Mysticism & Activism: An Integrated Approach to Christian Ethics

Final Paper Written for EMT2902H: Christian Ethics in Context at Emmanuel College in Toronto, ON.

In an age marked by an increasing hunger for a spirituality that transcends traditional religious boundaries and speaks to the pressing social crises of our time, the interplay between mysticism and activism has become a topic of increasing importance for theological and ethical reflection.

While Christian mystical spirituality offers the individual a pathway towards an intimate relationship and embodied experience of the divine through Christ, activism seeks to manifest Christ's love communally through social justice work and compassionate service to others. Classically, these two spiritual paths have often been juxtaposed, as seen in interpretations of the biblical story of Mary and Martha in Luke 10:38-42. The story is often read as a dichotomy: Mary as ‘the way of contemplation’ and Martha as the lesser ‘way of action.’ Yet, mystics such as Meister Eckhart and Simone Weil, alongside liberation theologians such as Pedro Casaldáliga and José-Maria Vigil demonstrate that the contemplative and active dimensions of faith are not mutually exclusive, but rather two interconnected strands. As such, this paper argues that Mary and Martha are not opposed to one another but serve best when integrated; offering a model that can help us attain the goal of Christian ethics in a contemporary socio-ecclesial context.

Mary and Martha: The Way of Contemplation and The Way of Action

Let us now turn to Mary and Martha in Luke 10:38-42 who illustrate the classical pathways of mysticism as contemplation and service-oriented action. In this story, Martha opens up her home to Jesus. She is eager to serve and preoccupied with all the tasks of providing hospitality to Jesus that would be expected of a woman in her time and culture. While Martha is busy with preparations, her sister Mary sits at Jesus’ feet, immersed in his teachings. Noticing that Mary is absent from her ‘duties’ and frustrated that Jesus has allowed her to work alone, Martha says to Jesus; “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her, then, to help me.” Jesus responds lovingly (as demonstrated through the gentle repetition ‘Martha, Martha’), telling Martha that she is distracted by many things, but that only one thing is necessary, and that Mary has chosen ‘the better part’.

From the earliest days of patristic biblical commentary, the story of Mary and Martha has been interpreted in a way that values the contemplative life; vita contemplativa, over and against the practical vita activa. This aligns with general patristic thought, which according to Catholic moral theologian Servais Pinckaers, places mystical spirituality as “the high point of Christian ethics”. This prioritizing of mystical spirituality by the early Christian communities found its expression predominantly through martyrdom (i.e. self-sacrifice for the sake of Christ) in the second and third centuries when Christians were persecuted. After the Edict of Milan which legalized Christianity in 313 C.E., however, martyrdom was no longer necessary. Thus, asceticism became the new ‘high’ point of the ethical life; a contemplative ‘renouncing’ of the world characterized by voluntary suffering, in order to devote oneself to the mystical path of Christ. But is such a ‘hierarchy’ between the contemplative and active life inherent within this story? A closer look at the hermeneutics of the text within its historical context, and the dynamic exchange between Jesus and Martha can help us understand this story differently.

According to Earle E. Ellis, the social and cultural context of this biblical narrative viewed women as a marginalized group. While Judaism did not “forbid women to be instructed in the Torah”, it was still considered highly unusual. Women were expected to serve their families by way of hospitality; cooking, cleaning, raising children, and attending to the physical needs of guests. Yet we know from many of the stories in the Gospel of Luke that Jesus crossed traditional gender boundaries and instructed women as he would his male disciples. With this understanding, we come to realize that Jesus is not rebuking Martha because her actions were ‘inferior’, but rather points to the rare opportunity offered for a woman to be instructed by an enlightened Jewish teacher. Mary recognized this rare opportunity and thus felt the most hospitable thing she could do was sit at Jesus’ feet and take in his spiritual wisdom. Martha on the other hand had become too preoccupied and distracted with her traditional role to notice the rare opportunity that was before her. Thus, by Jesus saying that Mary had ‘chosen the better part’, Jesus was arguably permitting Martha to do the same as Mary, namely to seize the rare opportunity of being taught by a spiritual master and thereby balancing the moral virtues related to service and hospitality (which Martha already deeply embodied), with the virtues pertaining to the inner spiritual life.

The German medieval mystic Meister Eckhart takes this interpretation further to the point of a complete reversal, suggesting that Martha is in fact ‘more advanced’ in her spiritual knowledge, while Mary is at an earlier stage of her journey. Mary is said to have ‘chosen the better part’ not because her actions are better than Martha’s, but because it is what Mary needs in that moment for her spiritual growth. Thus Jesus’s dialogue with Martha invites her to be patient with her sister, who is not yet able to integrate the contemplative and active in her life.

