e₁. Linguistic statement.

e₂. Context.

e₃. Relevant biography.

============================

t₀. The speaker said it because he believed it to be true.

The conventions of ordinary communication ask us to accept t₀ as the best explanation of these data, but we are always aware that rival explanations must also be considered.

t₁. Said it because he has something to gain.

t₂. Said it because he has become confused and said the opposite of what he meant.

In those cases where we infer that the speaker is sincere, this provides additional data for a second inference:

e₁. Linguistic statement.

e₂. Context.

e₃. Relevant biography.

e₄. The speaker said it because he believed it to be true.

=======================================

T*₀. The speaker believes this because he knows what he is talking about -- he believes it because it is in fact true.

We are asked to accept T*₀ as a better account of the speaker's belief than either of the following rivals:

T*₁. The speaker believes it because of he has suffered an hallucination.

T*₂. The speaker believes it because his memory has deceived him.

Linguistic communication is dependent on the fact that in the overwhelming majority of cases t₀, and ultimately T*₀, are the uncontroversial best explanations of what has been said. Testimony is generally reliable. But, unfortunately, there are contexts where scepticism is demanded. The question before us is whether the testimony of mystics is one of these special circumstances where we should favor rival accounts of what has been said.

IV

St. Teresa's testimony fits perfectly into the schematic form described above.

e₁. Statement: "I was at prayer . . ."

e₂. Context: Written in her Autobiography.

e₃. Relevant biography: Catholic nun.

============================

t₀. She wrote it because she believed it to be true.

e₃ summarizes an incredibly rich amount of biographical detail. Much of it is relevant to the second stage assessment of her testimony. On the prior question of sincerity, however, I am confident that any conscientious reader will agree with me that the best explanation of what she wrote is that she was absolutely convinced that Christ was at her side. She writes with such grace, modesty, and insight, that her sincerity as an author is never seriously in question. Thus, we can move quickly to our second stage of explanatory inferences by supplying this inferred piece of new data:

e₄. She sincerely believed that Christ was at her side.

Thus, we are led to the second, and most interesting, explanatory question -- why does she believe this? The answer she endorses, and the one that civil communication asks us to endorse as well, is the following:

T*₀. She believed that Christ was at her side because Christ really was at her side.

There are at least three important competing explanations of mystical experiences. The data that need to be explained may be experienced directly by the mystic, herself. Or, they may be learned of indirectly through the testimony of mystics. In either case, they cry out for explanation. Inference to the best explanation tells us that if we judge that the theist's explanation is superior to any serious rivals, this will provide important evidence for the truth of theism. If, on the other hand, we judge that any of the rival explanations are better accounts of the data, then, regardless of their intrinsic interest, mystical experiences will be of no evidential value to the theist.

V

We should pause here to notice one important difference between first person and third person mystical reports. In order to take St. Teresa's testimony seriously, we were forced to infer her sincerity. Presumably St. Teresa does not have to assess the relevant evidence to discover that she is telling the truth; she simply knows it. Thus, she possesses a kind of epistemological authority to which those who simply hear of her experiences are never privileged.

Recall James' first epistemological principle:

(1) Mystical states, when well developed, usually are, and have a right to be, absolutely authoritative over the individuals to whom they come.

The epistemological authority referred to here has nothing to do with honesty. It is assumed in the very statement of the principle that the experience has really happened. James seems to be saying that St. Teresa is in a different explanatory position than we are with respect to—what all parties agree was—a genuine psychological occurrence.

Such a principle when extended to non-mystical experiences has disagreeable consequences. In the testimony case above our speaker could have sincerely believed whatever he reported. If he possessed absolute epistemological authority T*₀ would be self-authenticating.

T*₀. The speaker believes this because he knows what he is talking about -- he believes it because it is in fact true.

Suppose that I am the speaker and that I am aware of the dangers of the lack of relevant information or perceptual bias. Thus, I casually consider the following rival explanations:

T*₁. I believe it because I have suffered an hallucination.

T*₂. I believe it because my memory has deceived me.

The extension of James' principle would allow me to automatically rank order T*₀ significantly ahead of T*₁ or T*₂. You, however, may well come to a significantly different judgement of explanatory plausibility, deciding that either one or both of the rivals is better than the original explanation of my sincerely held belief. We now seem faced with a problem of anything-goes relativism. My explanation of my belief is authoritative (the best) for me, but your explanation of my belief is controlling for you. And even if all of the qualified philosophical and psychological communities agree with your explanatory judgment, this in no way undermines my epistemological authority.

