Grasped by the Spirit: An Anthropological and Theological Understanding of an Existential Religious Experience

Abstract

Over the course of 2021, I conducted ethnographic research among transnational Pentecostal communities in Madrid. During this research, ethnographic data on manifestations of the Spirit was collected. This data appeared to defy the perspective of a distant and critical observer. In this article I explore how an anthropologist might incorporate Tillich’s theology of the Spirit to make sense of and think through existential religious experiences within Pentecostal communities, such as experiences of being possessed or grasped by the Holy Spirit. This article begins by presenting data from a Pentecostal culto in Madrid in which the Spirit plays a defining role. Initially, I reflect on how an anthropologist might make sense of similar ethnographic data. Subsequently, I turn to Paul Tillich’s theology of the Spirit. I discover how Tillich’s theology can aid in making sense of ethnographic data of manifestations of the Spirit. Tillich’s theology enables anthropologists to make sense of ethnographic encounters with the Spirit beyond secular registers dominant in the anthropological discipline.

1. Introduction

Over the course of 2021 I conducted ethnographic research among Pentecostal communities in Madrid who had strong connections with Latin America, be it through migration, media, or leadership networks. Every Sunday throughout that year, I attended two church services or cultos in two separate Pentecostal churches. More often than not, these services were opened by a church leader with words like: “Ponte de pie para dar bienvenida al Espíritu Santo.”1 An invocation of God’s presence, the Spirit of Jesus, or the Holy Spirit, dominated these Pentecostal church services in Madrid through prayers, sermons, songs, and personal encounters. While throughout most of the year I remained a somewhat distant observer who nonetheless participated, something changed towards the end of this year of conducting ethnographic research. My position as a critically distant observer was interrupted. Increasingly I was no longer able to remain a distant observer and eventually I was “grasped by the Spirit” and overcome by an existential religious experience. In this article I explore how an anthropologist might incorporate theology to make sense of and think through existential religious experiences within Pentecostal communities, which appear to defy the perspective of a distant and critical observer. More specifically, how might an anthropologist turn to Tillich’s theology of the Spirit to make sense of a religious experience of being possessed or grasped by the Holy Spirit.

Anthropologists turning their gaze to theology is no longer something new. Already in 2006, Joel Robbins, in the article “Anthropology and Theology: An Awkward Relationship?” (Robbins 2006), called for the incorporation of theological insights into the anthropological endeavour. In the ensuing years, such a transdisciplinary methodology across anthropology and theology has been embraced and expanded upon by multiple studies of anthropologists (e.g., Davies 2020; Engelke 2007; Furani 2019; Lemons 2018; Meneses and Bronkema 2017; Robbins 2020; Tomlinson 2020). These voices argue for the possibility of incorporating theological insights in anthropological research. Some go so far as to call for the transformation of anthropology through the incorporation of theology in its research, while others are more cautious in the crossing of disciplinary boundaries. In my incorporation of theological insights in the anthropological endeavour, I am particularly inspired by an article written by Khaled Furani and Joel Robbins, titled “Introduction: Anthropology Within and Without the Secular Condition” (Furani and Robbins 2021). They argue that while anthropology has proven to be self-critical in its complicity in post-colonial dynamics and the individual positionalities of researchers and ensuing subjectivity, it has proven rather uncritical about its secular condition. This has resulted in the drawing of a boundary between the so-called “secular intellect” and religious traditions (Furani and Robbins 2021, pp. 501–2). This uncritical attitude has, moreover, resulted in a separation between “thinking and living, truth and goodness, intellect from passions, reason from revelation, soul from body, and all that might be quarantined under the banner of ‘secularity’ from religion” (Furani and Robbins 2021, p. 507). Consequently, to engage with theology—as an anthropologist—one mitigates secular reason’s sovereign claims, endeavouring instead “to think more porously” about the communities and worlds one studies (Furani and Robbins 2021, p. 509), thus bringing together cognition and being, uniting anthropology with “an attitude of life,” and being more attentive to that which conditions the discipline and its insights (Furani and Robbins 2021, p. 506).

In this article I wish to contribute to these voices by focussing particularly on how anthropology might incorporate theological concepts and categories to make sense of an existential religious experience which defies the perspective of a distant and critical observer. More specifically, how might theology aid anthropologists to think through religious experience—encountered during ethnographic research—in which the self of the researcher is grasped by a divine presence, in which the position of objective observer no longer remains tenable?

To answer this question, I begin with an auto-ethnographic vignette within a Pentecostal church service, in which I—as a researcher—was grasped by the Holy Spirit. Initially, I will reflect on how anthropologists might make sense of similar ethnographic data. I will focus on a Special Issue, edited by Koss-Chioino (2010), around the question “Do Spirits Exist?” Subsequently, I will argue that the discussed anthropologists open the door for the incorporation of theological insights. As such, I too turn my gaze to theological insights. One might turn to theological voices emerging from similar theological, cultural, or socio-economic contexts as the context in which I conducted research, such as Alfaro (2010), Solivan (1998), García-Johnson (2019), or Villafañe (1992) who are all Hispanic theologians with Pentecostal sympathies and rooted in contexts of migration. However, I wish to take a slightly different avenue as these aforementioned theologians focus much more on socio-economic and political dimensions of the Holy Spirit. Instead, I turn to Paul Tillich, whose theology of the Spirit is attuned to the individual existential dimensions of the Holy Spirit. His theology will offer concepts, categories, and a theological system which will aid me in making sense of and thinking through manifestations of the Spirit.