Active Mysticism and Mystical Activism: A Closer Look

If we understand Christian ethics to point us towards action in the world in a way that models Christ, then classical mysticism takes this idea of ‘emulating Christ’ one step further. Rather than simply imitate Christ, the goal is to become one with Christ. Referred to as Theosis in the Eastern Orthodox Church, or ‘Divinization’ within Western Theology, the goal of the Christian mystic is inner union with Christ; an experiential realization of the divine within oneself, whereby the individual soul becomes unified and absorbed into God’s self through continuous contemplation, prayer and self-surrender. This understanding is based on a mystical interpretation of Imago Dei, ascribing the aspect of humans that is made in the image of God to be the “highest part of the soul”. Meister Eckhart determined that the soul is made “according to the highest perfection”, in which God has poured out Godself, yet remains ‘unmixed’. Other medieval mystics such as St. Teresa of Avila corroborate such an understanding of Imago Dei. In her profound work The Interior Castle, St. Teresa uses the metaphorical image of the soul as a crystal castle with many chambers. The central chamber is the most sacred and holy, whereby “God and the soul hold their most secret intercourse.”

At this point, it is necessary to acknowledge the limitations of language to describe states beyond intellectual comprehension, which all mystics must grapple with in their writing. An understanding of God ‘dwelling within the human soul’ could very easily reduce God to immanence only, but as Meister Eckhart says, God remains ‘unmixed’, thus, this immanence (fully embodied and perfected within the human and divine Jesus as ‘Christ’), does not in any way limit God’s transcendence. This classic notion of the ‘soul’ also gives one the image of a static energetic substance within oneself, which speaks little of the relationality of this aspect of self with all transcendent divinity. A better description then, might liken the soul to a dynamic ‘mirror’ with no inherent substance or reality (i.e. beguine mystic Marguerite Porete’s ‘mirror of simple souls’). We are made in the image of God, as opposed to being God. Still, many of the medieval mystics use the language of a holy, mirror-like dwelling place within the energetic body, which, while dormant in most human beings, can be actualized by way of prayer, contemplation, and selfless service, leading one to a mystical state of consciousness whereby one views all reality ‘through God’s eyes’ and is no longer experientially identified with the separate, egoic “I”. Within this paradigm, the mystic is inextricably linked to God’s divinity in everyone and everything. This understanding can help avoid interpreting mystical literature in a way that deems mysticism ‘individualistic’ and ‘selfish’. In my view, true mysticism leads one to a total ‘de-centering’. As opposed to being singular, the mystic becomes fully identified with the divinity in all things, acting as its mirror, and is not concerned with personal egoic desires.

Active Mysticism

If one is truly to see the divinity in all things and all people, this naturally leads to active service in the world. According to Jewish philosopher Emmanuel Levinas, knowing God means knowing what has to be done ‘in the world’. Levinas was a vocal critic of the kind of ascetic mysticism that collapsed into itself, leading to absence from the world instead of action. For Levinas, the ‘infinity’ of God can only be found in the exteriority of ethical action and in a profound ‘face-to-face’ encounter with the other, not in an interior state that blurs the lines between self and others and thus makes one indifferent to another’s suffering.

To better understand why much of traditional mysticism has tended towards an ascetic and monastic ‘absence’ from the world (besides the historical evolution from martyrdom), and to discover whether an ‘active’ mysticism is possible, I find the descriptions of profound enlightened states by contemporary mystic and psychiatrist Dr. David R. Hawkins to be quite useful.

While Hawkins experienced the onset of many mystical states of consciousness from a young age, the most intense experience happened when he was on his deathbed due to extreme health conditions. There and then he experienced a total revelation of God. Hawkins describes this experience as so shocking to the ego that his personal ‘self’ was totally obliterated. (Here I am reminded of Marguerite Porete’s fourth stage of the pious soul towards annihilation of the self, where love is said to ‘shock reason’ to death). After this experience, Hawkins' body made a full recovery in health, yet this state of consciousness made it impossible to function ‘in the world’. Subsequently, Hawkins left behind his busy psychiatric practice in New York City to live as an ascetic in rural Arizona, often going weeks without eating and having no contact with the outside world. Three decades later, however, by the ‘will of God’ Hawkins returned to the world to more actively serve humanity. He speaks of having to ‘re-learn’ how to function in the world; how to speak, think and act socially in a way that did not ‘jar’ others. He abandoned his daily ascetic practice of meditation in favour of contemplation. Contemplation, he says, is a way in which the mystic can continue their communion with God while in action. They can be both Mary and Martha at the same time. Every act of service for another becomes a devotional act for God, because the mystic sees God in the other, as articulated by Levinas, and deems all life as sacred. By comparison, meditation takes one ‘out of the world’. For Hawkins, high ecstatic states would take him out of the world with much time spent in solitary mystical trances. As such, Hawkins taught his students to ‘live your life like a prayer’, and to ‘be in the world, but not of it’. Although the enlightened states of consciousness Hawkins experienced are extremely rare, his life and teachings demonstrate that even the most profound mystical states don’t necessitate asceticism, although a season of asceticism might be necessary to ‘adjust’ to the new reality in extreme cases.

