Mysticism

Over and over again in these lectures I have raised points and left them open and unfinished until we should have come to the subject of Mysticism. Some of you, I fear, may have smiled as you noted my reiterated postponements. But now the hour has come when mysticism must be faced in good earnest, and those broken threads wound up together. One may say truly, I think, that personal religious experience has its root and centre in mystical states of consciousness; so for us, who in these lectures are treating personal experience as the exclusive subject of our study, such states of consciousness ought to form the vital chapter from which the other chapters get their light. Whether my treatment of mystical states will shed more light or darkness, I do not know, for my own constitution shuts me out from their enjoyment almost entirely, and I can speak of them only at second hand. But though forced to look upon the subject so externally, I will be as objective and receptive as I can; and I think I shall at least succeed in convincing you of the reality of the states in question, and of the paramount importance of their function.

Again and again in these lectures, I have raised questions and left them open and unfinished until we reached mysticism. I fear some of you may have smiled at my repeated delays. But now the time has come to face mysticism seriously and bring those loose threads together. I think it is true to say that personal religious experience has its roots and center in mystical states of consciousness. In these lectures, we are studying personal experience alone. So mystical states should be the vital chapter that sheds light on all the others. I do not know whether my discussion of mystical states will shed more light or darkness. My own nature almost entirely prevents me from enjoying such states, and I can speak of them only secondhand. But although I must view the subject from the outside, I will be as objective and receptive as I can. I think I will at least convince you that these states are real and that their role is of paramount importance.

First of all, then, I ask, What does the expression “mystical states of consciousness” mean? How do we part off mystical states from other states?

First, I ask: What does the expression “mystical states of consciousness” mean? How do we distinguish mystical states from other states?

The words “mysticism” and “mystical” are often used as terms of mere reproach, to throw at any opinion which we regard as vague and vast and sentimental, and without a base in either facts or logic. For some writers a “mystic” is any person who believes in thought-transference, or spirit-return. Employed in this way the word has little value: there are too many less ambiguous synonyms. So, to keep it useful by restricting it, I will do what I did in the case of the word “religion,” and simply propose to you four marks which, when an experience has them, may justify us in calling it mystical for the purpose of the present lectures. In this way we shall save verbal disputation, and the recriminations that generally go therewith.

The words “mysticism” and “mystical” are often used simply as insults. We apply them to any opinion we consider vague, sweeping, sentimental, and unsupported by facts or logic. For some writers, a “mystic” is anyone who believes in thought-transference or the return of spirits. Used this way, the word has little value. Too many less ambiguous synonyms are available. So, to keep the word useful by narrowing its meaning, I will do what I did with the word “religion.” I will simply propose four marks of an experience. When an experience has these marks, they may justify calling it mystical for the purposes of these lectures. In this way, we can avoid disputes over words and the mutual accusations that usually come with them.

1. Ineffability.—The handiest of the marks by which I classify a state of mind as mystical is negative. The subject of it immediately says that it defies expression, that no adequate report of its contents can be given in words. It follows from this that its quality must be directly experienced; it cannot be imparted or transferred to others. In this peculiarity mystical states are more like states of feeling than like states of intellect. No one can make clear to another who has never had a certain feeling, in what the quality or worth of it consists. One must have musical ears to know the value of a symphony; one must have been in love one's self to understand a lover's state of mind. Lacking the heart or ear, we cannot interpret the musician or the lover justly, and are even likely to consider him weak-minded or absurd. The mystic finds that most of us accord to his experiences an equally incompetent treatment.

1. Ineffability. The most useful sign I use to classify a state of mind as mystical is a negative one. The person experiencing it immediately says that it cannot be expressed. No words can adequately describe its contents. This means that its quality must be experienced directly. It cannot be communicated or passed on to others. In this respect, mystical states are more like feelings than thoughts. No one can explain the quality or value of a feeling to someone who has never experienced it. You need an ear for music to know the value of a symphony. You must have been in love yourself to understand a lover's state of mind. Without the heart or the ear, we cannot judge the musician or the lover fairly. We are even likely to consider him foolish or absurd. The mystic finds that most of us treat his experiences with an equal lack of understanding.

2. Noetic quality.—Although so similar to states of feeling, mystical states seem to those who experience them to be also states of knowledge. They are states of insight into depths of truth unplumbed by the discursive intellect. They are illuminations, revelations, full of significance and importance, all inarticulate though they remain; and as a rule they carry with them a curious sense of authority for after-time.

2. Noetic quality. Although mystical states are much like feelings, those who experience them also see them as states of knowledge. They offer insight into depths of truth that reasoning cannot reach. They are illuminations and revelations, full of meaning and importance, though they cannot be put into words. As a rule, they also carry a curious sense of authority that lasts afterward.

These two characters will entitle any state to be called mystical, in the sense in which I use the word. Two other qualities are less sharply marked, but are usually found. These are:—

These two characteristics are enough for me to call any state mystical. Two other qualities are less clearly defined, but are usually present. They are:

3. Transiency.—Mystical states cannot be sustained for long. Except in rare instances, half an hour, or at most an hour or two, seems to be the limit beyond which they fade into the light of common day. Often, when faded, their quality can but imperfectly be reproduced in memory; but when they recur it is recognized; and from one recurrence to another it is susceptible of continuous development in what is felt as inner richness and importance.

3. Brief duration. Mystical states cannot last long. Except in rare cases, they seem to last no more than half an hour, or at most an hour or two. Then they fade into the light of ordinary day. Often, once they have faded, their quality can be recalled only imperfectly. But when they return, that quality is recognized. From one recurrence to the next, they can continue to develop in what feels like inner richness and importance.

4. Passivity.—Although the oncoming of mystical states may be facilitated by preliminary voluntary operations, as by fixing the attention, or going through certain bodily performances, or in other ways which manuals of mysticism prescribe; yet when the characteristic sort of consciousness once has set in, the mystic feels as if his own will were in abeyance, and indeed sometimes as if he were grasped and held by a superior power. This latter peculiarity connects 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 importance. 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.

4. Passivity. A person may bring on mystical states through deliberate preparation. Mystical manuals prescribe methods such as focusing attention, performing certain physical actions, and other practices. But once the distinctive state of consciousness begins, the mystic feels as if their own will were suspended. Sometimes the mystic even feels as if a higher power had seized and held them. This last feature connects mystical states with certain specific phenomena of secondary or alternative personality. These include prophetic speech, automatic writing, and mediumistic trance. When such conditions are fully developed, however, the person may remember nothing of what happened. The experience may have no significance for the person's usual inner life, which it merely interrupts, so to speak. Mystical states, strictly speaking, are never mere interruptions. Some memory of their content always remains, along with a profound sense of their importance. They change the person's inner life between occurrences. However, it is difficult to draw sharp distinctions in this area. 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.

These four characteristics distinguish a group of states of consciousness. These states are distinctive enough to deserve a special name and careful study. Let us call them 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.

Our next step should be to look at some typical examples. Professional mystics at the height of their development have often organized their experiences into elaborate systems and based philosophies on them. But remember what I said in my first lecture: we understand phenomena best when we place them in a series. We should study their earliest beginnings and their later decay. We should also compare them with related phenomena in exaggerated and degenerated forms. Mystical experience covers a very wide range, much too wide for us to examine in the time available. Yet studying a series is so essential to interpretation that we must use this method if we really want to reach conclusions. I will therefore begin with phenomena that claim no special religious significance. I will end with those that make extreme religious claims.

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.”²²⁴ This sense of deeper significance is not confined to rational propositions. Single words,²²⁵ 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, beckoning 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.

The simplest beginning of mystical experience seems to be a sudden, deeper sense of the meaning of a saying or formula. “I've heard that said all my life,” we exclaim, “but I never understood its full meaning until now.” “One day,” said Luther, “a fellow monk repeated the words of the Creed: ‘I believe in the forgiveness of sins.’ I saw Scripture in an entirely new light, and at once I felt as if I were born again. It was as if I had found the door of paradise thrown wide open.”²²⁴ This sense of deeper meaning is not limited to rational statements. Single words,²²⁵ combinations of words, the effects of light on land and sea, smells, and musical sounds can all bring it. They do so when the mind is in the right state. Most of us can remember the strangely moving power of passages in certain poems we read when we were young. They were doorways that defied reason. Through them, the mystery of what exists, the wildness and the pain of life, stole into our hearts and thrilled them. The words may now have become mere polished surfaces to us. But lyric poetry and music are alive and meaningful only to the extent that they bring us vague glimpses of a life connected to our own. That life beckons and invites us, yet always escapes our pursuit. We are alive or dead to the eternal inner message of the arts according to whether we have kept or lost this openness to mystical experience.

