52
THE VARIETIES OF RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE
“There was not a mere consciousness of something there, but fused
in the central happiness of it, a startling awareness of some ineffable
good. Not vague either, not like the emotional effect of some poem,
or scene, or blossom, of music, but the sure knowledge of the close pres-
ence of a sort of mighty person, and after it went, the memory persisted
as the one perception of reality. Everything else might be a dream, but
not that.”
My friend, as it oddly happens, does not interpret these latter
experiences theistically, as signifying the presence of God. But
it would clearly not have been unnatural to interpret them as a
revelation of the deity’s existence. When we reach the subject of
mysticism, we shall have much more to say upon this head.
Lest the oddity of these phenomena should disconcert you, I
will venture to read you a couple of similar narratives, much shorter,
merely to show that we are dealing with a well-marked natural
kind of fact. In the first case, which I take from the Journal of the
Society for Psychical Research, the sense of presence developed
in a few moments into a distinctly visualized hallucination, — but
I leave that part of the story out.
“I had read,” the narrator says, “some twenty minutes or so, was
thoroughly absorbed in the book, my mind was perfectly quiet, and for
the time being my friends were quite forgotten, when suddenly without
a moment’s warning my whole being seemed roused to the highest state
of tension or aliveness, and I was aware, with an intenseness not easily
imagined by those who had never experienced it, that another being
or presence was not only in the room, but quite close to me. I put my
book down, and although my excitement was great, I felt quite collected,
and not conscious of any sense of fear. Without changing my position,
and looking straight at the fire, I knew somehow that my friend A. H.
was standing at my left elbow, but so far behind me as to be hidden by
the armchair in which I was leaning back. Moving my eyes round slightly
without otherwise changing my position, the lower portion of one leg
became visible, and I instantly recognized the gray-blue material of trousers
he often wore, but the stuff appeared semi-transparent, reminding me of
tobacco smoke in consistency,”
1
— and hereupon the visual hallucination
came.
1
Journal of the S. P. R., February, 1895, p. 26.
THE REALITY OF THE UNSEEN
53
Another informant writes: —
“Quite early in the night I was awakened. . . . I felt as if I had been
aroused intentionally, and at first thought some one was breaking into the
house. . . . I then turned on my side to go to sleep again, and immediately
felt a consciousness of a presence in the room, and singular to state, it was
not the consciousness of a live person, but of a spiritual presence. This
may provoke a smile, but I can only tell you the facts as they occurred to
me. I do not know how to better describe my sensations than by simply
stating that I felt a consciousness of a spiritual presence. . . . I felt also at
the same time a strong feeling of superstitious dread, as if something
strange and fearful were about to happen.”
1
Professor Flournoy of Geneva gives me the following testimony
of a friend of his, a lady, who has the gift of automatic or involun-
tary writing: —
“Whenever I practice automatic writing, what makes me feel that it is
not due to a subconscious self is the feeling I always have of a foreign
presence, external to my body. It is sometimes so definitely characterized
that I could point to its exact position. This impression of presence is
impossible to describe. It varies in intensity and clearness according to
the personality from whom the writing professes to come. If it is some one
whom I love, I feel it immediately, before any writing has come. My heart
seems to recognize it.”
In an earlier book of mine I have cited at full length a curious
case of presence felt by a blind man. The presence was that of
the figure of a gray-bearded man dressed in a pepper and salt suit,
squeezing himself under the crack of the door and moving across
the floor of the room towards a sofa. The blind subject of this
quasi-hallucination is an exceptionally intelligent reporter. He is
entirely without internal visual imagery and cannot represent light
or colors to himself, and is positive that his other senses, hearing,
etc., were not involved in this false perception. It seems to have
been an abstract conception rather, with the feelings of reality and
spatial outwardness directly attached to it — in other words, a fully
objectified and exteriorized idea.
Such cases, taken along with others which would be too tedious
for quotation, seem sufficiently to prove the existence in our mental
1
E. G
URNEY
: Phantasms of the Living, i. 384.
54
THE VARIETIES OF RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE
machinery of a sense of present reality more diffused and general
than that which our special senses yield. For the pyschologists the
tracing of the organic seat of such a feeling would form a pretty
problem — nothing could be more natural than to connect it with
the muscular sense, with the feeling that our muscles were innervat-
ing themselves for action. Whatsoever thus innervated our activity,
or “made our flesh creep,” — our senses are what do so oftenest, —
might then appear real and present, even though it were but an
abstract idea. But with such vague conjectures we have no concern
at present, for our interest lies with the faculty rather than with
its organic seat.
Like all positive affections of consciousness, the sense of reality
has its negative counterpart in the shape of a feeling of unreality by
which persons may be haunted, and of which one sometimes hears
complaint: —
“When I reflect on the fact that I have made my appearance by accident
upon a globe itself whirled through space as the sport of the catastrophes
of the heavens,” says Madame Ackermann; “when I see myself surrounded
by beings as ephemeral and incomprehensible as I am myself, and all
excitedly pursuing pure chimeras, I experience a strange feeling of being in
a dream. It seems to me as if I have loved and suffered and that erelong I
shall die, in a dream. My last word will be, ‘I have been dreaming.’ ”
1
In another lecture we shall see how in morbid melancholy this
sense of the unreality of things may become a carking pain, and
even lead to suicide.
We may now lay it down as certain that in the distinctively
religious sphere of experience, many persons (how many we cannot
tell) possess the objects of their belief, not in the form of mere
conceptions which their intellect accepts as true, but rather in the
form of quasi-sensible realities directly apprehended. As his sense
of the real presence of these objects fluctuates, so the believer alter-
nates between warmth and coldness in his faith. Other examples
will bring this home to one better than abstract description, so I
proceed immediately to cite some. The first example is a negative
one, deploring the loss of the sense in question. I have extracted it
from an account given me by a scientific man of my acquaintance,
1
Pensées d’un Solitaire, p. 66.
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