2. Possessed by the Spirit

As part of the ethnographic research for my PhD, I participated in and observed between three and four cultos every week over the course of 2021. Until the very last month of conducting ethnographic research, my position as a researcher during these cultos could be characterised as that of a mostly distant observer. At the very most, I was moved by the experiences of others. I was, nevertheless, not personally impacted or transformed by these manifestations of divine presence or the Holy Spirit. However, as time went on, I felt increasingly comfortable participating in moments of worship, prayer and ministración2 during cultos. Increasingly, I sang along, raised my hands, prayed for others, and sometimes even prayed “in tongues.” Initially, I noticed that I, too, could be personally moved and become emotional during cultos. Personal joys and struggles could not be kept from what I was observing and researching. Moreover, when I participated in moments of prayer—and my own words simply fell short—there were times I unintentionally and without a conscious effort spoke in tongues. There were even moments when my participation in moments of ministración had a physical impact with the slight shaking of limbs or the faster beating of my heart. This was particularly the case when someone personally prayed for me. In all these increasingly personal and embodied experiences, however, I always retained a sense of control, and I was able to keep these experiences to myself. Throughout this year of participating in Pentecostal religious life, I feared and avoided letting go or losing control during such moments in Pentecostal services which encourage those present to become fully consumed by the Spirit.

Then, during a youth retreat of one of the Pentecostal churches involved in this research, on one of my final weekends in Madrid, that which I feared and avoided, yet maybe also subconsciously desired, occurred. In what follows, I make direct reference to my field notes. They are slightly edited for the sake of readability and grammatical correctness, and some sections were removed to avoid unnecessary repetition. These are the field notes written about the 8th of January 2022:

After a sermon, during one of the services of the youth retreat, there was the expected moment of ministración. Noah3—the guest speaker of the youth retreat—asked all those who wanted to follow Christ and not go back to come to forward and stand in front of an improvised stage. Chairs were chaotically pushed aside to make space for everyone making their way forward. With some hesitation, I joined those around me and made my way forward. Though I genuinely desired to follow Christ, and still do, I did not desire to make this gesture. As the worship continued, I was moved by what was being sung. I was confronted by a long-time struggle to live simply and not strive for status and recognition, among other things. Despite these shortcomings, I felt affirmed. To embrace the idiom of those around me: God spoke to me. I heard the words that God did want to use me despite personal brokenness and sin. I almost audibly heard these affirming words being spoken to me. Not audibly, but with definite words, nonetheless. Throughout this moment of ministración, a song with the words “No volveré atrás”4 was sung repeatedly. At this moment, I had a profound desire to encounter God, to experience this spiritual presence as tangibly as those in the Pentecostal communities with which I had spent a whole year. Like those around me, I prayed. Nothing out of the ordinary occurred. This was not the case for others. Many were being prayed for, many crying, some lying flat on the floor, others on their knees. At a certain moment, multiple people were screaming and shouting. There was a charged atmosphere in the room. While others would say that God was palpably present, I did not sense this. I just sang along and, at times, said a prayer for those around me. But this soon changed.

When I thought ministración had come to an end, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Noah. He initially repeated over and over again: “más del Espíritu Santo.”5 He appeared to be searching for words, searching what to pray for. I appreciated his prayer. However, his prayers suddenly started to strike a chord. He continued to pray for more of the Spirit, for “más de su presencia.”6 He prayed that I was enough. His prayers were imbued with biblical imagery and references to Bible passages. The exact words could no longer be distinguished. It all became a blur. While I was initially slightly agitated and restless, I suddenly became physically calm. This changed when my hands started shaking. Affirming words were prayed over me, another hand was placed on my shoulder, and I heard the voice of someone else praying over me. I heard that I was enough, that I need not fear my parents and others’ expectations, and that I was declared free from past insecurities. I was told that I was a leader and God would use me. My hands continued to shake. I started crying. This time, I was not speaking in tongues. All these words spoken to me, prayed over me, might be considered generic, but they struck a deep chord, resulting in a bodily reaction I felt unable to control. Consumed at this moment, I was no longer concerned with what was occurring around me. The somewhat generic words of those praying for me became deeply personal. These words touched upon my profound insecurities, feelings of guilt, and brokenness. These prayers touched deep within my soul. I was, furthermore, told that I should no longer be ashamed to share the Gospel wherever God might place me. This was repeated over and over, declared over me. Once again, these generic words resonated with me personally, resonating with my shame (or caution) in being more “explicitly” Christian in a highly secularised environment (institutional context). These words resonated with my desire to be more open about my personal faith, to be more evangelistic and shamelessly Christian. Not all that was prayed over me was personally significant. Noah mentioned at one point that I might have been unwanted, maybe even nearly aborted. I know this is not the case, and he did not dwell on it much. However, control over my body had been lost at this stage. I became unsteady on my feet, and I struggled to stay standing. I awkwardly fell to my knees, prostrate on the floor. The hands followed me to the floor, and so did the prayers. I was consumed by a deep joy despite the flowing tears, filled with a deep desire to follow God, to not “volver atrás,”7 as was being repeated over and over again in the worship. I was filled with a desire to be a bridge within the Christian church, between orthodox and more liberal churches. I could distinguish the joy in the voices of those praying over me. As these prayers ended, I instinctively—while still prostrate on the floor—receptively stretched out my hands to receive something. I stayed like this for a while as I “came to.” I sat up and wiped the tears off my face. My body needed some time to recover. No one seemed to pay any attention to me, and I felt no embarrassment.