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:

A more pronounced step up the mystical ladder appears in a very common experience. Sometimes a sudden feeling sweeps over us that we have “been here before.” It is as if, at some unspecified time in the past, we were in exactly this place, with exactly these people, already saying exactly these things. As Tennyson writes:

Sir James Crichton-Browne has given the technical name of “dreamy states” to these sudden invasions of vaguely reminiscent consciousness.²²⁷ 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 important 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.

Sir James Crichton-Browne calls these sudden experiences of vague familiarity “dreamy states.”²²⁷ They bring a sense of mystery and of a metaphysical duality in things. They also bring a feeling that a broader perception is about to emerge, but never quite does. In Dr. Crichton-Browne's opinion, these states are connected to the confused and frightening disturbances of self-awareness that sometimes precede epileptic attacks. I think this learned psychiatrist takes a rather absurdly alarmist view of a phenomenon that is insignificant in itself. He follows it down the ladder to insanity. Our path follows the ladder mostly upward. This difference shows how important it is to overlook none of a phenomenon's connections. We make a phenomenon appear admirable or dreadful according to the context in which we place it.

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:—

In other dreamlike states, people enter a somewhat deeper level of mystical consciousness. Feelings like those Charles Kingsley describes are surely not uncommon, especially in youth:

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.

J. A. Symonds describes a much more extreme state of mystical consciousness. And probably more people than we suspect could describe similar experiences of their own.

In a recital like this there is certainly something suggestive of pathology.²³⁰ The next step into mystical states carries us into a realm that public opinion and ethical philosophy have long since branded as pathological, though private practice and certain lyric strains of poetry seem still to bear witness to its ideality. I refer to the consciousness produced by intoxicants and anæsthetics, especially by alcohol. The sway of alcohol over mankind is unquestionably due to its power to stimulate the mystical faculties of human nature, usually crushed to earth by the cold facts and dry criticisms of the sober hour. Sobriety diminishes, discriminates, and says no; drunkenness expands, unites, and says yes. It is in fact the great exciter of the Yes function in man. It brings its votary from the chill periphery of things to the radiant core. It makes him for the moment one with truth. Not through mere perversity do men run after it. To the poor and the unlettered it stands in the place of symphony concerts and of literature; and it is part of the deeper mystery and tragedy of life that whiffs and gleams of something that we immediately recognize as excellent should be vouchsafed to so many of us only in the fleeting earlier phases of what in its totality is so degrading a poisoning. The drunken consciousness is one bit of the mystic consciousness, and our total opinion of it must find its place in our opinion of that larger whole.

An account like this certainly suggests something pathological.²³⁰ The next step into mystical states takes us into a realm that public opinion and ethical philosophy have long labeled pathological. Yet private practices and certain lyrical strains of poetry still seem to testify to its ideal nature. I mean the consciousness produced by intoxicants and anesthetics, especially alcohol. Alcohol’s power over humanity is unquestionably due to its ability to stimulate our mystical faculties. These faculties are usually crushed by the cold facts and dry criticisms of sober life. Sobriety diminishes, makes distinctions, and says no. Drunkenness expands, unites, and says yes. In fact, alcohol is the great stimulator of the human Yes function. It brings its devotee from the cold outer edges of things to their radiant core. For the moment, it makes him one with truth. People do not pursue alcohol merely out of perversity. For the poor and uneducated, it takes the place of symphony concerts and literature. It is part of life’s deeper mystery and tragedy that so many of us glimpse something we immediately recognize as excellent only in the fleeting early stages of intoxication. Taken as a whole, intoxication is such a degrading form of poisoning. Drunken consciousness is one part of mystical consciousness, and our overall judgment of it must fit into our judgment of that larger whole.

Nitrous oxide and ether, especially nitrous oxide, when sufficiently diluted with air, stimulate the mystical consciousness in an extraordinary degree. Depth beyond depth of truth seems revealed to the inhaler. This truth fades out, however, or escapes, at the moment of coming to; and if any words remain over in which it seemed to clothe itself, they prove to be the veriest nonsense. Nevertheless, the sense of a profound meaning having been there persists; and I know more than one person who is persuaded that in the nitrous oxide trance we have a genuine metaphysical revelation.

Nitrous oxide and ether, especially nitrous oxide, stimulate mystical consciousness to an extraordinary degree when sufficiently diluted with air. People who inhale them seem to discover deeper and deeper levels of truth. But this truth fades or slips away as they regain consciousness. Any words that seemed to express it turn out to be utter nonsense. Nevertheless, the sense that something profoundly meaningful was there remains. I know more than one person who believes that the nitrous oxide trance gives us a genuine metaphysical revelation.

Some years ago I myself made some observations on this aspect of nitrous oxide intoxication, and reported them in print. One conclusion was forced upon my mind at that time, and my impression of its truth has ever since remained unshaken. It is that our normal waking consciousness, rational consciousness as we call it, is but one special type of consciousness, whilst all about it, parted from it by the filmiest of screens, there lie potential forms of consciousness entirely different. We may go through life without suspecting their existence; but apply the requisite stimulus, and at a touch they are there in all their completeness, definite types of mentality which probably somewhere have their field of application and adaptation. No account of the universe in its totality can be final which leaves these other forms of consciousness quite disregarded. How to regard them is the question,—for they are so discontinuous with ordinary consciousness. Yet they may determine attitudes though they cannot furnish formulas, and open a region though they fail to give a map. At any rate, they forbid a premature closing of our accounts with reality. Looking back on my own experiences, they all converge towards a kind of insight to which I cannot help ascribing some metaphysical significance. The keynote of it is invariably a reconciliation. It is as if the opposites of the world, whose contradictoriness and conflict make all our difficulties and troubles, were melted into unity. Not only do they, as contrasted species, belong to one and the same genus, but one of the species, the nobler and better one, is itself the genus, and so soaks up and absorbs its opposite into itself. This is a dark saying, I know, when thus expressed in terms of common logic, but I cannot wholly escape from its authority. I feel as if it must mean something, something like what the Hegelian philosophy means, if one could only lay hold of it more clearly. Those who have ears to hear, let them hear; to me the living sense of its reality only comes in the artificial mystic state of mind.²³¹

Some years ago, I observed this aspect of nitrous oxide intoxication and published an account of my observations. One conclusion impressed itself on me then, and my belief in its truth has never wavered. Our normal waking consciousness, what we call rational consciousness, is only one special type of consciousness. All around it, separated from it by the thinnest of screens, lie potential forms of consciousness that are entirely different. We may go through life without suspecting that they exist. But apply the necessary stimulus, and at a touch they appear in all their completeness. They are distinct types of mental experience that probably have a field of application and adaptation somewhere. No account of the universe as a whole can be final if it completely disregards these other forms of consciousness. The question is how to regard them, since they are so unlike ordinary consciousness. Yet they may shape our attitudes, though they cannot provide formulas. They may open up a region, though they cannot give us a map. At any rate, they prevent us from settling our account with reality too soon. Looking back on my own experiences, I find that they all point toward a kind of insight. I cannot help attributing some metaphysical significance to it. The central theme is always reconciliation. It is as if the world's opposites melt into unity. Their contradictions and conflicts cause all our difficulties and troubles. These opposites are not just contrasting species belonging to one and the same genus. One of the species, the nobler and better one, is itself the genus, and so takes in and absorbs its opposite. I know this is an obscure statement when expressed in terms of ordinary logic. But I cannot entirely escape its authority. I feel as if it must mean something like what Hegelian philosophy means, if only I could grasp it more clearly. Those who have ears to hear, let them hear. For me, a living sense of its reality comes only in the artificial mystic state of mind.²³¹

I just now spoke of friends who believe in the anæsthetic revelation. For them too it is a monistic insight, in which the other in its various forms appears absorbed into the One.

