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THE VARIETIES OF RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE
mystical states with certain definite phenomena of secondary or
alternative personality, such as prophetic speech, automatic writing,
or the mediumistic trance. When these latter conditions are well
pronounced, however, there may be no recollection whatever of the
phenomenon, and it may have no significance for the subject’s usual
inner life, to which, as it were, it makes a mere interruption. Mystical
states, strictly so called, are never merely interruptive. Some memory
of their content always remains, and a profound sense of their im-
portance. They modify the inner life of the subject between the
times of their recurrence. Sharp divisions in this region are, however,
difficult to make, and we find all sorts of gradations and mixtures.
These four characteristics are sufficient to mark out a group of
states of consciousness peculiar enough to deserve a special name and
to call for careful study. Let it then be called the mystical group.
Our next step should be to gain acquaintance with some typical
examples. Professional mystics at the height of their development
have often elaborately organized experiences and a philosophy
based thereupon. But you remember what I said in my first lecture:
phenomena are best understood when placed within their series,
studied in their germ and in their over-ripe decay, and compared
with their exaggerated and degenerated kindred. The range of
mystical experience is very wide, much too wide for us to cover in
the time at our disposal. Yet the method of serial study is so essential
for interpretation that if we really wish to reach conclusions we
must use it. I will begin, therefore, with phenomena which claim
no special religious significance, and end with those of which the
religious pretensions are extreme.
The simplest rudiment of mystical experience would seem to be
that deepened sense of the significance of a maxim or formula which
occasionally sweeps over one. “I’ve heard that said all my life,” we
exclaim, “but I never realized its full meaning until now.” “When a
fellow-monk,” said Luther, “one day repeated the words of the Creed:
‘I believe in the forgiveness of sins,’ I saw the Scripture in an entirely
new light; and straightway I felt as if I were born anew. It was as if
I had found the door of paradise thrown wide open.”
1
This sense of
deeper significance is not confined to rational propositions. Single
1
Newman’s Securus judicat orbis terrarum is another instance.
MYSTICISM
297
words,
1
and conjunctions of words, effects of light on land and sea,
odors
and musical sounds, all bring it when the mind is tuned aright.
Most of us can remember the strangely moving power of passages
in certain poems read when we were young, irrational doorways
as they were through which the mystery of fact, the wildness and
the pang of life, stole into our hearts and thrilled them. The words
have now perhaps become mere polished surfaces for us; but lyric
poetry and music are alive and significant only in proportion as they
fetch these vague vistas of a life continuous with our own, beckon-
ing and inviting, yet ever eluding our pursuit. We are alive or dead
to the eternal inner message of the arts according as we have kept
or lost this mystical susceptibility.
A more pronounced step forward on the mystical ladder is found
in an extremely frequent phenomenon, that sudden feeling, namely,
which sometimes sweeps over us, of having “been here before,” as if
at some indefinite past time, in just this place, with just these people,
we were already saying just these things. As Tennyson writes:
“Moreover, something is or seems,
That touches me with mystic gleams,
Like glimpses of forgotten dreams —
“Of something felt, like something here;
Of something done, I know not where;
Such as no language may declare.”
2
1
“Mesopotamia” is the stock comic instance. — An excellent old German lady, who had
done some traveling in her day, used to describe to me her
Sehnsucht that she might yet visit
“Phı¯ladelphia¯,” whose wondrous name had always haunted her imagination. Of John Foster
it is said that “single words (as chalcedony), or the names of ancient heroes, had a mighty
fascination over him. ‘At any time the word hermit was enough to transport him.’ The words
woods and
forests would produce the most powerful emotion.” Foster’s Life, by R
YLAND
, New
York, 1846, p. 3.
2
The Two Voices. In a letter to Mr. B. P. Blood, Tennyson reports of himself as follows: —
“I have never had any revelations through anæsthetics, but a kind of waking trance —
this for lack of a better word — I have frequently had, quite up from boyhood, when I have
been all alone. This has come upon me through repeating my own name to myself silently,
till all at once, as it were out of the intensity of the consciousness of individuality, individu-
ality itself seemed to dissolve and fade away into boundless being, and this not a confused
state but the clearest, the surest of the surest, utterly beyond words — where death was an
almost laughable impossibility — the loss of personality (if so it were) seeming no extinc-
tion, but the only true life. I am ashamed of my feeble description. Have I not said the state
is utterly beyond words?”
Professor Tyndall, in a letter, recalls Tennyson saying of this condition: “By God Almighty!
there is no delusion in the matter! It is no nebulous ecstasy, but a state of transcendent
wonder, associated with absolute clearness of mind.” Memoirs of Alfred Tennyson, ii. 473.