After these intense occurrences, lunch was served. As I left this lunch, Roberto approached me. Roberto was also a guest speaker at the retreat. He mentioned that he was observing me as I was being ministered to. He showed me the Wikipedia page on the Quakers on his phone. He had seen how my hands were shaking. This made him think of the Quakers. He explained that this also happened with Quakers when they were filled with the Spirit; this did not happen often. When it did, Quakers could fill other people with the Spirit simply by touching them with their shaking hands. Hence the name Quakers. Roberto wanted to tell me this, as it could help me. He had only seen this once before. I responded that this was a first for me. The conversation casually turned towards the time when I interviewed his father a couple of months prior, at which he was also present. I told him to send his father my greetings and expressed my surprise at having encountered him here.

How might I make sense of this ethnographic data in which divine presence or the Holy Spirit grasped me and interrupted my position as a critically distant objective observer, and how might theology deepen an anthropological understanding of such data? Let me start by turning to anthropological insights.

3. Anthropologies of Spirit Possession

As the presented data makes evident, the Holy Spirit or God’s immanent presence is a complex reality to research as a theologian and as an anthropologist. These realities are not only bound to a transcendent realm but rather irrupt into our immanent realities. It is (often) through individual bodies that God’s Spirit is known and discerned. And yet, these are also shared religious experiences and expressions which occur during collective moments of prayer or worship. These spiritual entities become most evident in church services and prayer meetings. Writing about spirit possession (in the context of shamanism), anthropologist Janice Boddy states the following: “Possession, then, is a broad term referring to an integration of spirit and matter, force or power, and corporeal reality, in a cosmos where the boundaries between an individual and her environment are acknowledged to be permeable, flexibly drawn or at least negotiable” (Boddy 1994, p. 407). This could also be said of manifestations of the Holy Spirit within Pentecostal communities. Therefore, I direct my attention to anthropological studies of spirit possession in the context of shamanism. While such studies fall outside the scope of the anthropology of Christianity or Pentecostalism, I hope that such research might point to how one might empirically research the Spirit and other cognate realities within Pentecostalism which appear to defy the perspective of a distant and critical observer.

In 2010, the journal Anthropology and Humanism published a Special Issue, edited by Koss-Chioino, around the question, “Do Spirits Exist?” The authors in this issue focus mainly on the possession of spirits in the context of shamanism and indigenous religions and how such experiences challenged ways of knowing within anthropology. Through the ethnographic encounter with shamanism, anthropologists experienced how secular registers and paradigms were challenged within the discipline and their own personal worldviews (Fotiou 2010, p. 192). As one anthropologist reflects on ensuing profound encounters with shamanism, “My initial confidence that visions were culturally shaped was replaced by a belief that I will never be sure of anything again. (…) My job as an academic, to put these experiences into words, actually reduces them and fails to do justice to their complexity and richness,” (Fotiou 2010, p. 200). Such paradigm-shifting approaches in the study of spirit possession and shamanism were met with some resistance. Hufford states, “It has been assumed that a belief in the reality of any sort of spirit encounter could not be held by any well-educated and sane, modern person,” (Hufford 2010, p. 142). There is a tendency among certain scholars and within broader society to pathologise and medicalise spiritual experiences and possessions, attributing these to psychoses, migraines, epilepsies, and toxic states (Hufford 2010, pp. 144–45; see also Boddy 1994, p. 411). Even certain anthropologists, with a more positive understanding of spirit possession, “consider spirit experiences alien to modern, Western culture, asserting that the experiences are produced by immersion in cultures which believe in and teach the reality of spirits” (Hufford 2010, p. 146).8 However, already in 1994, Boddy notes that alternative approaches to the research of spirit possession were observed:

[a]nthropological accounts of spirit possession are no longer dominated by a few linked master narratives that endeavour to make sense of it by reducing it to behavior explicable in (largely unexamined) universal and substantial medical terms, to discover its presumed logical basis as folk psychiatry or status compensation.