I just mentioned friends who believe in the anesthetic revelation. For them too, it is an insight into the unity of all things. In this insight, the other in its various forms seems to be absorbed into the One.

This has the genuine religious mystic ring! I just now quoted J. A. Symonds. He also records a mystical experience with chloroform, as follows:—

This has the unmistakable ring of genuine religious mysticism! I just quoted J. A. Symonds. He also describes a mystical experience with chloroform:

With this we make connection with religious mysticism pure and simple. Symonds's question takes us back to those examples which you will remember my quoting in the lecture on the Reality of the Unseen, of sudden realization of the immediate presence of God. The phenomenon in one shape or another is not uncommon.

This brings us to religious mysticism in its pure form. Symonds's question takes us back to the examples I quoted in the lecture on the Reality of the Unseen. You may remember these examples of people suddenly becoming aware of God's immediate presence. This experience, in one form or another, is not uncommon.

Certain aspects of nature seem to have a peculiar power of awakening such mystical moods.²³⁵ Most of the striking cases which I have collected have occurred out of doors. Literature has commemorated this fact in many passages of great beauty—this extract, for example, from Amiel's Journal Intime:—

Certain aspects of nature seem especially powerful in awakening such mystical moods.²³⁵ Most of the striking cases I have collected occurred outdoors. Literature has captured this fact in many beautiful passages. One example is this extract from Amiel's Journal Intime:

Here is a similar record from the memoirs of that interesting German idealist, Malwida von Meysenbug:—

Here is a similar account from the memoirs of Malwida von Meysenbug, an interesting German idealist:

The well-known passage from Walt Whitman is a classical expression of this sporadic type of mystical experience.

The well-known passage from Walt Whitman is a classic expression of this occasional type of mystical experience.

I could easily give more instances, but one will suffice. I take it from the Autobiography of J. Trevor.²³⁹

I could easily give more examples, but one will be enough. It comes from the Autobiography of J. Trevor.²³⁹

The writer adds that having had further experiences of a similar sort, he now knows them well.

The writer adds that he has had more experiences of the same kind and now knows them well.

Even the least mystical of you must by this time be convinced of the existence of mystical moments as states of consciousness of an entirely specific quality, and of the deep impression which they make on those who have them. A Canadian psychiatrist, Dr. R. M. Bucke, gives to the more distinctly characterized of these phenomena the name of cosmic consciousness. “Cosmic consciousness in its more striking instances is not,” Dr. Bucke says, “simply an expansion or extension of the self-conscious mind with which we are all familiar, but the superaddition of a function as distinct from any possessed by the average man as self-consciousness is distinct from any function possessed by one of the higher animals.”

By now, even the least mystical among you must be convinced that mystical moments exist. They are states of consciousness with a completely distinct quality, and they make a deep impression on those who experience them. A Canadian psychiatrist, Dr. R. M. Bucke, calls the more clearly defined of these experiences cosmic consciousness. Dr. Bucke says, “In its more striking instances, cosmic consciousness is not simply an expansion or extension of the self-conscious mind we all know. It adds a function as distinct from any possessed by the average person as self-consciousness is from any function possessed by a higher animal.”

It was Dr. Bucke's own experience of a typical onset of cosmic consciousness in his own person which led him to investigate it in others. He has printed his conclusions in a highly interesting volume, from which I take the following account of what occurred to him:—

Dr. Bucke experienced a typical onset of cosmic consciousness himself, which led him to investigate it in others. He published his conclusions in a highly interesting book. The following account of what happened to him comes from that book:

We have now seen enough of this cosmic or mystic consciousness, as it comes sporadically. We must next pass to its methodical cultivation as an element of the religious life. Hindus, Buddhists, Mohammedans, and Christians all have cultivated it methodically.

We have now seen enough of the occasional appearance of cosmic or mystic consciousness. Next, we must consider its systematic cultivation as part of religious life. Hindus, Buddhists, Muslims, and Christians have all cultivated it systematically.

In India, training in mystical insight has been known from time immemorial under the name of yoga. Yoga means the experimental union of the individual with the divine. It is based on persevering exercise; and the diet, posture, breathing, intellectual concentration, and moral discipline vary slightly in the different systems which teach it. The yogi, or disciple, who has by these means overcome the obscurations of his lower nature sufficiently, enters into the condition termed samâdhi, “and comes face to face with facts which no instinct or reason can ever know.” He learns—

In India, training in mystical insight has been known since ancient times as yoga. Yoga means the union of the individual with the divine through direct experience. It is based on persistent practice. The systems that teach yoga differ slightly in their approaches to diet, posture, breathing, mental concentration, and moral discipline. Through these means, the yogi, or disciple, overcomes enough of the obscuring influence of his lower nature to enter a state called samâdhi. In that state, he “comes face to face with facts which no instinct or reason can ever know.” He learns:

The Vedantists say that one may stumble into superconsciousness sporadically, without the previous discipline, but it is then impure. Their test of its purity, like our test of religion's value, is empirical: its fruits must be good for life. When a man comes out of Samâdhi, they assure us that he remains “enlightened, a sage, a prophet, a saint, his whole character changed, his life changed, illumined.”²⁴⁴

The Vedantists say that a person may stumble into superconsciousness from time to time without prior discipline. But in such cases, the superconsciousness is impure. Like our test of religion’s value, their test of its purity is based on experience. Its fruits must be good for life. They assure us that when a man comes out of Samâdhi, he remains “enlightened, a sage, a prophet, a saint, his whole character changed, his life changed, illumined.”²⁴⁴

The Buddhists use the word “samâdhi” as well as the Hindus; but “dhyâna” is their special word for higher states of contemplation. There seem to be four stages recognized in dhyâna. The first stage comes through concentration of the mind upon one point. It excludes desire, but not discernment or judgment: it is still intellectual. In the second stage the intellectual functions drop off, and the satisfied sense of unity remains. In the third stage the satisfaction departs, and indifference begins, along with memory and self-consciousness. In the fourth stage the indifference, memory, and self-consciousness are perfected. [Just what “memory” and “self-consciousness” mean in this connection is doubtful. They cannot be the faculties familiar to us in the lower life.] Higher stages still of contemplation are mentioned—a region where there exists nothing, and where the meditator says: “There exists absolutely nothing,” and stops. Then he reaches another region where he says: “There are neither ideas nor absence of ideas,” and stops again. Then another region where, “having reached the end of both idea and perception, he stops finally.” This would seem to be, not yet Nirvâna, but as close an approach to it as this life affords.²⁴⁵

Buddhists use the word “samâdhi” as Hindus do, but their special word for higher states of contemplation is “dhyâna.” There seem to be four recognized stages of dhyâna. The first comes from focusing the mind on a single point. It excludes desire, but not discernment or judgment. It is still intellectual. In the second stage, the intellectual functions fall away, and a satisfied sense of unity remains. In the third stage, the satisfaction disappears, and indifference begins, along with memory and self-consciousness. In the fourth stage, indifference, memory, and self-consciousness are perfected. [Just what “memory” and “self-consciousness” mean here is uncertain. They cannot be the faculties familiar to us in the lower life.] Still higher stages of contemplation are mentioned. In one region, nothing exists, and the meditator says, “There exists absolutely nothing,” and stops. Then he reaches another region, where he says, “There are neither ideas nor absence of ideas,” and stops again. Then comes another region where, “having reached the end of both idea and perception, he stops finally.” This would seem not to be Nirvâna yet, but as close an approach to it as this life allows.²⁴⁵

In the Mohammedan world the Sufi sect and various dervish bodies are the possessors of the mystical tradition. The Sufis have existed in Persia from the earliest times, and as their pantheism is so at variance with the hot and rigid monotheism of the Arab mind, it has been suggested that Sufism must have been inoculated into Islam by Hindu influences. We Christians know little of Sufism, for its secrets are disclosed only to those initiated. To give its existence a certain liveliness in your minds, I will quote a Moslem document, and pass away from the subject.

In the Muslim world, the Sufi sect and various dervish groups carry the mystical tradition. The Sufis have existed in Persia since the earliest times. Their pantheism differs so sharply from the fervent and rigid monotheism of the Arab mind that some have suggested Sufism entered Islam through Hindu influences. We Christians know little about Sufism, because its secrets are revealed only to initiates. To give you a more vivid sense of Sufism, I will quote a Muslim document and then leave the subject.

