298
THE VARIETIES OF RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE
Sir James Crichton-Browne has given the technical name of “dreamy
states” to these sudden invasions of vaguely reminiscent conscious-
ness.
1
They bring a sense of mystery and of the metaphysical duality
of things, and the feeling of an enlargement of perception which
seems imminent but which never completes itself. In Dr. Crichton-
Browne’s opinion they connect themselves with the perplexed and
scared disturbances of self-consciousness which occasionally precede
epileptic attacks. I think that this learned alienist takes a rather
absurdly alarmist view of an intrinsically insignificant phenomenon.
He follows it along the downward ladder, to insanity; our path
pursues the upward ladder chiefly. The divergence shows how import-
ant it is to neglect no part of a phenomenon’s connections, for we
make it appear admirable or dreadful according to the context by
which we set it off.
Somewhat deeper plunges into mystical consciousness are met
with in yet other dreamy states. Such feelings as these which Charles
Kingsley describes are surely far from being uncommon, especially
in youth: —
“When I walk the fields, I am oppressed now and then with an innate
feeling that everything I see has a meaning, if I could but understand
it. And this feeling of being surrounded with truths which I cannot grasp
amounts to indescribable awe sometimes. . . . Have you not felt that your
real soul was imperceptible to your mental vision, except in a few hallowed
moments?”
2
A much more extreme state of mystical consciousness is described
by J. A. Symonds; and probably more
persons than we suspect could
give parallels to it from their own experience.
“Suddenly,” writes Symonds, “at church, or in company, or when I
was reading, and always, I think, when my muscles were at rest, I felt the
approach of the mood. Irresistibly it took possession of my mind and will,
lasted what seemed an eternity, and disappeared in a series of rapid sensa-
tions which resembled the awakening from anæsthetic influence. One
reason why I disliked this kind of trance was that I could not describe it to
1
The Lancet, July 6 and 13, 1895, reprinted as the Cavendish Lecture, on Dreamy Mental
States, London, Baillière, 1895. They have been a good deal discussed of late by psychologists.
See, for example, B
ERNARD
-L
EROY
: L’Illusion de Fausse Reconnaissance, Paris, 1898.
2
Charles Kingsley’s Life, i. 55, quoted by I
NGE
: Christian Mysticism, London, 1899,
p. 341.
MYSTICISM
299
myself. I cannot even now find words to render it intelligible. It consisted
in a gradual but swiftly progressive obliteration of space, time, sensation,
and the multitudinous factors of experience which seem to qualify what
we are pleased to call our Self. In proportion as these conditions of ordinary
consciousness were subtracted, the sense of an underlying or essential con-
sciousness acquired intensity. At last nothing remained but a pure, absolute,
abstract Self. The universe became without form and void of content. But
Self persisted, formidable in its vivid keenness, feeling the most poignant
doubt about reality, ready, as it seemed, to find existence break as breaks
a bubble round about it. And what then? The apprehension of a coming
dissolution, the grim conviction that this state was the last state of the con-
scious Self, the sense that I had followed the last thread of being to the
verge of the abyss, and had arrived at demonstration of eternal Maya or
illusion, stirred or seemed to stir me up again. The return to ordinary condi-
tions of sentient existence began by my first recovering the power of touch,
and then by the gradual though rapid influx of familiar impressions and
diurnal interests. At last I felt myself once more a human being; and though
the riddle of what is meant by life remained unsolved, I was thankful for
this return from the abyss — this deliverance from so awful an initiation
into the mysteries of skepticism.
“This trance recurred with diminishing frequency until I reached the
age of twenty-eight. It served to impress upon my growing nature the
phantasmal unreality of all the circumstances which contribute to a merely
phenomenal consciousness. Often have I asked myself with anguish, on
waking from that formless state of denuded, keenly sentient being, Which
is the unreality? — the trance of fiery, vacant, apprehensive, skeptical Self
from which I issue, or these surrounding phenomena and habits which
veil that inner Self and build a self of flesh-and-blood conventionality?
Again, are men the factors of some dream, the dream-like unsubstantiality
of which they comprehend at such eventful moments? What would happen
if the final stage of the trance were reached?”
1
In a recital like this there is certainly something suggestive of
pathology.
2
The next step into mystical states carries us into a realm
that public opinion and ethical philosophy
have long since branded
1
H. F. B
ROWN
: J. A. Symonds, a Biography, London, 1895, pp. 29–31, abridged.
2
Crichton-Browne expressly says that Symonds’s “highest nerve centres were in some
degree enfeebled or damaged by these dreamy mental states which afflicted him so griev-
ously.” Symonds was, however, a perfect monster of many-sided cerebral efficiency, and
his critic gives no objective grounds whatever for his strange opinion, save that Symonds
complained occasionally, as all susceptible and ambitious men complain, of lassitude and
uncertainty as to his life’s mission.