(Boddy 1994, p. 414)

Such medical approaches were increasingly deemed reductive, as they fail to comprehend phenomena which appear to “evade all rational containment” (Boddy 1994, p. 414).

What, then, is an alternative approach to studying spirit possession, shamanism, and how might this aid my research on the Spirit within Pentecostal communities which grasps the researcher and defies the perspective of a distant and critical observer? Many of the scholars writing in the 2010 issue of Anthropology and Humanism argue for an embodied rationality (Koss-Chioino 2010, p. 133), whereby good ethnographic knowledge of spirits and shamanism requires the researcher to write themselves into the text (Glass-Coffin 2010, p. 205).

[E]thnographers have begun embracing the value of stepping outside of themselves and being changed by the process, the tired assertions that anthropology cannot be good science unless the participant-observers remain ‘detached’ from the cognitive and spiritual worldviews of their informants can no longer be accepted at face value.

(Glass-Coffin 2010, p. 206)

Thus,

a methodological perspective that emphasizes intersubjectivity, engagement, vulnerability, willingness to lose control, and the ethnographer’s willingness to be transformed by spiritual and cognitive maps different than her own is more ethically defensible and decolonizing than the detachment typical of participant observation.

(Glass-Coffin 2010, p. 206)

Glass-Coffin calls on anthropologists to know experientially and think beyond “taken-for-granted notions of the real” (Glass-Coffin 2010, p. 206). Anthropologists are called on to attempt to enter the life world of shamans “to gain access to the spiritual and cognitive maps that guided their journeys into the unseen” (Glass-Coffin 2010, p. 208).

This is not unlike the methodology argued for by Taussig in his book Mimesis and Alterity (Taussig 1993). Shamanism, through the concept of mimesis, is claimed to be a challenge to Enlightenment’s myth of context-free reason (Taussig 1993, p. 133). Taussig argues that shamanism destabilises notions of objective and rational reasoning. One cannot research shamanism and spirit possession as a distant observer (Taussig 1993, p. 237). In the words of Boddy on Taussig’s notion of mimesis in the context of researching shamanism, “Taussig impassions us to welcome the vertigo that acknowledging mimesis entails, to resist appropriating it by means of explanation (…) to remain, as it were, possessed, and to let that condition work its effect” (Boddy 1994, p. 426).9 Boddy argues that shamanism and spirit possession “(…) provides no harbour for the analyst outside of the processes she studies” (Boddy 1994, p. 425). Geschiere would similarly call on Taussig’s Mimesis and Alterity in his edited volume on Pentecostalism and Witchcraft. “Taussig’s solution for gaining insight into the power of the murky was to go along with all these ambiguities: taking the drugs and using his feverish revelation to experience the deep ambiguity and unexpected linkages of this hidden world” (Geschiere 2017, p. 289).

The similar methodology for which Taussig and others argued in the 1990s can also be recognised in Glass-Coffin’s writing some two decades later. However, such a methodology did not come easily. While Glass-Coffin strived to “let go” or “cross over,” as she put it, she struggled with a sense of incongruity with the expectations of her discipline (Glass-Coffin 2010, p. 208). This changed when she participated in a neo-shamanistic ritual in Florida (Glass-Coffin 2010, pp. 209–10). “[O]n that night I finally saw beyond the veil and came face-to-face with the power and awe-inspiring awareness of a truly animated cosmos” (Glass-Coffin 2010, p. 209). Through a transformative experience of crossing over, she gained the insight that,

[b]ecause we are all related and part of a giant web of belonging, the way we honor each element of creation, with offerings, with thanksgiving, and with prayer has repercussions that are felt on many levels, from tectonic movements to pan-national awakenings. All life vibrates when the string is plucked regardless of which note is played.

(Glass-Coffin 2010, p. 210)

Glass-Coffin’s perception of her world was fundamentally transformed because of her participation in a neo-shamanistic ritual, by allowing herself to be transformed by the (spiritual) world of the shamans. In her own words: “As a result of that transformative moment, I have had to reassess my understandings of how cultural attitudes and beliefs about the world shape or are shaped by material conditions and constraints” (Glass-Coffin 2010, p. 210). She argues that her secular registers, attributed to her anthropological training, were challenged by her experiences encountering an animated cosmos. No longer was she able to engage with the world in a detached manner (Glass-Coffin 2010, p. 211). As a result of this encounter with neo-shamanism, Glass-Coffin no longer wrote about magic, sorcery, and the soul using “as if” or “like.” Instead, she surrenders to the unknown of a conscious engagement with the animated world around her, navigating the tension between an “impassioned subject” and a “detached recorder” (Glass-Coffin 2010, pp. 214–15).10

Fotiou, another author in the shamanism Special Issue, gives an account of how disorienting and deeply challenging such methodologies can be. She describes how faith in deeply rooted anthropological paradigms were shaken and even how she became less certain of his secular worldviews (Fotiou 2010, p. 192). Moreover, Fotiou struggles to find the words to describe what they are encountering. She states:

I had no framework to interpret visions of beings or spaces, while the ‘trained shaman’ would likely have been able to navigate those spaces with ease. My research with Western apprentices of shamans shows that a part of the shamanic training might be not learning to ‘see,’ as I originally thought but, rather, learning to interpret what one sees, manipulate it, and navigate through it. My inability to interpret my visions, and subsequent frustration, could have been resulted from my lack of an interpretative framework, my attempts to remain ‘unbiased’ and objective throughout my fieldwork, or from my inability to navigate visionary space because of inexperience.