Mystical Activism

Thus far, the way I have presented action ‘in the world’ as an inevitability of mysticism might give the impression that contemplation precedes action. However, that is not the case. Equally true is that a deep spiritual mysticism can come about through activism and social-justice work. Considering what Levinas and Hawkins have said about experiencing God in the other, we can understand Martha’s commitment to service and hospitality as another ‘entry point’ to Mary’s contemplative life; what can be called: ‘mystical activism’.

For Latin American liberation theologians Pedro Casaldáliga and José-Maria Vigil, a spirituality that does not relate meaningfully to “the state of domination and dependence in which two-thirds of humanity live, with an annual toll of thirty million dead from starvation and malnutrition”, is not a spirituality worthwhile of exploration. From the perspective of liberation theology, the church and its members are challenged into mystical ascent to God by way of descending into the world, working towards the ethical goal of collective human flourishing (i.e. working to bring about God’s kingdom on earth). For liberation theologians, this is done through solidarity with the poor and oppressed, and re-committing oneself to ethical action rooted in love, justice, freedom, forgiveness, brotherhood and sisterhood.

In his poem “Questions on the Ascent and Descent of Mount Carmel”, Casaldáliga reflects on the mysticism of St. John of the Cross, which speaks of a simultaneous ‘ascent’ by way of contemplation and self-giving, and ‘descent’ towards humanity and the world through action and service. “What path will you take to heaven, other than earth?” Casaldáliga asks. “If we do not take on the responsibilities of the age, in our daily lives of living and working together, struggling and celebrating, politics and faith… what mission are we taking on? What call are we answering? How are we collaborating in God’s work?”

Such an example of profound spiritual activism that strives to bring about ‘the kingdom of God’ on earth can be found in the life and work of South African Archbishop Desmond Tutu. Tutu not only fought tirelessly to end apartheid in South Africa, but also played a pivotal role in guiding the nation through its transition as chair of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. In God Has a Dream, Tutu reflects on the spiritually transformative experience of South Africa’s 1994 election. Following Nelson Mandela’s release in 1990 and the gradual repeal of apartheid laws, South Africa teetered on the edge of civil war, with thousands losing their lives in the fraught transition. In the months leading up to the first democratic election, insurrections threatened to derail the process and intimidate Black South Africans from voting. Yet, against all odds, these efforts failed. On election day, people of all races and backgrounds stood in line for hours, peacefully casting their votes. Tutu reflects on how easily armed groups could have derailed the entire event—yet no such violence occurred. Instead, the day became a profound experience of unity. The election booth became a symbol of spiritual transfiguration; people entered it as one person and emerged as another. All South Africans, regardless of skin colour, recognized their shared humanity and common dreams, embracing the hope of a new future together.

The underpinnings of this mystical communal experience by way of political liberation is captured in Tutu’s theology of ‘Ubuntu’; a Zulu word which means “I am, because you are”. ‘Ubuntu’ intrinsically understands what Levinas calls ‘responsibility for the other’. Once again, it is based on the theological foundation of the Imago Dei; all human beings are made in the image of God and thus are equally God’s children. Our destinies are intrinsically bound up with one another’s. While Tutu believes Ubuntu applies to all human beings equally, he believes Christians are especially obligated to practice it. Tutu invites us to go beyond fighting for ‘equality’ to love one another as ‘brothers and sisters’ as Jesus taught. This love of the other also extends to one’s enemies, a difficult teaching to put into practice. According to Tutu, we must love our enemies not only because Jesus taught us to, but because we recognize the tragic state that a human must live in within themselves to be filled with so much hatred. What one does to another, they do to themselves. If we are honest with ourselves, we also might acknowledge that the same violent tendencies that exist in others can manifest in ourselves if given the right conditions to surface. Thus, a willingness to look within as the mystics do, and confront our own ‘shadow’ helps breed humility within us, deepening our faith and reliance on God’s grace and helping us see both friend and foe through the eyes of love and deep compassion.