Al-Ghazzali, a Persian philosopher and theologian, who flourished in the eleventh century, and ranks as one of the greatest doctors of the Moslem church, has left us one of the few autobiographies to be found outside of Christian literature. Strange that a species of book so abundant among ourselves should be so little represented elsewhere—the absence of strictly personal confessions is the chief difficulty to the purely literary student who would like to become acquainted with the inwardness of religions other than the Christian.

Al-Ghazzali was a Persian philosopher and theologian who flourished in the eleventh century. He ranks among the greatest scholars of Islam. He left us one of the few autobiographies found outside Christian literature. It is strange that autobiographies are so common among us but so rare elsewhere. This lack of strictly personal confessions is the chief difficulty for a student of literature who wants to understand the inner life of religions other than Christianity.

M. Schmölders has translated a part of Al-Ghazzali's autobiography into French:²⁴⁶—

M. Schmölders has translated part of Al-Ghazzali's autobiography into French:²⁴⁶

This incommunicableness of the transport is the keynote of all mysticism. Mystical truth exists for the individual who has the transport, but for no one else. In this, as I have said, it resembles the knowledge given to us in sensations more than that given by conceptual thought. Thought, with its remoteness and abstractness, has often enough in the history of philosophy been contrasted unfavorably with sensation. It is a commonplace of metaphysics that God's knowledge cannot be discursive but must be intuitive, that is, must be constructed more after the pattern of what in ourselves is called immediate feeling, than after that of proposition and judgment. But our immediate feelings have no content but what the five senses supply; and we have seen and shall see again that mystics may emphatically deny that the senses play any part in the very highest type of knowledge which their transports yield.

The inability to communicate the experience of ecstasy is the defining feature of all mysticism. Mystical truth exists for the person who experiences the ecstasy, but for no one else. As I have said, mystical truth resembles the knowledge we gain through our senses more than the knowledge we gain through conceptual thought. Throughout the history of philosophy, thought has often been judged less favorably than sensation because it is remote and abstract. A common idea in metaphysics is that God's knowledge cannot be gained through reasoning but must be intuitive. In other words, God's knowledge must be more like what we call immediate feeling than like our statements and judgments. But our immediate feelings contain nothing beyond what the five senses supply. And we have seen, and will see again, that mystics may emphatically deny that the senses play any part in the highest kind of knowledge their experiences of ecstasy provide.

In the Christian church there have always been mystics. Although many of them have been viewed with suspicion, some have gained favor in the eyes of the authorities. The experiences of these have been treated as precedents, and a codified system of mystical theology has been based upon them, in which everything legitimate finds its place.²⁴⁸ The basis of the system is “orison” or meditation, the methodical elevation of the soul towards God. Through the practice of orison the higher levels of mystical experience may be attained. It is odd that Protestantism, especially evangelical Protestantism, should seemingly have abandoned everything methodical in this line. Apart from what prayer may lead to, Protestant mystical experience appears to have been almost exclusively sporadic. It has been left to our mind-curers to reintroduce methodical meditation into our religious life.

There have always been mystics in the Christian church. Although many have been viewed with suspicion, some have found favor with church authorities. Their experiences have been treated as precedents. A formal system of mystical theology has been built on them, with a place for everything legitimate.²⁴⁸ The basis of the system is “orison” or meditation, the systematic lifting of the soul toward God. Through orison, people may reach higher levels of mystical experience. It is odd that Protestantism, especially evangelical Protestantism, seems to have abandoned every systematic practice of this kind. Apart from what prayer may lead to, Protestant mystical experience seems to have been almost entirely sporadic. It has been left to our mind-curers to bring systematic meditation back into our religious life.

The first thing to be aimed at in orison is the mind's detachment from outer sensations, for these interfere with its concentration upon ideal things. Such manuals as Saint Ignatius's Spiritual Exercises recommend the disciple to expel sensation by a graduated series of efforts to imagine holy scenes. The acme of this kind of discipline would be a semi-hallucinatory mono-ideism—an imaginary figure of Christ, for example, coming fully to occupy the mind. Sensorial images of this sort, whether literal or symbolic, play an enormous part in mysticism.²⁴⁹ But in certain cases imagery may fall away entirely, and in the very highest raptures it tends to do so. The state of consciousness becomes then insusceptible of any verbal description. Mystical teachers are unanimous as to this. Saint John of the Cross, for instance, one of the best of them, thus describes the condition called the “union of love,” which, he says, is reached by “dark contemplation.” In this the Deity compenetrates the soul, but in such a hidden way that the soul—

The first aim in prayer is to detach the mind from sensations from the outside world. These sensations interfere with its concentration on ideal things. Manuals such as Saint Ignatius's Spiritual Exercises recommend that the disciple drive out sensations through a gradual series of efforts to imagine holy scenes. The highest point of this discipline would be a semihallucinatory fixation on a single idea. An imagined figure of Christ, for example, might come to fill the mind completely. Sensory images of this kind, whether literal or symbolic, play an enormous part in mysticism.²⁴⁹ But in certain cases imagery may disappear entirely, and it tends to do so in the very highest states of rapture. The resulting state of consciousness cannot be described in words. Mystical teachers agree on this. Saint John of the Cross, for instance, was one of the best of them. He describes the condition called the “union of love,” which he says is reached through “dark contemplation.” In this condition, God penetrates the soul, but in such a hidden way that the soul...

I cannot pretend to detail to you the sundry stages of the Christian mystical life.²⁵¹ Our time would not suffice, for one thing; and moreover, I confess that the subdivisions and names which we find in the Catholic books seem to me to represent nothing objectively distinct. So many men, so many minds: I imagine that these experiences can be as infinitely varied as are the idiosyncrasies of individuals.

I cannot pretend to describe all the stages of the Christian mystical life to you.²⁵¹ For one thing, we do not have enough time. Moreover, I confess that the categories and names in Catholic books seem to me to describe nothing objectively distinct. Every person has a different mind. I imagine that these experiences can be as varied as the individual traits of different people.

The cognitive aspects of them, their value in the way of revelation, is what we are directly concerned with, and it is easy to show by citation how strong an impression they leave of being revelations of new depths of truth. Saint Teresa is the expert of experts in describing such conditions, so I will turn immediately to what she says of one of the highest of them, the “orison of union.”

We are directly concerned with what these experiences reveal and what they teach us. Quotations can easily show how strongly they seem to reveal new depths of truth. Saint Teresa is the foremost expert on describing such states. So I will turn immediately to what she says about one of the highest, the “orison of union.”

The kinds of truth communicable in mystical ways, whether these be sensible or supersensible, are various. Some of them relate to this world,—visions of the future, the reading of hearts, the sudden understanding of texts, the knowledge of distant events, for example; but the most important revelations are theological or metaphysical.

Many kinds of truth can be communicated through mystical experiences, whether they involve the senses or go beyond them. Some concern this world. Examples include visions of the future, reading people's hearts, sudden understanding of texts, and knowledge of distant events. But the most important revelations concern theology or metaphysics.

She goes on to tell how it was as if the Deity were an enormous and sovereignly limpid diamond, in which all our actions were contained in such a way that their full sinfulness appeared evident as never before. On another day, she relates, while she was reciting the Athanasian Creed,—

She goes on to describe how it was as if God were an enormous, utterly clear diamond. All our actions were contained in that diamond, so that their full sinfulness became clearer than ever before. She relates that, on another day, while she was reciting the Athanasian Creed:

On still another occasion, it was given to Saint Teresa to see and understand in what wise the Mother of God had been assumed into her place in Heaven.²⁵⁵

On another occasion, Saint Teresa was given a vision and understanding of how the Mother of God was taken up to her place in Heaven.²⁵⁵

The deliciousness of some of these states seems to be beyond anything known in ordinary consciousness. It evidently involves organic sensibilities, for it is spoken of as something too extreme to be borne, and as verging on bodily pain.²⁵⁶ But it is too subtle and piercing a delight for ordinary words to denote. God's touches, the wounds of his spear, references to ebriety and to nuptial union have to figure in the phraseology by which it is shadowed forth. Intellect and senses both swoon away in these highest states of ecstasy. “If our understanding comprehends,” says Saint Teresa, “it is in a mode which remains unknown to it, and it can understand nothing of what it comprehends. For my own part, I do not believe that it does comprehend, because, as I said, it does not understand itself to do so. I confess that it is all a mystery in which I am lost.”²⁵⁷ In the condition called raptus or ravishment by theologians, breathing and circulation are so depressed that it is a question among the doctors whether the soul be or be not temporarily dissevered from the body. One must read Saint Teresa's descriptions and the very exact distinctions which she makes, to persuade one's self that one is dealing, not with imaginary experiences, but with phenomena which, however rare, follow perfectly definite psychological types.