(Fotiou 2010, p. 201)

Fotiou struggled to find the concepts, categories, or words within the anthropological discipline to describe and make sense of her encounters with sorcery in the Peruvian Amazon. As such, she had to learn from the shamans how to interpret what she was seeing and experiencing, thus letting go of her own categories, concepts, and words learnt in Western academic contexts and embracing the language and even embodied states of those possessed by spirits, of those she strived to learn from. This contrasts with trying to maintain a so-called objective distant position, so often expected within Western academia. Such approaches to researching shamanism and spirit possession resonate with my own approach to researching manifestations of the Holy Spirit within Pentecostal communities.

Turning to my research and data on the Holy Spirit within Pentecostal churches in Madrid, these insights from the aforementioned anthropologists can be brought to bear. These insights help me to better theorise about how I, as an anthropologist, strived to ethnographically research the Holy Spirit, particularly during cultos. In the first months of conducting research among these communities, I maintained a somewhat distant position. However, as the months progressed, I increasingly participated with my own emotions and body in spaces in which the Holy Spirit and the demonic were explicitly evoked or exorcised. I increasingly lost my position as a distant observer as my whole being became enmeshed in the religious realities I was striving to understand. Purely anthropological concepts became insufficient to make sense of these embodied and simultaneously transcendent realities. Anthropological concepts and categories struggled to make sense of these murky, powerful, and irruptive realities. As such, following the lead of Fotiou and the other authors, I encountered the need to embrace new concepts, categories and interpretive frameworks capable of making sense of manifestations of the Holy Spirit which also grasped me as a researcher.

Below, I turn to theology, more particularly Tillich’s theology of the Spirit in search of such new concepts. As I will argue in the following, Tillich’s theology and respective analytical framework, while not using the concepts and categories of the researched Pentecostal communities, does enable me to theorise about and make sense of the Spirit (or spirit) filled world of the Pentecostal communities involved in this research, as well as personal embodied experiences. Turning to Tillich’s theology, as an anthropologist, helps me to think more porously, untrammelled by the secular condition, thus better enabling me to navigate the tension between “impassioned subject” and “detached recorder.” Furthermore, theology aids me in theorising about and making sense of the interruption of my position as a detached, distant and objective observer as something intellectually productive and relevant (see Furani 2019).

4. The Spirit and Tillich

I turn to Paul Tillich, a theologian who has written much about the (Holy) Spirit in order to make sense of and think through profoundly personal and existential manifestations of the Holy Spirit which appear to defy the perspective of a distant and critical observer. In turning to Tillich, one might argue that I am imposing a Western European and Lutheran theological framework on the Pentecostal religious lives of Latino migrants in Spain, rather than foregrounding theological voices rooted in contexts consonant with the research. Nevertheless, there are various reasons why Tillich’s theology has proven relevant for this context. Firstly, it is important to recognise that I am not the first to argue for the value of Tillich’s theology for the research of Pentecostalism. Paul Tillich and Pentecostal Theology: Spiritual Presence and Spiritual Power (Wariboko and Yong 2015) is a volume which demonstrates the potential of Tillich’s theology for gaining a deeper understanding of Pentecostalism beyond the North Atlantic world. This volume—edited and written by Pentecostal theologians—was the initial inspiration for me to also recognise the potential of Tillich’s theology, more specifically his theological methodology, for my own research among and with Pentecostal communities. There are a few other authors who demonstrate the potential for a fruitful dialogue between Pentecostal theology and Tillich’s theology, such as Nimi Wariboko’s book The Pentecostal Principle (Wariboko 2012), Tony Richie’s Speaking by the Spirit (Richie 2011), or my own article “Spirit Empowered Migrants in the Anthropocene” (van den Toren-Liefting 2022). However, other than these authors and sources, very little else has been written on the intersection or overlap between Paul Tillich and Pentecostal theology.

Secondly, experience plays a central role in Tillich’s systematic theology, considering theological knowledge as being “existentially received” (Tillich 1951, p. 48). Thus, theologians should formulate their theologies “from their religious experience in a concrete religious reality, from their religious experience in the mystical sense of the experience” (Tillich 1951, p. 49). The Spirit plays a key role in this religious experience as a source of theological knowledge.

The experience of the man who has the Spirit is the source of religious truth and therefore systematic theology. The letter of the Bible and the doctrines of the church remain letters of the law if the Spirit does not interpret them in the individual Christian. Experience as the inspiring presence of the Spirit is the ultimate source of theology.