This insight about how hateful power can corrupt both the poor and privileged is captured well by French mystic and political activist Simone Weil in her commentary on ‘force’. In her early years, Weil was tireless in her political activism, heavily involved in secular socialist and Marxist labour movements. However, she later came to see the downside of such movements, noting how when the oppressed gained access to ‘force’ they became as corrupted by it as their previous oppressors. Only through deep ‘saintliness’ and cultivation of inner virtue could one remain ethically unscathed by force. Weil’s subsequent disillusionment with the liberation movements of her day, and her deep compassion for the suffering of humankind sent her into a profound state of inner turmoil. But not all hope was lost. In her painful inner experience of spiritual brokenness (what St. John of the Cross calls the ‘Dark Night of the Soul’), Weil experienced a revelation of the suffering Christ on the cross. Subsequently, transformative mystical experiences of divine grace began to flood her life with an irresistible beauty and power. These mystical experiences, while restoring her hope and faith in humanity and bringing her into a ‘union’ with Christ internally, never led her to abandon her activism. Her mysticism led to an even deeper understanding of justice, which she came to see as “the most Christian” of all the classical Greek virtues, offering a direct pathway to “the true God”.

Contemporary Applications

As we have seen, mysticism without activism, and activism without mysticism are prone to pitfalls. Mysticism in isolation runs the risk of becoming self-indulgent and making one indifferent to the suffering of others; falling under the false illusion that another’s plight has no bearing on one’s own, or that one’s actions have no bearing on another. Activism without mystical understanding can lead one to ‘shift’ the power hierarchy rather than erase it, or risk falling into agonizing states of burnout and despair in the face of all the suffering and injustice in the world.

To circle back to our biblical narrative of Martha and Mary; we might say that Martha without Mary becomes distracted and burdened by the world’s never-ending demands, and loses sight of the spiritual beauty of God’s creation. Mary without Martha is quite simply a bad host; leaving Jesus and his disciples without food, water or shelter; taking in spiritual wisdom, but never offering its gifts through servanthood. In isolation, Martha misses out on the opportunity to experience God’s beauty within her, and Mary misses out on the profound spiritual experience of being God’s agent in the world. Together, however, the experience is quite different. Martha as Mary, and Mary as Martha experience the profound beauty of what it means to be made in the image of God. God radiates within them as immanent and transcendent, as they devote themselves to the other. Together they become united in Christ internally and externally; helping to create a reality where all God’s children can flourish.

Martha and Mary in Practice: Personal Observations

Growing up with Greek-Canadian roots, I am very familiar with the female persona of Martha. Greek women have a reputation for doing hospitality well, and the matriarchs of my family were no exception. Generosity and hospitality towards the other are virtues imbued within our culture. Yet also imbued within my matriarchal lineage are the deep contemplative propensities of Mary. My mother and grandmothers have always been wise, intuitive and deeply spiritually inclined. However, they lived in a society that didn’t allow them to fully embrace Mary. They were expected to be Martha. This was even more the case growing up in a progressive, justice-oriented church environment. While there were many, many positives to an upbringing in such a community, I also observed the downsides; burnout, physical health issues as a direct consequence of stress, and the inevitable addiction to ‘busyness’ that one develops when one’s entire sense of self is tethered to how much they ‘give’.

In response to these downsides, and driven by a hunger for spiritual truth, I spent a great deal of time cultivating Mary within myself. In my early 20s, I moved abroad and spent eight years devoting myself to personal spiritual transformation, ‘sitting at the feet’ of various spiritual teachers and traditions outside of Christianity, exploring new age practices and spirituality, and addressing my own ‘shadow’ through psycho-somatic therapeutic modalities.

However, something I began to notice in many of the spiritual communities and teachings I took in was a hyper-individualistic and excessive capitalist orientation. In liberating oneself from the previous inner confines of lack and people-pleasing, the tendency became one of excess and self-indulgence. This was true in both new-age and Christian circles. Interestingly, since the pandemic, I have observed a curious phenomenon; mass ‘conversion’ of ‘spiritual but not religious’ seekers to Christianity. My social media feed is flooded with self-proclaimed ‘ex-new agers’ who have had transformative mystical experiences of being ‘saved’, but who are more concerned with the fate of the individual than any kind of communal justice in the world. This obsession with the individual ‘being saved’ and attaining material possessions through ‘God’s blessings’ (i.e. prosperity gospel), manifests as an exclusionary Christianity that denounces other spiritual traditions and blames the poor and oppressed for their own predicament. This is a kind of Christianity that puts walls up between people instead of building bridges, which I believe fundamentally goes against Jesus’ teachings. True mysticism builds bridges and helps one develop the virtues of love, compassion and justice within oneself so that it can be extended towards others. Looking inward can help us evaluate our own limiting contexts and positionalities more openly and honestly.