The delight of some of these states seems beyond anything known in ordinary consciousness. It evidently involves bodily sensations, since people describe it as almost unbearable and close to physical pain.²⁵⁶ But the delight is too subtle and piercing for ordinary words to express. People can only suggest it through images of God's touch, wounds from his spear, drunkenness, and marital union. In these highest states of ecstasy, both the intellect and the senses faint away. “If our understanding comprehends,” says Saint Teresa, “it does so in a way that remains unknown to it. It can understand nothing of what it comprehends. For my part, I do not believe that it comprehends. As I said, it does not understand that it is doing so. I confess that it is all a mystery in which I am lost.”²⁵⁷ In the state theologians call raptus or ravishment, breathing and circulation slow down so much that doctors debate whether the soul is temporarily separated from the body. One must read Saint Teresa's descriptions and the very precise distinctions she makes to become convinced that these experiences are not imaginary. They are phenomena that, however rare, follow perfectly definite psychological types.

To the medical mind these ecstasies signify nothing but suggested and imitated hypnoid states, on an intellectual basis of superstition, and a corporeal one of degeneration and hysteria. Undoubtedly these pathological conditions have existed in many and possibly in all the cases, but that fact tells us nothing about the value for knowledge of the consciousness which they induce. To pass a spiritual judgment upon these states, we must not content ourselves with superficial medical talk, but inquire into their fruits for life.

To doctors, these ecstasies are nothing more than trancelike states brought on by suggestion and imitation. They see superstition as the mental basis, and degeneration and hysteria as the physical basis. These medical conditions have undoubtedly existed in many cases, and possibly in all of them. But that fact tells us nothing about the value of the knowledge gained through the consciousness they produce. To judge these states spiritually, we must look beyond superficial medical explanations and ask what effects they have on life.

Their fruits appear to have been various. Stupefaction, for one thing, seems not to have been altogether absent as a result. You may remember the helplessness in the kitchen and schoolroom of poor Margaret Mary Alacoque. Many other ecstatics would have perished but for the care taken of them by admiring followers. The “other-worldliness” encouraged by the mystical consciousness makes this over-abstraction from practical life peculiarly liable to befall mystics in whom the character is naturally passive and the intellect feeble; but in natively strong minds and characters we find quite opposite results. The great Spanish mystics, who carried the habit of ecstasy as far as it has often been carried, appear for the most part to have shown indomitable spirit and energy, and all the more so for the trances in which they indulged.

The results of these experiences seem to have varied. For one thing, they seem sometimes to have left people in a stupor. You may remember poor Margaret Mary Alacoque’s helplessness in the kitchen and schoolroom. Many other people who experienced ecstasy would have died without the care of their admiring followers. Mystical consciousness encourages “other-worldliness.” This makes mystics who are naturally passive and weak-minded especially prone to losing touch with practical life. But in people with naturally strong minds and characters, we find quite the opposite results. The great Spanish mystics practiced ecstasy as intensely as many others have. Yet most of them seem to have shown unshakable spirit and energy, and even more so because of their trances.

Saint Ignatius was a mystic, but his mysticism made him assuredly one of the most powerfully practical human engines that ever lived. Saint John of the Cross, writing of the intuitions and “touches” by which God reaches the substance of the soul, tells us that—

Saint Ignatius was a mystic, but his mysticism made him one of the most powerfully practical people who ever lived. Saint John of the Cross writes about the intuitions and “touches” through which God reaches the substance of the soul. He tells us:

Saint Teresa is as emphatic, and much more detailed. You may perhaps remember a passage I quoted from her in my first lecture.²⁵⁹ There are many similar pages in her autobiography. Where in literature is a more evidently veracious account of the formation of a new centre of spiritual energy, than is given in her description of the effects of certain ecstasies which in departing leave the soul upon a higher level of emotional excitement?

Saint Teresa is just as emphatic and much more detailed. You may remember a passage I quoted from her in my first lecture.²⁵⁹ Her autobiography contains many similar passages. Where in literature can we find a more clearly truthful account of the formation of a new center of spiritual energy? Saint Teresa gives one in her description of certain ecstasies. When these ecstasies pass, they leave the soul at a higher level of emotional excitement.

Mystical conditions may, therefore, render the soul more energetic in the lines which their inspiration favors. But this could be reckoned an advantage only in case the inspiration were a true one. If the inspiration were erroneous, the energy would be all the more mistaken and misbegotten. So we stand once more before that problem of truth which confronted us at the end of the lectures on saintliness. You will remember that we turned to mysticism precisely to get some light on truth. Do mystical states establish the truth of those theological affections in which the saintly life has its root?

Mystical states may therefore give the soul more energy to follow the paths their inspiration favors. But this added energy would be an advantage only if the inspiration were true. If the inspiration were mistaken, the added energy would only lead the soul further astray. So we face once again the problem of truth that confronted us at the end of the lectures on saintliness. You will remember that we turned to mysticism precisely to shed some light on truth. Do mystical states establish the truth of the religious feelings and beliefs at the root of the saintly life?

In spite of their repudiation of articulate self-description, mystical states in general assert a pretty distinct theoretic drift. It is possible to give the outcome of the majority of them in terms that point in definite philosophical directions. One of these directions is optimism, and the other is monism. We pass into mystical states from out of ordinary consciousness as from a less into a more, as from a smallness into a vastness, and at the same time as from an unrest to a rest. We feel them as reconciling, unifying states. They appeal to the yes-function more than to the no-function in us. In them the unlimited absorbs the limits and peacefully closes the account. Their very denial of every adjective you may propose as applicable to the ultimate truth,—He, the Self, the Atman, is to be described by “No! no!” only, say the Upanishads,²⁶¹—though it seems on the surface to be a no-function, is a denial made on behalf of a deeper yes. Whoso calls the Absolute anything in particular, or says that it is this, seems implicitly to shut it off from being that—it is as if he lessened it. So we deny the “this,” negating the negation which it seems to us to imply, in the interests of the higher affirmative attitude by which we are possessed. The fountain-head of Christian mysticism is Dionysius the Areopagite. He describes the absolute truth by negatives exclusively.

Although mystical states resist clear description, they generally point in a fairly distinct theoretical direction. We can describe the outcome of most mystical states in terms that point toward definite philosophical views. One direction is optimism, and the other is monism. We enter mystical states from ordinary consciousness as if moving from less to more, from smallness to vastness. At the same time, we move from unrest to rest. We feel that these states reconcile and unify. They appeal more to the yes-function in us than to the no-function. In them, the unlimited absorbs all limits and peacefully settles the account. Mystical states deny that any adjective we propose can describe ultimate truth. The Upanishads say that he, the Self, the Atman, can be described only by “No! no!”²⁶¹ On the surface, this seems to be a no-function, but it is a denial made on behalf of a deeper yes. Anyone who calls the Absolute something particular, or says that it is this, seems to imply that it cannot be that. It is as if he made the Absolute less. So we deny the “this,” negating the negation that it seems to imply. We do so in the interest of the higher affirmative attitude that possesses us. The source of Christian mysticism is Dionysius the Areopagite. He describes absolute truth using negatives alone.