(Tillich 1951, p. 51)

Consequently, Tillich’s theology—and the Spirit’s place in it—requires the researcher or theologian not to be a distant and objective researcher. This opens the possibility to account for my experiences of being “grasped by the Spirit” in researching manifestations of the Holy Spirit among Pentecostal communities in Madrid. These experiences no longer need to be considered a hindrance to (theological) knowledge but, rather, will prove to be a legitimate source of knowledge which aid in making sense of ethnographic encounters with the Spirit.

4.1. The Spirit and Her Ontological Structure

To understand Tillich’s theology of the Spirit, one must first understand the role of the object–subject dichotomy in his theology. He states that the object–subject dichotomy precedes all other structures. This foundational structure emerges from

an asking subject and an object about which the question is asked, (…) which in turn presupposes the self-world structure as the basic articulation of being. The self having a world to which it belongs—this highly dialectical structure—logically and experientially precedes all other structures.

(Tillich 1951, p. 183)11

In this foundational structure, moreover, “the dualities of essential and existential being is seen, and the question of their relation to one another and to being-itself is asked” (Tillich 1951, p. 183).12 In other words, when speaking of these foundational dialectical structures, one must also question their relationship to being-itself or God. Thus, according to Tillich, God—or being-itself—precedes and transcends these foundational dialectic structures, the object–subject dichotomy (Tillich 1951, p. 191). To complicate matters further, Tillich states, “[t]heology always must remember that in the speaking of God it makes an object of that which precedes the subject–object structure and that, therefore, it must include in its speaking of God the acknowledgement that it cannot make God an object” (Tillich 1951, p. 191). It is, therefore, impossible to speak of that which transcends the object–subject dichotomy, as this would paradoxically objectify that which cannot be objectified. In speaking of God, one must always consider God’s agency and ability to grasp the one doing the inquiring. Furthermore,

[t]he relation of subject and object is not that of an identity from which neither subjectivity nor objectivity can be derived. The relation is one of polarity. The basic ontological structure cannot be derived. It must be accepted. The question, ‘What precedes the duality of self and world, of subject and object?’ is a question in which reason looks into its own abyss—an abyss in which distinction and derivation disappear. Only revelation can answer this question.

(Tillich 1951, p. 193)

As such, one cannot search for that which precedes the ontological structure of the object–subject dichotomy, that is, God. Tillich argues that God is a reality which one experiences, by which one must be grasped, or even which must be revealed. Consequently, like those anthropologists who researched possession and shamanism, one might conclude that such manifestations of God provides “no harbour for the analyst outside of the processes she studies” (Boddy 1994, p. 425).

4.2. The Human Spirit and Divine Spirit

Now that we understand God as that which transcends the foundational structure of the object–subject dichotomy, we can turn to Tillich’s understanding of the divine Spirit and the human spirit as realities intimately and inescapably connected to Tillich’s notion of God. Tillich argues that one must distinguish between “man’s spirit”13 (or rather, human spirit) and the “divine Spirit.”14 In the human spirit, the power of being and the meaning of being are united. In other words, the human consciousness of self and the creative power of (human) being are united in the human spirit. This defines a human as human (Tillich 1976, p. 111). Tillich states,

Without this experience of spirit as the unity of power and meaning in himself, man would not have been able to express the revelatory experience of “God present” in the term “Spirit” or “Spiritual Presence.” This shows again that no doctrine of the divine Spirit is possible without an understanding of spirit as a dimension of life.

(Tillich 1976, p. 111)

Furthermore, the human spirit is only the limited and fragmentary “actual,” while the divine Spirit is the full potential towards which the human spirit moves. However, finite humans cannot force or compel the infinite unconditional. Only through the divine Spirit individuals are grasped by the unconditional or God, by that which precedes the object–subject structure. Only through the divine Spirit can the human spirit transcend itself (Tillich 1976, p. 112). In other words, humans cannot reach for God. Rather, God must reach for humans through the divine Spirit.

Tillich identifies this self-transcendence of the human spirit—as a result of being grasped by the divine Spirit—as ecstasy. In his words:

The Spiritual Presence creates an ecstasy (…) which drives the spirit of man beyond itself without destroying its essential, i.e., rational, structure. Ecstasy does not destroy the centredness of the integrated self. Should it do so, demonic possession would replace the creative presence of the Spirit.

(Tillich 1976, p. 112)

Ecstasy does not negate structure because it is “the structure of the centred self which bears the dimension of the spirit” (Tillich 1976, p. 114). As Macchia argues, Tillich’s concept of ecstasy “involves the healing of life and its structures, rather than their abandonment” (Macchia 2015, p. 95). If the point had not yet been made clear, later on in Systematic Theology: Volume III, Tillich once more emphasises that “Spiritual Presence is not an intoxicating substance, or a stimulus for psychological excitement, or a miraculous physical cause” (Tillich 1976, p. 275). Rather, the church must resist confusing ecstasy with disorder and chaos, striving instead for (the healing of) structures (Tillich 1976, p. 117).

