interestingly, Wilson says he was raised Episcopalian, but converted to Judaism because of the latter's emphasis on praxis rather than "belief." I've been wondering if the word he was really looking for was "fideism" (blind faith) rather than "belief."

I also like Bart Ehrman's books. He has written a lot of material for lay audiences, and some of it has enraged conservative and evangelical Christians. (After his 2005 book Misquoting Jesus became a hot seller, angry rebuttals in book form began to appear.) I don't agree with Ehrman's interpretation of Jesus as an apocalyptic prophet, but at least he's not afraid to boldly outline the many inconsistencies and competing agendas of the biblical authors and their early Christian followers. Ehrman, like Wilson, has allowed his research to affect his personal life. In his youth, Ehrman was a devout evangelical Christian. He is now an agnostic.

I enjoyed Elaine Pagels's 1988 book Adam, Eve, and the Serpent (New York: Vintage-Random House, 1988). Her historical synthesis was daring for the time, and her conclusions were controversial. (She dared to suggest that Christianity ought to reappraise Augustine's "singular dominance" in Western Christianity.) Pagels is better known, though, for her work on the Nag Hammadi texts, and the Gospel of Thomas in particular. I would like to emphasize here -- strongly, and in bold letters -- that I, personally, am not a Gnostic. As I continue to post in the future on this blog, it will become clear why I feel I must clearly state that I do not hold Gnostic beliefs. (I guess I'm a little touchy because some Christians I've encountered who ought to know better, because they're experts in their fields, have an unfortunate tendency to conflate Gnosticism with anything non-Newtonian. I don't think this is an acceptable scholarly attitude in the new era of quantum entanglement/non-locality.)

I also really enjoy reading the bimonthly magazine Biblical Archaeology Review, which is available on good newsstands, including Chapters/Indigo. Ya gotta love editor Herschel Shanks's pluckiness. Plus the photographs and maps that accompany the articles add an interesting dimension to the material. (As I mentioned in my profile, I come from a family of teachers and artists, so I'm drawn to educational materials that have a strong visual component.)

One last reference source I should mention is the Bible. In my research, I mostly use The New Oxford Annotated Bible: New Revised Standard Version with Apocrypha and The Jewish Study Bible: Featuring the Jewish Publication Society TANAKH Translation. Both these Bibles include extensive footnotes and scholarly articles. The translations are based on the most current and most comprehensive translation methods. But no translation of the Bible is written in stone. I use the Bible as historical source material, not as "inviolable truth" or the literal "Word of God." There's good stuff in the Bible, but there's also some stuff that's gotta go. When I say it's "gotta go," I don't mean it should be physically removed from the Bible, because that would be the same thing as burning books, and burning books is too close to fascism, if you ask me. I mean there are parts of the Bible that need to be reappraised in light of what they actually say about our relationship with God. We need to be honest about what some parts say, and we need to decide whether or not those parts can be "redeemed."

That was kind of long and boring, but I'm trying to show that I hold the methods of historical research and scientific research in high regard.

This is why it may come as a shock to you to learn that my first calling (well, my second calling, actually -- beginning in 1983, when I became pregnant with my first child, my highest calling has always been motherhood) . . . my primary spiritual calling is my ongoing commitment as a Christian mystic.

Yup. I'm a scientifically oriented, liberal, blond, United Church mystic.

Now there's an oxymoron for you.

Have a great day!

Complaint #1 About Orthodoxy: What Happened to the Redemption Theme?

If you've read my profile, you may have noticed I'm currently enrolled in graduate studies in the field of theology. This means I've spent a lot of time over the last couple of years learning the language of theological study. I want to say right here at the beginning of this blog that I've met a lot of wonderful people in my graduate program, and I've learned a lot of things that would have been hard for me to learn on my own. I'm very grateful to the people who have helped me in my studies. 

I'm not a spring chicken, however, and I suppose it 's fair to say that my personal index of suspicion is fairly high with regard to theological claims. This is (I hope) a polite way of saying I've observed some fairly major flaws in the church doctrines I've been studying. Those who know me from grad school will know that I'm not particularly shy about speaking up when I see inconsistencies and lapses in logic. (I recall one interesting class when I was the lone voice of dissent against Augustine's doctrine of original sin.) However, there seems to be a general, unspoken agreement, even at the university level in 2010, that theology students should not rock the doctrinal boat. I don't know about you, but I honestly don't know how the liberal Protestant church in Canada can survive if we're afraid to look unflinchingly at the history of our very complicated theology. 

So, like Luther posting his "95 Theses," I'm going to gradually post some observations about the differences between what Jesus seems to have said, and what the church said he said. (I think there's a big difference between the two.) 

To reassure you that I'm not just making things up to suit my own hermeneutical perspective, I'll try as much as possible to show references for my position. But you should probably know from the outset that, like all writers on the subject of theology, I have a strong personal position that influences my interpretation of developments in church doctrine. You might be able to guess what my position is if I tell you that my least favourite theologians are the apostle Paul, the early church theologian Tertullian, the highly influential Augustine of Hippo, and the early 12th century writer Anselm of Canterbury. I'm not too crazy about John Wesley, either. 

(I've read some primary material from all these famous male theologians, which is how I know for sure I don't like their teachings.) 

 

Lilies of Redemption – Photo credit JAT 2017

 

Anyway, the first complaint I have is about redemption -- as in, what the heck happened to Jesus' message about redemption? 

Redemption, as anyone will know who has experienced this life-altering transformative shift, is not the same as salvation or atonement. I'm so darned tired of hearing about salvation, and its bizarre cousin prolepsis, and I am so eager to hear a United Church of Canada minister tackle redemption head-on. This would require a bold statement to the effect that redemption is an experience of ongoing, present-day relationship with God. But redemption is doctrinally awkward because it clashes with the teachings of Paul, Augustine, and other orthodox Christian teachers on the matter of salvation. 

What is redemption for me? It is the unstoppable tsunami of gratitude that overtakes your life when you finally, finally, finally let go of your pigheaded refusal to accept God's love and forgiveness, and you're finally able to trust yourself as a humble and worthy child of God, a child who is made in God's image. That's when the hard spiritual work begins. 

I say this, of course, from painful personal experience. In my younger days, I was nothing if not pigheaded. 

Another weird thing about redemption is that it seems to need the "yeast" of relationship with other people. Being with other people, sharing experiences with each other, growing deep roots of empathy -- all these seem essential to the experience of redemption. It seems pretty much impossible for people to do it on their own without humble mentorship and guidance. (The founders of the Twelve-Step Program understood this clearly.) 

What does redemption mean for you? Have you had a transformative spiritual experience that has forever altered your relationship with God in a positive way? Would you be willing to share this with a few friends you trust? 

At the moment, mainstream Protestant Christians are not very comfortable with such sharing, but it's very hard for anyone, even Christians who are "saved in Christ," to stumble down the path of redemption without a helping hand from their fellow human beings. I vote to restore redemption as a major spiritual pursuit for today's Protestant Christians. 

If the United Church doesn't want it, the Concinnates will take it! (I'll have more on this in a future post.)