But these qualifications are denied by Dionysius, not because the truth falls short of them, but because it so infinitely excels them. It is above them. It is super-lucent, super-splendent, super-essential, super-sublime, super everything that can be named. Like Hegel in his logic, mystics journey towards the positive pole of truth only by the “Methode der Absoluten Negativität.”²⁶³

But Dionysius rejects these descriptions, not because the truth falls short of them, but because it infinitely surpasses them. The truth is above them. It is super-lucent, super-splendent, super-essential, super-sublime, super everything that can be named. Like Hegel in his logic, mystics move toward the positive pole of truth only by the “Methode der Absoluten Negativität.”²⁶³

Thus come the paradoxical expressions that so abound in mystical writings. As when Eckhart tells of the still desert of the Godhead, “where never was seen difference, neither Father, Son, nor Holy Ghost, where there is no one at home, yet where the spark of the soul is more at peace than in itself.”²⁶⁴ As when Boehme writes of the Primal Love, that “it may fitly be compared to Nothing, for it is deeper than any Thing, and is as nothing with respect to all things, forasmuch as it is not comprehensible by any of them. And because it is nothing respectively, it is therefore free from all things, and is that only good, which a man cannot express or utter what it is, there being nothing to which it may be compared, to express it by.”²⁶⁵ Or as when Angelus Silesius sings:—

This is why mystical writings contain so many paradoxical expressions. For example, Eckhart speaks of the still desert of the Godhead, “where no difference has ever been seen, neither Father, Son, nor Holy Ghost. No one is at home there, yet the spark of the soul is more at peace there than in itself.”²⁶⁴ Boehme writes of the Primal Love: “It may rightly be compared to Nothing, because it is deeper than any Thing. It is like nothing in relation to all things, because none of them can comprehend it. And because it is nothing in relation to them, it is free from all things. It is the only good that a person cannot describe or put into words. There is nothing to which it can be compared to express what it is.”²⁶⁵ Or, as Angelus Silesius sings:

To this dialectical use, by the intellect, of negation as a mode of passage towards a higher kind of affirmation, there is correlated the subtlest of moral counterparts in the sphere of the personal will. Since denial of the finite self and its wants, since asceticism of some sort, is found in religious experience to be the only doorway to the larger and more blessed life, this moral mystery intertwines and combines with the intellectual mystery in all mystical writings.

The intellect uses negation as a way to reach a higher kind of affirmation. This has a very subtle moral counterpart in the exercise of personal will. Religious experience shows that denying the limited self and its desires is the only doorway to a larger, more blessed life. This requires some form of self-denial. For this reason, the moral mystery combines with the intellectual mystery in all mystical writings.

In Paul's language, I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me. Only when I become as nothing can God enter in and no difference between his life and mine remain outstanding.²⁶⁸

In Paul’s words, I live, but it is not I who live. Christ lives in me. Only when I become as nothing can God enter me, leaving no difference between his life and mine.²⁶⁸

This overcoming of all the usual barriers between the individual and the Absolute is the great mystic achievement. In mystic states we both become one with the Absolute and we become aware of our oneness. This is the everlasting and triumphant mystical tradition, hardly altered by differences of clime or creed. In Hinduism, in Neoplatonism, in Sufism, in Christian mysticism, in Whitmanism, we find the same recurring note, so that there is about mystical utterances an eternal unanimity which ought to make a critic stop and think, and which brings it about that the mystical classics have, as has been said, neither birthday nor native land. Perpetually telling of the unity of man with God, their speech antedates languages, and they do not grow old.²⁶⁹

Overcoming all the usual barriers between the individual and the Absolute is the great achievement of mysticism. In mystical states, we become one with the Absolute and become aware of our oneness. This is the enduring, triumphant mystical tradition, hardly changed by differences of place or belief. We find the same recurring note in Hinduism, Neoplatonism, Sufism, Christian mysticism, and Whitmanism. Mystical statements share an eternal agreement that should make a critic stop and think. This agreement also means that the mystical classics, as someone has said, have neither a birthday nor a native land. They speak endlessly of the unity of humanity with God. Their speech is older than languages, and they do not grow old.²⁶⁹

“That art Thou!” say the Upanishads, and the Vedantists add: “Not a part, not a mode of That, but identically That, that absolute Spirit of the World.” “As pure water poured into pure water remains the same, thus, O Gautama, is the Self of a thinker who knows. Water in water, fire in fire, ether in ether, no one can distinguish them; likewise a man whose mind has entered into the Self.”²⁷⁰ “ ‘Every man,’ says the Sufi Gulshan-Râz, ‘whose heart is no longer shaken by any doubt, knows with certainty that there is no being save only One.... In his divine majesty the me, the we, the thou, are not found, for in the One there can be no distinction. Every being who is annulled and entirely separated from himself, hears resound outside of him this voice and this echo: I am God: he has an eternal way of existing, and is no longer subject to death.’ ”²⁷¹ In the vision of God, says Plotinus, “what sees is not our reason, but something prior and superior to our reason.... He who thus sees does not properly see, does not distinguish or imagine two things. He changes, he ceases to be himself, preserves nothing of himself. Absorbed in God, he makes but one with him, like a centre of a circle coinciding with another centre.”²⁷² “Here,” writes Suso, “the spirit dies, and yet is all alive in the marvels of the Godhead ... and is lost in the stillness of the glorious dazzling obscurity and of the naked simple unity. It is in this modeless where that the highest bliss is to be found.”²⁷³ “Ich bin so gross als Gott,” sings Angelus Silesius again, “Er ist als ich so klein; Er kann nicht über mich, ich unter ihm nicht sein.”²⁷⁴

“That you are!” say the Upanishads. The Vedantists add: “Not a part or a form of That, but identical with That, the absolute Spirit of the World.” “Pure water poured into pure water remains the same. So it is, O Gautama, with the Self of a thinker who knows. No one can distinguish water in water, fire in fire, or ether in ether. The same is true of a person whose mind has entered into the Self.”²⁷⁰ “ ‘Every person,’ says the Sufi Gulshan-Râz, ‘whose heart is no longer troubled by doubt knows for certain that there is only One being.... In his divine majesty there is no me, we, or thou, because there can be no distinction in the One. Every being who is erased and entirely separated from himself hears a voice and its echo resound outside him: I am God. He has an eternal way of existing and is no longer subject to death.’ ”²⁷¹ In the vision of God, says Plotinus, “what sees is not our reason, but something earlier and higher than reason.... A person who sees in this way does not truly see or distinguish or imagine two things. He changes and ceases to be himself, keeping nothing of himself. Absorbed in God, he becomes one with him, like the center of a circle merging with another center.”²⁷² “Here,” writes Suso, “the spirit dies, yet remains fully alive in the wonders of the Godhead ... and is lost in the stillness of the glorious, dazzling darkness and of the bare, simple unity. It is in this formless where that the highest bliss is found.”²⁷³ “I am as great as God,” Angelus Silesius sings again, “and he is as small as I am. He cannot be above me, nor I below him.”²⁷⁴

In mystical literature such self-contradictory phrases as “dazzling obscurity,” “whispering silence,” “teeming desert,” are continually met with. They prove that not conceptual speech, but music rather, is the element through which we are best spoken to by mystical truth. Many mystical scriptures are indeed little more than musical compositions.

In mystical literature, we often find self-contradictory phrases such as “dazzling obscurity,” “whispering silence,” and “teeming desert.” These phrases prove that mystical truth speaks to us best through music rather than language that expresses concepts. Many mystical scriptures are little more than musical compositions.

These words, if they do not awaken laughter as you receive them, probably stir chords within you which music and language touch in common. Music gives us ontological messages which non-musical criticism is unable to contradict, though it may laugh at our foolishness in minding them. There is a verge of the mind which these things haunt; and whispers therefrom mingle with the operations of our understanding, even as the waters of the infinite ocean send their waves to break among the pebbles that lie upon our shores.

If these words do not make you laugh, they probably strike chords within you that both music and language can touch. Music gives us messages about the nature of being that criticism outside music cannot contradict. Such criticism may, however, laugh at us for being foolish enough to pay attention to those messages. These things haunt the edges of the mind. Whispers from those edges mingle with the workings of our understanding. They do so just as the waters of the infinite ocean send waves breaking among the pebbles on our shores.

That doctrine, for example, that eternity is timeless, that our “immortality,” if we live in the eternal, is not so much future as already now and here, which we find so often expressed to-day in certain philosophic circles, finds its support in a “hear, hear!” or an “amen,” which floats up from that mysteriously deeper level.²⁷⁷ We recognize the passwords to the mystical region as we hear them, but we cannot use them ourselves; it alone has the keeping of “the password primeval.”²⁷⁸

For example, there is the doctrine that eternity is timeless. According to this doctrine, if we live in the eternal, our “immortality” is not so much in the future as here and now. This doctrine is often expressed today in certain philosophical circles. It finds support in a “hear, hear!” or an “amen” that floats up from that mysteriously deeper level.²⁷⁷ We recognize the passwords to the mystical region when we hear them, but we cannot use them ourselves. The mystical region alone holds “the password primeval.”²⁷⁸

I have now sketched with extreme brevity and insufficiency, but as fairly as I am able in the time allowed, the general traits of the mystic range of consciousness. It is on the whole pantheistic and optimistic, or at least the opposite of pessimistic. It is anti-naturalistic, and harmonizes best with twice-bornness and so-called other-worldly states of mind.