Conversely, when turning to the concrete manifestations of the divine Spirit, Tillich would not deny its apparent miraculous character (Tillich 1976, p. 114). The Spirit can have a bodily effect by producing new life in bodies and by breaking down their rigidity. The Spirit can also have a psychological effect by endowing the intellect and will with apparent abilities beyond their natural ability. One might even argue that Tillich theology of the Spirit leaves room for the (Pentecostal) practice of “speaking in tongues” resulting from being grasped by the Spirit (Tillich 1976, p. 115; see also Macchia 2015, p. 93).

In sum, Tillich’s notion of ecstasy can be understood as a transcendence of the object–subject structure, whereby the independent existence of each is surmounted. This results in a liberating self-awareness. Tillich also refers to another religious practice in this context: prayer. Prayer—an ecstatic experience in which the human spirit is grasped by God, through the divine Spirit—must not be confused with a subjective intoxication which appears like ecstasy (Tillich 1976, pp. 119–20). Or as stated by Tillich himself: “[i]n these experiences [of prayer], nothing of the objective world is dissolved into mere subjectivity” (Tillich 1976, p. 119). Rather, in prayer the human spirit transcends itself and is drawn into being-itself, into God, where the object–subject dichotomy is transcended.

5. The Spirit in Madrid, in Light of Tillich

How does Tillich’s theology of the Spirit aid in making sense of and thinking through the personal and existential dimensions of manifestations of the Spirit among the researched Pentecostal communities in Madrid? Firstly, Tillich emphasises the centrality of experience in his theology of the Spirit. He argues that it is simply not possible to speak of God or the divine Spirit objectively, that is, without experiencing the divine Spirit. If this is attempted, one is no longer speaking of God or the divine Spirit, which transcend the object–subject dichotomy. Such a theology of the Spirit enables me to make sense of manifestations of the Spirit which defied the perspective of a distant and critical researcher, encountered during my own research on the Holy Spirit within Pentecostal communities. During my ethnographic research on manifestations of the Holy Spirit, I eventually could not remain a distant and objective observer. Though I initially strived to keep a distance to retain some sort of objectivity and autonomy, eventually I was overcome by a personal religious experience, and I was “grasped by the Spirit.” My own history, religious identity, and even body all became entangled in my understanding of the divine Spirit. Thus, in line with Tillich’s theology of the Spirit, such a personal and subjective religious experience within a Pentecostal community is inherently part of the endeavour of making sense of the Spirit. According to Tillich, without such objective experiences, our understanding of the Spirit would be incomplete.

Secondly, Tillich speaks of how the human spirit is grasped by the divine Spirit, because of which the human spirit and its structures are transformed and healed. Moreover, in ecstatic moments of being grasped by the divine Spirit, the centred and integrated self of the human spirit is maintained. This is very similar to what I experienced during the youth retreat. During my own ecstatic experience of the Spirit, my personal life was profoundly present. It was not as if I became so consumed in a transcendent experience that I lost consciousness of my own being, that my own spirit was lost out of sight. If anything, my own finitude, shortcomings and struggles, and profound desires were only emphasised in this encounter with the divine Spirit, an encounter which (paradoxically) joyfully affirmed my being.

Up to this point, it is apparent that the manifestations of the Spirit as described in this article resonate with Tillich’s theology of the Spirit. However, differences between a Tillichian and Pentecostal understanding of the Spirit must also be recognised. Tillich, though recognising the existential and personal dimensions of the Spirit, was also critical of supposed manifestations of the Spirit which he considered to be supernaturalistic or a form of subjective intoxication (Kärkkäinen 2015, p. 23; Tillich 1976, pp. 119–20). For Tillich, religious experiences which annihilate structure or form could not be considered ecstatic manifestations of the divine Spirit. Was my own encounter with the Spirit such a form of subjective intoxication which caused me to retreat from the structures of life, rather than an existential encounter with the Spirit which healed life and its structures? Can religious experiences which miraculously defy the structures of our life and world be considered manifestations of the Holy Spirit? As time moves on and I am increasingly removed from the context in which I had this experience, the more I struggle to take this experience at face value. Somehow, as time passes, the more I am estranged from this experience. I begin to wonder if this experience was a form of subjective intoxication which in no real way healed or affirmed my life and its structures. As time moves on, the more I once more become a critically distant objective observer, and the more I tend to become sympathetic to Tillich’s critical questions. However, rather than allowing the sceptic to take centre stage, I would rather allow the religious experiences of the Pentecostal communities researched and my own ethnographic experience to potentially challenge Tillich’s theology of the Spirit. While not directly apparent in data presented here, a belief in manifestations of the Spirit which transcend the “structures” of our existence, in other words miracles, are dominant in the Pentecostal communities researched. As the Pentecostal theologian Macchia argues, “[t]here are real miracles to behold, that no power-bearing meaning, no matter how inspirational, can in and of itself provide sufficient substitute” (Macchia 2015, p. 99). Thus, Tillich could be challenged by Pentecostal theology and experience, which might consider his theology to be too quick in classifying certain religious experiences as supernaturalistic or as a form of subjective intoxication. Moreover, such reflections raise further questions about a Tillichian understanding of how God or the Spirit acts and is an agent in existence.