On the other hand, within the space of social justice work, I notice a tendency to ‘other’ the so-called ‘oppressor’. The oppressed vs. oppressor paradigm is used too readily in contexts where it doesn’t apply, creating unnecessary polarization. For one side to be ‘right’, the other has to be ‘wrong’, instead of recognizing that from within one’s own socio-economic context, one’s positionality would appear to be the ‘right’ one, but one cannot possibly see reality ‘as it is’. Thus, a willingness to look inward can help us locate nuance, self-reflect on our positionalities and biases, and be open to listening to others from within their contexts. It is not easy to acknowledge the spaces in oneself where there is unconscious racism, greed, and a propensity for violence, but it is necessary to create a more equitable and just world. By reflecting on these natural egoic propensities within the human psyche, I believe it brings us closer to God, and closer to our fellow human beings through common understanding.

Applications in Ecclesial Contexts

In my journey of ‘returning’ to the church and the Christian faith, I am motivated by the integration of both mystical practice and social justice. The church I currently work at does social justice well. From sponsoring refugee families to educating and providing opportunities to participate in Indigenous reconciliation initiatives, marching in the Pride parade, and bringing the community together to serve dinner to the homeless; justice work is genuine and meaningful, and continuously being expanded.

And, I see an opportunity for more contemplative practice to be embedded both within Sunday morning liturgy and social justice initiatives outside of Sunday worship. For instance, after a communal justice initiative, a spiritual ritual of coming together in contemplative practice and with the opportunity to reflect on what went well, and what needs to be emotionally and spiritually processed together could be a rich way to bring mystical spirituality to justice work.

Limitations and Critiques

Weaving together the many branches of mysticism and activism is a formidable task and one that cannot possibly be covered in full within the scope of this essay. An entire book could be written on this subject, alongside many more biblical references beyond the story of Mary and Martha. Examples of the integration of mystical spirituality and selfless service are abundant throughout the New Testament and present within Jesus’ basic commandments to ‘love God and love your neighbour as yourself’. Many other scripture passages could also be quoted towards this end, showing how Jesus’ earliest followers embodied such an intertwined spirituality (i.e. James 2:14-18, 1 John 3:16-18, etc.) Additionally, there are spiritual perspectives clearly missing from this essay including indigenous and interfaith perspectives. Mysticism transcends religious boundaries and exists within all the great spiritual traditions of the world, as does the basic notion that serving others and ethical action is an essential part of spiritual practice. For instance, in the Advaita Vedanta Hindu-Yogic tradition, ‘Karma Yoga’ (the vehicle of selfless service) is considered one of three major spiritual branches that lead towards union with the Godhead, and all yogis are expected to commit themselves to deep ethical formation via the yamas and niyamas. Likewise, the ‘engaged Buddhism’ of Mahayana Buddhists also reflect the intertwinement of an inward spiritual orientation and ethical activism.

In terms of practical applications, I have only begun to touch on these from my perspective. This could also be developed much further in terms of ethical recommendations and considerations for various social and ecclesial contexts. As such, I’ll reiterate that this essay is not exhaustive, but rather serves as a starting point for exploration.

Conclusion

Throughout this course [Christian Ethics in Context], I have been reflecting deeply on my ethical imperatives. In light of these reflections, I would define my core ethical commitment as follows; to surrender my personal will to God so that God’s will may be revealed in, and lived through me. I believe every human being is uniquely gifted and has a distinct role to play in God’s unfolding purpose for the world. By relinquishing our personal desires and ego-driven perspectives layer by layer, we can become God’s instruments for collective redemption, offering our gifts toward the flourishing of all life.

In my experience, this continuous surrender and commitment to being God’s agent in the world has not only given me a profound sense of purpose, but also fostered a lasting, inner joy. It is a happiness that transcends temporal gain or external achievements and is rooted in the deep fulfillment of serving others. Of course, I am far from perfect. Like everyone, I experience selfishness, doubt, and failure, and I do not always make the right choices, or know what the ‘right’ choices are. Yet, in striving to offer myself as both Mary and Martha, integrating contemplation with action, I find a deep and abiding pleasure for my soul, a satisfaction in knowing I am doing my best in each moment to honour the sanctity of all life.

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