I have now outlined the general features of mystical consciousness very briefly and inadequately. But I have done so as fairly as I can in the time allowed. On the whole, mystical consciousness is pantheistic and optimistic, or at least not pessimistic. It is anti-naturalistic and fits best with twice-bornness and so-called otherworldly states of mind.

My next task is to inquire whether we can invoke it as authoritative. Does it furnish any warrant for the truth of the twice-bornness and supernaturality and pantheism which it favors? I must give my answer to this question as concisely as I can.

My next task is to ask whether we can regard it as authoritative. Does it provide any reason to believe in the twice-bornness, the supernatural, and the pantheism it favors? I must answer this question as briefly as I can.

In brief my answer is this,—and I will divide it into three parts:—

In brief, my answer has three parts:

(1) Mystical states, when well developed, usually are, and have the right to be, absolutely authoritative over the individuals to whom they come.

(1) Well-developed mystical states usually have absolute authority over the people who experience them. They also deserve that authority.

(2) No authority emanates from them which should make it a duty for those who stand outside of them to accept their revelations uncritically.

(2) They have no authority that obliges outsiders to accept their revelations without question.

(3) They break down the authority of the non-mystical or rationalistic consciousness, based upon the understanding and the senses alone. They show it to be only one kind of consciousness. They open out the possibility of other orders of truth, in which, so far as anything in us vitally responds to them, we may freely continue to have faith.

(3) They challenge the authority of non-mystical or rationalistic consciousness, which relies on reason and the senses alone. They show that this is only one kind of consciousness. They open up the possibility of other kinds of truth. We may freely continue to have faith in those truths, insofar as something vital in us responds to them.

I will take up these points one by one.

I will discuss these points one by one.

As a matter of psychological fact, mystical states of a well-pronounced and emphatic sort are usually authoritative over those who have them.²⁷⁹ They have been “there,” and know. It is vain for rationalism to grumble about this. If the mystical truth that comes to a man proves to be a force that he can live by, what mandate have we of the majority to order him to live in another way? We can throw him into a prison or a madhouse, but we cannot change his mind—we commonly attach it only the more stubbornly to its beliefs.²⁸⁰ It mocks our utmost efforts, as a matter of fact, and in point of logic it absolutely escapes our jurisdiction. Our own more “rational” beliefs are based on evidence exactly similar in nature to that which mystics quote for theirs. Our senses, namely, have assured us of certain states of fact; but mystical experiences are as direct perceptions of fact for those who have them as any sensations ever were for us. The records show that even though the five senses be in abeyance in them, they are absolutely sensational in their epistemological quality, if I may be pardoned the barbarous expression,—that is, they are face to face presentations of what seems immediately to exist.

As a matter of psychological fact, strong and unmistakable mystical states are usually authoritative for those who experience them.²⁷⁹ They have been “there,” and they know. It is useless for rationalism to complain about this. If a mystical truth gives someone a force to live by, what right do we in the majority have to order him to live differently? We can put him in prison or a psychiatric hospital, but we cannot change his mind. We usually only make him cling more stubbornly to his beliefs.²⁸⁰ In fact, his conviction defeats our best efforts to change it. And logically, it lies entirely beyond our authority. Our own more “rational” beliefs rest on evidence of exactly the same kind that mystics cite for theirs. Our senses have assured us of certain facts. But for those who have mystical experiences, those experiences are as direct a perception of fact as any sensations have ever been for us. The records show that even when the five senses are inactive during mystical experiences, those experiences are absolutely sensory in their epistemological quality, if I may be forgiven that awkward expression. That is, they present things directly to us that seem to exist immediately before us.

The mystic is, in short, invulnerable, and must be left, whether we relish it or not, in undisturbed enjoyment of his creed. Faith, says Tolstoy, is that by which men live. And faith-state and mystic state are practically convertible terms.

In short, the mystic is invulnerable. Whether we like it or not, we must leave him to enjoy his beliefs undisturbed. Tolstoy says that faith is what people live by. And a state of faith and a mystical state are practically the same thing.

But I now proceed to add that mystics have no right to claim that we ought to accept the deliverance of their peculiar experiences, if we are ourselves outsiders and feel no private call thereto. The utmost they can ever ask of us in this life is to admit that they establish a presumption. They form a consensus and have an unequivocal outcome; and it would be odd, mystics might say, if such a unanimous type of experience should prove to be altogether wrong. At bottom, however, this would only be an appeal to numbers, like the appeal of rationalism the other way; and the appeal to numbers has no logical force. If we acknowledge it, it is for “suggestive,” not for logical reasons: we follow the majority because to do so suits our life.

But I must add that mystics have no right to demand that we accept what their unusual experiences reveal. This is true if we are outsiders and feel no personal calling to mystical experience. The most they can ask of us in this life is to admit that their experiences provide grounds for belief. Mystics agree with one another, and their experiences lead to a clear conclusion. They might say it would be odd if such a unanimous type of experience proved completely wrong. But ultimately, this would only be an appeal to numbers, like the appeal rationalism makes on the other side. And an appeal to numbers has no logical force. If we accept it, we do so for “suggestive,” not logical reasons. We follow the majority because doing so suits our lives.

But even this presumption from the unanimity of mystics is far from being strong. In characterizing mystic states as pantheistic, optimistic, etc., I am afraid I over-simplified the truth. I did so for expository reasons, and to keep the closer to the classic mystical tradition. The classic religious mysticism, it now must be confessed, is only a “privileged case.” It is an extract, kept true to type by the selection of the fittest specimens and their preservation in “schools.” It is carved out from a much larger mass; and if we take the larger mass as seriously as religious mysticism has historically taken itself, we find that the supposed unanimity largely disappears. To begin with, even religious mysticism itself, the kind that accumulates traditions and makes schools, is much less unanimous than I have allowed. It has been both ascetic and antinomianly self-indulgent within the Christian church.²⁸¹ It is dualistic in Sankhya, and monistic in Vedanta philosophy. I called it pantheistic; but the great Spanish mystics are anything but pantheists. They are with few exceptions non-metaphysical minds, for whom “the category of personality” is absolute. The “union” of man with God is for them much more like an occasional miracle than like an original identity.²⁸² How different again, apart from the happiness common to all, is the mysticism of Walt Whitman, Edward Carpenter, Richard Jefferies, and other naturalistic pantheists, from the more distinctively Christian sort.²⁸³ The fact is that the mystical feeling of enlargement, union, and emancipation has no specific intellectual content whatever of its own. It is capable of forming matrimonial alliances with material furnished by the most diverse philosophies and theologies, provided only they can find a place in their framework for its peculiar emotional mood. We have no right, therefore, to invoke its prestige as distinctively in favor of any special belief, such as that in absolute idealism, or in the absolute monistic identity, or in the absolute goodness, of the world. It is only relatively in favor of all these things—it passes out of common human consciousness in the direction in which they lie.

But even this inference from the agreement among mystics is far from strong. I am afraid I oversimplified the truth when I described mystical states as pantheistic, optimistic, and so on. I did so to make my explanation clearer and to stay closer to the classic mystical tradition. I must now admit that classic religious mysticism is only a “privileged case.” It is an extract, kept true to type by selecting the best examples and preserving them in “schools.” It has been carved out of a much larger body of experience. Religious mysticism has historically taken itself seriously. If we take this larger body of experience just as seriously, we find that the supposed agreement largely disappears. To begin with, even religious mysticism itself, the kind that builds traditions and creates schools, is much less unanimous than I suggested. Within the Christian church, it has been both ascetic and self-indulgent in defiance of moral law.²⁸¹ It is dualistic in Sankhya philosophy and monistic in Vedanta philosophy. I called it pantheistic, but the great Spanish mystics are anything but pantheists. With few exceptions, they are not metaphysical thinkers. For them, “the category of personality” is absolute. For them, the “union” of man with God is much more like an occasional miracle than an original identity.²⁸² Apart from the happiness they all share, how different again is the mysticism of Walt Whitman, Edward Carpenter, Richard Jefferies, and other naturalistic pantheists from the more distinctly Christian kind.²⁸³ The fact is that the mystical feeling of enlargement, union, and emancipation has no specific intellectual content of its own. It can marry material supplied by the most diverse philosophies and theologies. The only condition is that they can find room in their framework for its distinctive emotional mood. We therefore have no right to invoke its prestige as specifically supporting any particular belief. These beliefs include absolute idealism, the absolute monistic identity of the world, and the absolute goodness of the world. It supports all these beliefs only in a relative sense. It moves beyond ordinary human consciousness in the direction where they lie.