Despite these differences, in Tillich’s writing I discovered a theology of the Spirit which proved capable of shedding light on personal experiences of the Spirit. His theology of the Spirit offered concepts and categories capable of making sense of and thinking through such existential manifestations of the Spirit, which could not truly be understood as a distant and objective observer. Precisely because, for Tillich, religious experience is essential to the theological endeavour—particularly in relation to the Spirit—I was able to grasp and appreciate the profoundly personal and existential nature of the Spirit. Moreover, by turning to Tillich’s theology of the Spirit to make sense of ethnographic data collected within Pentecostal communities, I was able to emplace or contextualise such data in a broader theological system.

6. Conclusions

On the 8th of January 2022, after almost a year of conducting ethnographic research among Pentecostal communities and spending many hours in cultos or church services, my position as a supposed objective and distant participant observer was interrupted. Like many individuals in the communities I was researching, I too was eventually “grasped by the Spirit”. I too had an existential religious experience. In this article, I set out to reflect on how I might make sense of such data, more specifically how an anthropologist might make use of Tillich’s theology of the Spirit to make sense of such ethnographic data which appeared to defy the perspective of a distant and critical observer. First, I reflected on how anthropologists might make sense of similar ethnographic data. I turned to anthropologists who reflected on their own religious experiences of being grasped or consumed by spirits while researching shamanic and indigenous religious practices. One anthropologist, Fotiou, concludes that traditional anthropological concepts and categories are unable to truly grasp such religious experiences. Other concepts and categories are required. While Fotiou might have argued for anthropologists to embrace the concepts and categories of the shaman, I argue that, in this case, Tillich’s theology Spirit could also aid my own sense-making of an existential religious experience of being grasped by the Spirit. By turning to Tillich’s theology of the Spirit to make sense of this auto-ethnographic data, I was able to recognise the inherent existential nature of the Spirit, who defies being understood objectively. Of course, the limits of Tillich’s theology of the Spirit also became apparent, in particular with regard to supernatural or miraculous manifestations of the Spirit. This is also where ethnographic data from Pentecostal communities might challenge Tillich’s theology of the Spirit.

I would argue that the Spirit and other cognate realities as encountered in this article are, par excellence, relevant for an interdisciplinary dialogue between anthropology and theology. It is the interruptive nature of the Spirit which grasps the researcher and defies the perspective of a distant and critical observer which brings to light the limits of the anthropology. Thus, it has become apparent that Tillich’s theology of the Spirit can aid in making sense of ethnographic data collected within Pentecostal communities. His theology aids anthropology in making sense of ethnographic manifestations of the Spirit beyond the secular registers dominant in the discipline, enabling a more profound appreciation of the personal and existential nature of the Spirit which simply cannot be understood in objective terms. It becomes apparent how the anthropological perspectives on Pentecostal religiosity might be transformed by incorporating Tillichian theological insights. However, this might give the impression that when researching Pentecostal religiosity anthropological concepts and categories should become subsumed to theological concepts and categories. This is not the impression I wish to give.

Tillich’s theology also emphasises the integrative nature of the Spirit. The Spirit, according to Tillich, is existential and experiential. Furthermore, the Spirit does not extract someone from the world; rather it affirms and heals form and structure. In my broader ethnographic research, this could be recognised in the fact that the encountered manifestations of the Spirit did not occur in a vacuum but occurred within Pentecostal communities with strong ties to Latin America through migration. Moreover, these Pentecostal communities were increasingly participating in the Spanish public sphere. Such social, political, and cultural realities inevitably had an impact on how the Spirit was manifest, but also how the Spirit was engaged by the researched Pentecostal communities. When this manifestation of the Spirit is embedded in such broader social, political, and cultural contexts, then anthropological concepts and categories once more come into their own and in turn have the potential to also transform Tillich’s theology of the Spirit and theological insights more broadly. However, this is beyond the scope of this article.

In sum, Tillich has aided me in thinking through my own experience with the Spirit, for which anthropological concepts and categories fell short. Tillich’s theology aided me to reflect on this experience beyond the secular registers so dominant in the discipline. However, the incorporation of theological insights does not delegitimise the anthropological discipline. Rather, Furani and Robbins would argue that theology could serve as a theological mirror for the anthropological discipline. Turning to theology has the potential to redeem anthropology, allowing the discipline to come more fully into its own, by shaking off its secular condition (Furani and Robbins 2021, p. 507). In so doing, Tillich’s theology of the Spirit deepens intuitions inherently present in an anthropological approach to researching manifestations of the Spirit by emphasising the essential role of experience and (inter)subjectivity without which the Spirit cannot be grasped and, ultimately, one cannot be grasped by the Spirit.