In fairness, James never suggested that absolute epistemological authority be extended to non-mystical contexts. But something like the same problem reappears for the mystic. St. Teresa sincerely believes that Christ was at her side. Thus, for her, T*₀ is automatically in first place.

T*₀. She believed that Christ was at her side because Christ really was at her side.

From what we know of her life it is indisputably clear that she did indeed take T*₀ to be the best explanation of her mystical experience. It is also true, however, that she seriously considered at least two rival explanations of what had happened to her.

T*₁. She believed that Christ was at her side because she was suffering from some physical pathology.

T*₂. She believed that Christ was at her side because the devil was deceiving her.

Both she and her confessors were very concerned with quasi-empirical tests to confirm or disconfirm these rival accounts. Her confident explanatory ranking was only possible after very seriously considering these rivals. Thus, one very undesirable consequence of James' principle is that it may suggest to the mystic that there is no need to consider rival explanations of the mystical experience. Even worse than this, however, is the problem of relativism. We, including all of the religious and scientific communities, may rank the rival hypothesis of insanity as the best explanation of David Koresh's apparently sincere belief that God had spoken to him. Koresh, himself, is granted absolute epistemological authority to discount our explanation and substitute his own. This is epistemologically—and not just morally—perverse.

James seems to have made a rather elementary error. He has confused strength and unshakability of conviction with epistemological authority.

As a matter of psychological fact, mystical states of a well-pronounced and emphatic sort are usually authoritative over those who have them. They have been "there," and know. It is vain for rationalism to grumble about this. If the mystical truth that comes to a man proves to be a force that he can live by, what mandate have we to order him to live another way? We can throw him into a prison or a madhouse, but we cannot change his mind (James 1902, 414).

I concede that there are lots of circumstances, philosophical and practical, where we cannot change a person's mind about something he or she firmly believes. In many of these circumstances it would be inappropriate "to order him to live another way," and immoral to "throw him into a prison or a madhouse" if we fail to reason with him. Rationalism does not grumble about this, but it does give us a mandate to rationally criticize his reasoning.

James is surely mistaken. Disinterested third-parties are more reliable explainers than the mystic herself. Because the strength of her personal commitment is so strong, she will be less likely to fully consider the explanatory virtues of rival accounts. But, ultimately, the mystic is in precisely the same epistemological situation as those of us who only hear mystical testimony and are convinced that the mystic is honest.

VI

St. Teresa explains her experience with implicit appeal to Swinburne's "principle of credulity"—Christ was at her side.

[I]f it seems (epistemically) to a subject that x is present, then probably x is present; what one seems to perceive is probably so. . . . [I]n the absence of special considerations, all religious experiences ought to be taken by their subjects as genuine, and hence as substantial grounds for belief in the existence of their apparent object (Swinburne 1991, 254).

Although it is stated in very different terms, Alston's "doxastic practice" principle gets at a similar point.

[I]t is rational to engage in any such practice that is socially established, that yields outputs that are free from massive internal and external contradiction, and that demonstrates a significant degree of self-support. This implies that it is rational to take any such practice to be reliable and hence a source of justification for the beliefs that it . . . engenders . . . . [T]he "mystical experience belief forming practice" satisfies the above conditions for rational acceptance (Alston 1991, 184-5)

Both principles have their basis in the epistemology of sense perception. How else do we avoid the sceptic's arguments other than by simply insisting at some point in the discussion that perception is reliable? What you see is what you get. None of this means, however, that every half-baked perceptual claim is automatically self-certifying. Both Swinburne and Alston included additional features—"the absence of special considerations" or being "free of massive internal and external contradiction"—which also must be satisfied.

Inference to the best explanation is consistent with both of these principles, both in their straightforwardly perceptual applications, and in the context of mystical experiences. What we must do to assure ourselves that either principle can be safely utilized in a particular context is to consider, and ultimately reject, rival explanations. Application of the principle of credulity, or the doxastic practice principle, might lead St. Teresa, or those of us who listen to her testimony, to the conclusion that Christ was at her side. But to confidently apply these principles is to have considered, and found less satisfactory, a couple of serious rival accounts.

