OTHER CHARACTERISTICS
367
“liberal” Christians. As an expression of it, I will quote a page from
one of Martineau’s sermons: —
“The universe, open to the eye to-day, looks as it did a thousand years
ago: and the morning hymn of Milton does but tell the beauty with which
our own familiar sun dressed the earliest fields and gardens of the world.
We see what all our fathers saw. And if we cannot find God in your house
or in mine, upon the roadside or the margin of the sea; in the bursting
seed or opening flower; in the day duty or the night musing; in the general
laugh and the secret grief; in the procession of life, ever entering afresh,
and solemnly passing by and dropping off; I do not think we should
discern him any more on the grass of Eden, or beneath the moonlight of
Gethsemane. Depend upon it, it is not the want of greater miracles, but
of the soul to perceive such as are allowed us still, that makes us push all
the sanctities into the far spaces we cannot reach. The devout feel that
wherever God’s hand is, there is miracle: and it is simply an indevoutness
which imagines that only where miracle is, can there be the real hand of
God. The customs of Heaven ought surely to be more sacred in our eyes
than its anomalies; the dear old ways, of which the Most High is never
tired, than the strange things which he does not love well enough ever
to repeat. And he who will but discern beneath the sun, as he rises any
morning, the supporting finger of the Almighty, may recover the sweet
and reverent surprise with which Adam gazed on the first dawn in Paradise.
It is no outward change, no shifting in time or place; but only the loving
meditation of the pure in heart, that can reawaken the Eternal from the
sleep within our souls: that can render him a reality again, and reassert for
him once more his ancient name of ‘the Living God.’ ”
1
When we see all things in God, and refer all things to him, we
read in common matters superior expressions of meaning. The
deadness with which custom invests the familiar vanishes, and
existence as a whole appears transfigured. The state of a mind thus
awakened from torpor is well expressed in these words, which I
take from a friend’s letter: —
“If we occupy ourselves in summing up all the mercies and bounties
we are privileged to have, we are overwhelmed by their number (so great
that we can imagine ourselves unable to give ourselves time even to begin
to review the things we may imagine we have not). We sum them and
1
J
AMES
M
ARTINEAU
: end of the sermon “Help Thou Mine Unbelief,” in Endeavours after
a Christian Life, 2d series. Compare with this page the extract from Voysey on p. 215,
above, and those from Pascal and Madame Guyon on p. 223.
368
THE VARIETIES OF RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE
realize that we are actually killed with God’s kindness; that we are surrounded
by bounties upon bounties, without which all would fall. Should we not
love it; should we not feel buoyed up by the Eternal Arms?”
Sometimes this realization that facts are of divine sending, instead
of being habitual, is casual, like a mystical experience. Father Gratry
gives this instance from his youthful melancholy period: —
“One day I had a moment of consolation, because I met with some-
thing which seemed to me ideally perfect. It was a poor drummer beating
the tattoo in the streets of Paris. I walked behind him in returning to the
school on the evening of a holiday. His drum gave out the tattoo in such
a way that, at that moment at least, however peevish I were, I could find
no pretext for fault-finding. It was impossible to conceive more nerve
or spirit, better time or measure, more clearness or richness, than were in
this drumming. Ideal desire could go no farther in that direction. I was
enchanted and consoled; the perfection of this wretched act did me good.
Good is at least possible, I said, since the ideal can thus sometimes get
embodied.”
1
In Sénancour’s novel of Obermann a similar transient lifting of
the veil is recorded. In Paris streets, on a March day, he comes
across a flower in bloom, a jonquil:
“It was the strongest expression of desire: it was the first perfume of the
year. I felt all the happiness destined for man. This unutterable harmony
of souls, the phantom of the ideal world, arose in me complete. I never
felt anything so great or so instantaneous. I know not what shape, what
analogy, what secret of relation it was that made me see in this flower a
limitless beauty. . . . I shall never inclose in a conception this power, this
immensity that nothing will express; this form that nothing will contain;
this ideal of a better world which one feels, but which, it seems, nature
has not made actual.”
2
We heard in previous lectures of the vivified face of the world
as it may appear to converts after their awakening.
3
As a rule,
religious persons generally assume that whatever natural facts con-
nect themselves in any way with their destiny are significant of the
divine purposes with them. Through prayer the purpose, often far
1
Souvenirs de ma Jeunesse, 1897, p. 122.
2
Op. cit., Letter XXX.
3
Above, p. 194 ff. Compare the withdrawal of expression from the world, in Melancholiacs,
p. 151.