So much for religious mysticism proper. But more remains to be told, for religious mysticism is only one half of mysticism. The other half has no accumulated traditions except those which the text-books on insanity supply. Open any one of these, and you will find abundant cases in which “mystical ideas” are cited as characteristic symptoms of enfeebled or deluded states of mind. In delusional insanity, paranoia, as they sometimes call it, we may have a diabolical mysticism, a sort of religious mysticism turned upside down. The same sense of ineffable importance in the smallest events, the same texts and words coming with new meanings, the same voices and visions and leadings and missions, the same controlling by extraneous powers; only this time the emotion is pessimistic: instead of consolations we have desolations; the meanings are dreadful; and the powers are enemies to life. It is evident that from the point of view of their psychological mechanism, the classic mysticism and these lower mysticisms spring from the same mental level, from that great subliminal or transmarginal region of which science is beginning to admit the existence, but of which so little is really known. That region contains every kind of matter: “seraph and snake” abide there side by side. To come from thence is no infallible credential. What comes must be sifted and tested, and run the gauntlet of confrontation with the total context of experience, just like what comes from the outer world of sense. Its value must be ascertained by empirical methods, so long as we are not mystics ourselves.

That is enough about religious mysticism proper. But there is more to tell, because religious mysticism is only half of mysticism. The other half has no accumulated traditions except those found in textbooks on insanity. Open any such textbook, and you will find many cases where “mystical ideas” are cited as characteristic symptoms of weakened or deluded minds. In delusional insanity, sometimes called paranoia, we may find a diabolical mysticism. It is a kind of religious mysticism turned upside down. There is the same sense that the smallest events have an importance beyond words. Texts and words come with new meanings. There are the same voices, visions, guidance, and missions, and the same control by outside powers. But this time the emotion is pessimistic. Instead of comfort, there is desolation. The meanings are dreadful, and the powers are enemies of life. Clearly, from the standpoint of their psychological workings, classic mysticism and these lower forms of mysticism arise from the same level of the mind. They come from the vast subliminal or transmarginal region whose existence science is beginning to admit, but about which so little is really known. That region contains every kind of material. “seraph and snake” live there side by side. Coming from that region is no guarantee of worth. Whatever comes from it must be sifted and tested. It must be measured against the full context of experience, just like whatever comes from the outer world of the senses. As long as we are not mystics ourselves, we must determine its value through empirical methods.

Once more, then, I repeat that non-mystics are under no obligation to acknowledge in mystical states a superior authority conferred on them by their intrinsic nature.²⁸⁴

So I repeat: non-mystics have no obligation to accept that mystical states have superior authority because of their inherent nature.²⁸⁴

Yet, I repeat once more, the existence of mystical states absolutely overthrows the pretension of non-mystical states to be the sole and ultimate dictators of what we may believe. As a rule, mystical states merely add a supersensuous meaning to the ordinary outward data of consciousness. They are excitements like the emotions of love or ambition, gifts to our spirit by means of which facts already objectively before us fall into a new expressiveness and make a new connection with our active life. They do not contradict these facts as such, or deny anything that our senses have immediately seized.²⁸⁵ It is the rationalistic critic rather who plays the part of denier in the controversy, and his denials have no strength, for there never can be a state of facts to which new meaning may not truthfully be added, provided the mind ascend to a more enveloping point of view. It must always remain an open question whether mystical states may not possibly be such superior points of view, windows through which the mind looks out upon a more extensive and inclusive world. The difference of the views seen from the different mystical windows need not prevent us from entertaining this supposition. The wider world would in that case prove to have a mixed constitution like that of this world, that is all. It would have its celestial and its infernal regions, its tempting and its saving moments, its valid experiences and its counterfeit ones, just as our world has them; but it would be a wider world all the same. We should have to use its experiences by selecting and subordinating and substituting just as is our custom in this ordinary naturalistic world; we should be liable to error just as we are now; yet the counting in of that wider world of meanings, and the serious dealing with it, might, in spite of all the perplexity, be indispensable stages in our approach to the final fullness of the truth.

Yet, I repeat once more, the existence of mystical states completely overturns the claim that non-mystical states alone ultimately dictate what we may believe. As a rule, mystical states merely add a meaning beyond the senses to the ordinary outward facts of consciousness. They are excitements like the emotions of love or ambition. They are gifts to our spirit that give facts already before us a new expressiveness and a new connection to our active lives. They do not contradict the facts themselves or deny anything our senses have directly perceived.²⁸⁵ Rather, it is the rationalist critic who plays the denier in this debate. His denials have no force. There can never be a set of facts to which new meaning cannot truthfully be added, provided the mind reaches a broader point of view. It must always remain an open question whether mystical states might be such superior points of view. They may be windows through which the mind looks out on a broader, more inclusive world. The different views seen through different mystical windows need not prevent us from considering this possibility. In that case, the wider world would simply prove to have a mixed nature, like this world. It would have its heavenly and its hellish regions, its tempting and its saving moments, its valid experiences and its false ones, just as our world does. But it would still be a wider world. We would have to use its experiences by choosing among them, ranking them, and replacing some with others, just as we usually do in this ordinary natural world. We would be liable to error, just as we are now. Yet, despite all the perplexity, taking that wider world of meanings into account and dealing with it seriously might be essential stages in our approach to the full and final truth.

In this shape, I think, we have to leave the subject. Mystical states indeed wield no authority due simply to their being mystical states. But the higher ones among them point in directions to which the religious sentiments even of non-mystical men incline. They tell of the supremacy of the ideal, of vastness, of union, of safety, and of rest. They offer us hypotheses, hypotheses which we may voluntarily ignore, but which as thinkers we cannot possibly upset. The supernaturalism and optimism to which they would persuade us may, interpreted in one way or another, be after all the truest of insights into the meaning of this life.

I think we must leave the subject here. Mystical states have no authority simply because they are mystical. But the higher mystical states point in directions that even non-mystical people's religious feelings tend toward. They speak of the supremacy of the ideal, of vastness, of union, of safety, and of rest. They offer us hypotheses. We may choose to ignore these hypotheses, but as thinkers we cannot possibly disprove them. The supernaturalism and optimism these states would persuade us to accept may, however interpreted, be the truest insights into life's meaning after all.

“Oh, the little more, and how much it is; and the little less, and what worlds away!” It may be that possibility and permission of this sort are all that the religious consciousness requires to live on. In my last lecture I shall have to try to persuade you that this is the case. Meanwhile, however, I am sure that for many of my readers this diet is too slender. If supernaturalism and inner union with the divine are true, you think, then not so much permission, as compulsion to believe, ought to be found. Philosophy has always professed to prove religious truth by coercive argument; and the construction of philosophies of this kind has always been one favorite function of the religious life, if we use this term in the large historic sense. But religious philosophy is an enormous subject, and in my next lecture I can only give that brief glance at it which my limits will allow.

“Oh, how much a little more means, and how far away a little less can be!” Perhaps the possibility and permission to believe are all that religious consciousness needs to live on. In my last lecture, I shall try to persuade you that this is true. Meanwhile, I am sure this diet is too meager for many of my readers. If supernaturalism and inner union with the divine are true, you think we should be compelled to believe. Mere permission to believe is not enough. Philosophy has always claimed to prove religious truth through arguments that compel belief. Creating such philosophies has always been a favorite activity of religious life, in the broad historical sense. But religious philosophy is an enormous subject. In my next lecture, I can only give it the brief look that time allows.