William Alston describes his approach to the epistemology of Christian mystical practice as one of direct realism. If the testimony of mystics themselves is to be our guide, they were almost all metaphysical realists. When St. Teresa tells us, "I was at prayer . . . when Christ appeared at my side," it is extremely artificial to read her as saying anything other than that Christ really was at her side. Metaphysical realism seems demanded by epistemological considerations. For mystics themselves, as well as for a majority of scholars who have studied mystical experiences, these special states of consciousness have been taken as relevant and important theological evidence. Not that she needed any, but St. Teresa's experience constitutes for her definitive evidence for the existence of God. Epistemology, as well as any substantive area of philosophical investigation like natural theology, or mysticism, is more straightforward from the metaphysical realist's point of view.

There also appear to be some specifically theological considerations that point in the direction of metaphysical realism. William Alston articulates a reason that many theists would give for demurring from some of the rival explanations to be considered below:

Theistic religions hold that the basic truths of the religion were revealed to us by God. If so, why should God fail to give us propositions that are strictly true of Himself? Would it not be misleading at best, and deceptive at worst, if He were to provide us with accounts that are couched in terms of one of the many ways in which He could appear to us, rather than in terms of what He is and does? (Alston 1991, 256-7)

Regardless of the advantages—both epistemological and theological—metaphysical realism can survive as the most plausible account of St. Teresa's experience only by proving to be a better explanation than the following two alternative accounts.

VII

There is something artificial about the single-minded focus so far on this one bit of mystical testimony. St. Teresa's authority is greatly enhanced by the fact that the experience she describes is far from unique. She reported many similar mystical experiences during her life, and the literature shows that these psychological occurrences are "corroborated" by the accounts of many other Christian mystics. These are very important additional data.

e₅. Many other Christian mystics have reported similar kinds of experiences.

I think that there is little doubt that all of us—theists and sceptics alike—would explain St. Teresa's experience of Christ at her side as a delusion if such experiences were absolutely unheard of in the Christian tradition.

The mystical literature is a mixed blessing, however, for the metaphysical realist. In one sense the written record corroborates St. Teresa's experience, but in another it falsifies, or at least complicates, it. The problem is that non-Christian mystics report occurrences that bear a strong psychological similarity to her experience, but seem to have a very different religious content. Thus, if we are to consider all of the relevant data we must also include the following.

e₆. Many non-Christian, and non-theistic, mystics report experiences that are psychologically similar, but theologically quite different.

Indeed, e₆ provides the context for the most important interpretive disagreement between contemporary scholars of mysticism.

Consider the following explanatory hypothesis which is stated very clearly in Stace's Mysticism and Philosophy:

[T]here is a clear unanimity of evidence from Christian, Islamic, Jewish, Mahayana Buddhist, and Hindu sources, also supported by the witness of the pagan mystic Plotinus, and the modern Englishman . . ., that there is a definite type of mystical experience, the same in all cultures (Stace 1987, 89).

That mystical experiences form a phenomenological, and perhaps metaphysical, natural kind has seemed obvious to many of the analysts who have approached their studies from a comparative, cultural, or religious perspective. Following Stace, we can refer to this position as the theory of the "universal core." The following hypothesis has come under sustained recent attack, but also continues to find able defenders:

T*₃. There is a universal core to many cross-cultural mystical experiences. They are conceived, experienced, and responded to from within the particular cultural and religious heritage of the individual mystic.

Clearly such a hypothesis is threatening to the Christian realist.

VIII

The realist might attack this rival head-on. The theory of the universal core says that "there is a definite type of mystical experience, the same in all cultures." Serious doubts might be raised about this by simply comparing St. Teresa's experience of Christ at her side to the following:

The Ego has disappeared. I have realized my identity with Brahman and so all of my desires have melted away. I have arisen above my ignorance and my knowledge of this seeming universe. What is this joy I feel? Who shall measure it? . . . . Now, finally and clearly, I know that I am the Atman [the soul identified with Brahman], whose nature is eternal joy. I see nothing, I hear nothing, I know that nothing is separate from me (Prabhavandanda, 1970, 103).

How could anyone seriously suggest these experiences are the same? What does Stace mean when he talks about a type of mystical experience?

Consider the following examples of conscious experiences:

(1) My experience of an idle daydream.

(2) My experience of listening to Handel's Messiah.

(3) My experience of enjoying a hot fudge sundae.

(4) My experience of listening to the Beatles.

(5) My experience of listening to my favorite piece of classical music.

(1) and (2) are the same—or relevantly similar—because they are both examples of conscious experiences. (2) and (3) are sense experiences; (2) and (4) are both auditory experiences (or perhaps, musical experiences). (2) and (5) are identical in a more interesting sense, however, since the Messiah happens to be my favorite piece of classical music. I take it to be obvious that the universal core hypothesis asserts a cross-cultural identity between mystical experiences that comes much closer to the relationship between (2) and (5), than the rather general relationship between (1) and (2).

The standard move for defenders of the universal core hypothesis has been to distinguish between the raw mystical experiences, themselves, and the interpretations that have been placed on them by various mystics.

[T]here is no necessary reason to suppose that [mystical accounts] involve different sorts of experience; the difference lies rather in the way the experience is interpreted. . . . [There is a] contrast between experience and interpretation. . . . Mysticism is substantially the same in different cultures and religions (Smart 1965, 75).

If you find the Messiah to be repetitive and a two hour torture your description of the piece will no doubt be very different than mine. Nevertheless, it would make sense to say that you and I had been experiencing the same piece of orchestral music. To make such a case, however, we would need to conduct a more thorough phenomenological analysis.

All of this suggests a kind of "empirical" test. Mysticism is often characterized as a phenomenological concept. The emphasis we see in Stace and Smart on experiences, and interpretations of experiences, also suggests that we should consult some actual phenomenological analyses of mystical experience. Nelson Pike has recently completed just such a study of Christian mystical practice, with particular focus on "the several states of union." (Pike 1992, 14). He puts to the test the following claim by Stace:

"Union with God" is not an uninterpreted description of any human being's experience. It is a theistic interpretation of undifferentiated unity. St. Teresa's uninterpreted experience is the same as Eckhart's, but she is incapable of distinguishing between experience and interpretation so that when she experiences the divisionless oneness of the mystical consciousness she jumps at once to its conventional interpretation in terms of Christian beliefs (Stace 1987, 107).

On the basis of four chapters of careful phenomenological analysis of Christian mystics like St. Teresa, Pike is in a position to make embarrassing observations like the following:

Recall that in the Prayer of the Quiet, God and the soul of the mystic are said to be close while in Full Union and in the culmination stage of Rapture these same two objects are pictured as being in mutual embrace. . . . The same is true of the other descriptions persistently offered of union phenomena. God enwraps and penetrates the soul; the soul is submerged in and saturated by God; God and the soul are mingled. Again the language is radically dualistic (Pike 1992, 108).

Grand metaphysical claims like Stace's are unlikely to be supported by the phenomenological method implicitly endorsed by most supporters of the ecumenical interpretation of mystical experiences.

IX

In retrospect, the failure of the phenomenological method was only to be expected, at least by those of us who are at all sympathetic to the sociology of knowledge. Steven Katz presents the case in its starkest terms.

There are no pure (i.e. unmediated) experiences. Neither mystical experience nor more ordinary forms of experience give any indication, or any grounds for believing, that they are unmediated. That is to say, all experience is processed through, organized by, and makes itself available to us in extremely complex epistemological ways. . . . This epistemological fact seems to me to be true, because of the sorts of beings we are, even with regard to the experiences of those ultimate objects of concern with which mystics have intercourse, e.g. God, Being, nirvana, etc. (Katz 1978, 26).

If we accept that the given in experience is a myth, then the whole project of establishing cross-religion, or cross-cultural, identity for mystical experiences by phenomenology seems doomed from the start.

Phenomenological analysis will not provide evidence for the universal core hypothesis. Indeed, whatever direct evidence it does provide is likely to point in the opposite direction.

[T]he Hindu mystic does not have an experience of x which he then describes in the, to him, familiar language and symbols of Hinduism, but rather he has a Hindu experience, i.e. his experience is not an unmediated experience of x, but is itself the, at least partially, pre-formed anticipated Hindu experience of Brahman. Again, the Christian mystic does not experience some unidentified reality, which he then labels God, but rather has the at least partially prefigured Christian experiences of God, or Jesus, or the like (Katz 1978, 22).

The defense of the universal core hypothesis is based on a mischaracterized insight. The similarities between mystical experiences are surely psychological, perhaps religious, but not phenomenological.

None of these latter considerations, however, point us back in the direction of theological realism. Indeed, once we have jettisoned the hope of phenomenological similarity or identity, a very plausible explanation of cross-cultural mystical experience immediately suggests itself. Hick is one contemporary spokesperson for this theory: