Evelyn Underhill : Modern Guide to the

title:
Ancient Quest for the Holy
author: Underhill, Evelyn.; Greene, Dana.
publisher: State University of New York Press
isbn10 | asin: 0887067026
print isbn13: 9780887067020
ebook isbn13: 9780585059280
language: English
Mysticism, Spiritual life--Christianity,
subject
Experience (Religion)
publication date: 1988
lcc: BV5085.U52 1988eb
ddc: 248.2/2/0924
Mysticism, Spiritual life--Christianity,
subject:
Experience (Religion)
 Page iii

Evelyn Underhill
Modern Guide to the Ancient Quest for the Holy
Edited and with an introduction by Dana Greene

State University of New York Press

 Page iv
Published by
State University of New York Press, Albany
© 1988 State University of New York
All rights reserved
Printed in the United States of America
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
For information, address State University of New York Press, State
University Plaza, Albany, N.Y., 12246
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Underhill, Evelyn, 18751941.
Evelyn Underhill: modern guide to the ancient quest for the holy /
edited
and with an introduction by Dana Greene.
p. cm.
Bibliography: p.
Includes index.
ISBN 0-88706-702-6. ISBN 0-88706-703-4 (pbk.)
1. Mysticism. 2. Spiritual lifeAnglican authors.
3. Experience (Religion) I. Greene, Dana. II. Title
BV5085.U52 1988 87-18617
248.2'2'0924dc19 CIP
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
 Page v

To the memory of
Evelyn Underhill
The final test of holiness is not seeming very
different from other people, but being used to
make other people very different; becoming the
parent of new life.
E. U.
 Page vii

Contents
Acknowledgments xi
Introduction 1
Defence of Magic 31
Bergson and the Mystics 47
Future of Mysticism 61
Sources of Power in Human Life 67
Suggestion and Religious Experience 87
Christian Fellowship: Past and Present 103
 Page viii

The Authority of Personal Experience 117

Prayer 133
Possibilities of Prayer 145
Our Two-Fold Relation to Reality 161
God and Spirit 177
Father Wainwright 191
Meditation on Peace 197
Postscript 203
The Church and War 211
Bibliography 219
Index 257
 Page ix

In Gratitude
The life of the mind and spirit is not lived alone, but with others in
community. The one that has sustained and directed me spans both
sides of the Atlantic and reaches back into the past. I am indebted to
its inspiration, support, and enrichment.
For financial support I thank the National Endowment for the
Humanities, the American Theological Library Association, St.
Mary's College of Maryland, and the Bogert Fund.
For institutional support I thank King's College, London, St. Andrews
University, Scotland, Virginia Theological Seminary, and the Retreat
House at Pleshey.
For personal recollections of Evelyn Underhill I thank Lady Laura
Estaugh, Miss Daphne Martin-Hurst, Miss Agatha Norman, and Mrs.
Renée Tickell.
For permission to reprint Evelyn Underhill's writings I thank Mr. W.
H. N. Wilkinson.
For their insights and help in preparing the introduction and
bibliography I thank Christopher Armstrong, Ann Barstow, Andrea
Hammer, Joy Milos, Margaret McFadden, Brenda Meehan-Waters,
Mary Murphy, Linda Peck, Gail Ranadive, Emma Shackle, Susan
Smalley, and Douglas Steere.
 Page x
I owe a great debt to those who believed in the importance of Evelyn
Underhill for our time and who encouraged me in this work: A. M.
Allchin, Chris Bazemore, Fay Campbell, Pam Cardullo, Deane and
Ian Barbour, Tilden Edwards, Karen Kennelley, Dolores Leckey, Lin
Ludy, Helen Metz, Anne Metzler, and Tony Stoneburner.
Finally, it is to those with whom I share ordinary life that I owe most:
to friends of Shalem and Communitas and to my family, Richard
Roesel, Kristin, Jae, Lauren, and Ryan Greene-Roesel, and Jackie
Leclerc. They enrich and enliven my being.
DANA GREENE
ST. MARY'S CITY, MD.
 Page 1

Introduction
The twentieth century has been called the age of "anxiety," the age of
"unreason," the age of "longing" and the age of "decadence." It is seen
as an interregnum in which societal fragmentation, personal
alienation, and intellectual anarchy abound. It is an age in which
neither ideology nor technology offer solutions to the dominant
malaise. Without a spiritual center, it is an age unparalleled in its
aimlessness and its potentiality for new insights into what it means to
be human.
This condition has prompted a search for those who can serve as
guides through this age of transition. To be credible, such a guide
must be fully engaged with life and have a vision which wells up out
of a personal confrontation with the full range of human experience;
no narrow, life-denying world view will suffice. The role of the guide
is as a beacon of hope in confusion, a light on the darkened path, a
lure which pulls the searcher closer toward that which is not yet
known, but only dimly apprehended. As such, the guide's importance,
both individually and corporately, is inestimable.
Although this century is not without those who offer explanations and
remedies, there are few who have dealt more directly with questions
of human potentiality and the meaning of life than Evelyn Underhill
(18751941), the prolific British female religious writer. Her
achievements as lecturer, conductor of retreats and widely-read writer
are considerable. Almost fifty years after her death, however, her
significance for the last decades of this century may be her ability to
speak authoritatively about the
 Page 2
malady of spiritual despair. Such is the judgment of T. S. Eliot, who
hailed her as a writer attuned to the great spiritual hunger of her times.
"Her studies," he wrote, "... have the inspiration not primarily of the
scholar or the champion of forgotten genius, but of the consciousness
of the grievous need of the contemplative element in the modern
world."

Evelyn Underhill was an intellectual who became a deeply religious

person. In her work she always balanced the claims of the mind with
those of the heart, melding them together into an integrated response
which emerged slowly. This melding was not easily accomplished and
often came at considerable personal cost.
If one examines her writing over a forty year period, the development
of her thought becomes evident. This development, however, cannot
obscure the constancy and continuity of her ideas. Whether exploring
the lives and writings of the mystics or detailing the spiritual life as
participated in by ordinary people, Underhill's search was for the holy.
She was not a theologian, but a student of human achievement and
potentiality. She was first attracted to the mystics because she saw in
them a different level of human consciousness which had developed
out of relationship with the "Absolute." This relationship transformed
their personalities and lives and was revealed in their writings.
Mystical writings, the written witness of the mystic life, provided the
evidence for her pioneering study, Mysticism: A Study in the Nature
and Development of Man's Spiritual Development, published in 1911.
In this book she introduced her readers to mystical literature and
examined the characteristics of mysticism and the stages of its
development. She maintained that the heightened consciousness of
these "great pioneers of humanity" resulted from this relationship with
the "Absolute," a relationship she analogized as love. Transfigured,
the mystics lived lives of "divine fecundity," prompting in others a
similar response.
If Underhill had merely examined the phenomenon of mysticism and
the lives of the mystics, her contribution would have been
considerable: however, she did more than this. In the last fifteen years
of her life she explored the spiritual life as lived out by ordinary men
and women. As a retreat director, spiritual guide, and writer on the
spiritual life, she offered her contemporaries her counsel, inspiration,
and encouragement.
 Page 3
Evelyn Underhill was both a scholar and a spiritual teacher. She was
an intellectual grounded in modern developments in psychology,
philosophy and science, and a religious seeker whose own pilgrimage
led from unbelief to Christianity. Although her life has been described
as ''quiet," she knew first-hand what it meant to be a religious person
in the twentieth century. As the daughter and wife of London
barristers, she moved in the social circles appropriate to that
profession, but she also worked in the slums of North Kensington and
was aware of the problems of an industrial society. As one who lived
without denominational affiliation for many years, she came to
appreciate the distinct insights of various institutional expressions; her
ecumenicity was well before its time. And as one who lived through
two world wars she understood suffering and the need to absorb it as
one's own. Her ultimate profession of pacifism in World War II
emanated from her belief that one must speak powerfully of God's
love for the world. The diversity and depth of her experience as well
as her intellectual integrity give her writing convincing power half a
century after her death.
This collection of articles by Evelyn Underhill hopefully will
contribute to a fuller understanding of her significance for our time. It
contains some of her best and most vivid writing and preserves
articles which have not been previously collected and hence are not
easily accessible to readers. Beginning with "Defence of Magic,"
published in 1907, and concluding with "The Church and War," which
appeared one year before her death in 1941, these articles span the
whole of her career and illustrate the development in her thought from
its initial focus on mysticism to its ultimate concern for the spiritual
life. They represent, as well, her philosophical shift from Bergsonian
vitalism to the critical realism of her spiritual director, Friedrich von
Hugel, and the journey from theism to Christianity. In their
inclusiveness and variety these articles introduce the reader to the rich
legacy of Evelyn Underhill.
To appreciate these articles, one must understand the life of Evelyn
Underhill and the context in which she lived. This introduction, which
is interpretative rather than definitive, places Underhill within her
times and traces her life and the chronological development of her
thought through the fifteen articles. Readers
 Page 4
who want fuller biographical detail or greater treatment of various
aspects of her thought should consult the extensive bibliography
included in this volume.
Evelyn Underhill was born in 1875, the only child of Lucy
Ironmonger and Arthur Underhill and was educated first privately and
then at Sandgate House, near Folkstone, and at King's College,
London, where she studied botany and history. Her childhood was
happy, although lonely. As a young girl she showed interest in writing
and published a number of articles. Her first book, a comic treatment
of English legal processes, was published in 1902. For many years she
travelled with her mother to France and Italy, and it was there she first
discovered the religious impulse as it expressed itself in art. During
these years her childhood friendship with Hubert Stuart Moore
flowered and she married him when she was thirty-two.
As a sensitive, intelligent young woman, Underhill was aware of the
great spiritual turmoil of the first decade of this century. Religious
orthodoxy had been eroded by Biblical criticism, science and
psychology, and the influence of the church was waning. Like many
of her contemporaries she was attracted to alternative forms of
spiritual expression. For a few years she was a member of the Golden
Dawn, a secret society connected to the Rosicrucian movement and
dedicated to the acquisition of supernatural knowledge gained through
ritual. In fact, her first three novels, The Grey World, The Lost Word,
and Column of Dust, and many of her early articles published in
Horlicks Magazine dealt with experience of the supernatural. By
1907, however, Underhill's fascination with the occult diminished and
she began to focus directly on the phenomenon of mysticism. Her
"Defence of Magic," published in that year, gave clear indication of
this change. In it she confronted the appeal and power of magic as a
vehicle to mystery. She defended true magic as linked to mystery and
as an intregal part of religious expression. She was aware, however, of
the dangers connected to the occult and its tendency to separate
knowledge from love. In many ways, all her subsequent writing can
be understood as an attempt to show that knowledge and love must
always be joined. In this sense, "Defence of Magic" is a manifesto of
the central insight of all her writing.
 Page 5
1907 was a critical turning point in Evelyn Underhill's life. It was in
that year that her vague theism was replaced with a clear decision to
enter the Roman Catholic Church: In that year she married her
childhood friend, Hubert Stuart Moore, and in that year the Papacy
condemned Modernism, the attempt to bring religion into conformity
with developments in Biblical Criticism and modern science. These
events were all critical to the development of Underhill's thought and
were the impulse to write her study of mysticism, which would appear
four years later. Her conversion to Catholicism was first delayed by
the opposition of Stuart Moore, who was adamantly anti-clerical, and
then finally rejected because of Rome's condemnation of Modernism.
Because Underhill considered herself a Modernist, this condemnation
precluded her joining the Roman Catholic Church. Her response to
this set-back, and she clearly saw it as such, was to move forward in
her work of gathering materials on mysticism.
Underhill's decision to write a book on mysticism was spurred on by
her personal crisis, but it must also have been encouraged by the
widespread interest in this phenomenon among her contemporaries.
The publication of William Inge's Christian Mysticism in 1899,
William James' Varieties of Religious Experience in 1902 and
Friedrich von Hugel's The Mystical Element in Religion in 1908 all
reflected this interest and stimulated it. Underhill's Mysticism
appeared in 1911 and was an immediate success. The genius of this
book was that it was not an objective study, but a highly interpretative
one written out of knowledge and passion for its subject and intended
to persuade the reader to respect this controversial phenomenon. It
was a defense of the importance of personal religion and life of union
with God as represented by the mystics, the "giants," "the pioneers of
humanity."
In Mysticism Underhill established what she calls the mystic fact, that
is, the existence of mystical experience and described the mystic way,
the stages of development in mystical consciousness. To clarify the
nature of mysticism she set it off from other phenomena, theology,
vitalism, magic, etc., and defined it as an organic process of human
consciousness which culminates in the perfect consummation of the
love of God. Mysticism has four characteristics. It is active and
practical, as opposed to passive and
 Page 6
theoretical. It is wholly transcendental and spiritual. Its object is
Reality, which is a living and personal object of love. And it results in
an enhanced life in which the individual's character is remade.
Mysticism, for Underhill, was a life process, a natural unfolding of an
innate human tendency, a way of life, transforming of personality and
transfiguring in its activity. In sum, it is a life of love, the great
proponents of which were the mystics, whose transformed lives
pointed the way for all of humankind and whose writings provided the
examples of what it meant to live in union with God.
Underhill's article "Bergson and the Mystics" was published a year
after Mysticism and in many ways reflected the spirit of that book. Her
intent in this piece was to show that Bergsonian philosophy confirms
the mystic adventure. Although her enthusiasm for Bergson as a
mediator of a new understanding of matter and consciousness is
evident throughout, she is quick to point out that the mystic
understands reality not merely as change, flux, and becoming as a
Bergsonian might argue, but as Being, fruition, and rest as well.
After its initial publication, Mysticism continued to be widely read and
many editions appeared. For another decade Underhill continued to
publish on this topic, producing editions of mystical writings,
biographical studies of mystics, an exploration of the mystical origins
of Christianity, two books of mystical meditations published under the
pseudonym of John Cordelier, articles on the connection between war
and mysticism, and a popular book, Practical Mysticism, in which she
examined the contemplative life for "normal people." During these
productive years Underhill carried on a busy social life but
nonetheless devoted considerable time to research and writing. The
absence of children and the availability of domestic help made this
possible. Her acclaim as a writer and her seemingly devoted marital
life might give the sense of personal contentment; however, a cryptic
remark made by her some years later that during the war years she
"went to pieces," indicated that all was not well in her life.

2 The sources of discontent seem to have been both intellectual and

emotional. Underhill had become the principal authority on mysticism
in England and as such she felt she had to defend it at all costs
because in many quarters it was still suspect.3 Her writing
 Page 7
on the relationship between mysticism and war is particularly
defensive, at least in part because mysticism was understood by the
public to be quietistic or worse, unpatriotic. Under the pressure to
defend mysticism, she was unable to confront the obvious limitations
of her highly neo-Platonic world view. This intellectual stress must
have been compounded by her personal isolation. She worked alone in
her home and did not share her intense religious interest with either
her husband, or her parents who lived nearby; they were not interested
in the subject. And although she had friends, none except, perhaps,
Ethel Ross Barker, knew of her emotional and intellectual crisis
during the war years.

4 Her isolation was made worse by lack of participation in any

corporate religious life. Unable to join the Roman Catholic Church
because of intellectual differences, she was unable to accept
Anglicanism because of spiritual ones. She had found God through
Roman Catholicism and believed that the "mysteries" were best
preserved there. The fact that she could not become a Roman Catholic
did not mean that she could become anything else. ". ... I can't accept
Anglicanism instead; it seems an integrally different thing. So here I
am, going to Mass and so on of course, but entirely deprived of
sacraments."5 For years she waited, removing herself gradually from
participation in Roman worship and increasingly relying on her own
personal religious expression.

During the war years her relation to institutional religion must have
been a problem. In The Mystic Way, published in 1913, she clearly
saw an independence between mysticism and institutional religion,
but by 1918 she had reached the position that personal religion needed
to be lived out within some institution. This conclusion is evident in
"The Future of Mysticism", which appeared in that year. In this article
she attempted to convince her reader that mysticism flourishes within
specific historical contexts and the best vehicle for its development is
the great historical churches. Within their confines mysticism is
nurtured and it, in turn, gives renewed spiritual life to the institutions
which give it sanctuary. "True mysticism," she wrote in this piece, "is
the soul of religion; but, like the soul of man, it needs a body to fulfill
its mighty destiny." The church was the body in which mysticism
would be realized.
 Page 8
Although Underhill did not announce her return to institutional
religion, she made this move sometime after 1918 and certainly by
1921. Her recognition of the need for a corporate prayer life was
expressed in 1920 when she joined the Confraternity of the Spiritual
Entente, a small group of Christians who prayed for each other. She
had come to accept the notion that although institutional religion did
not give spiritual experience, it did protect and transmit it and that one
needed its help to lead the spiritual life. Later she explained that her
decision to return to Anglicanism was in part pragmatic: she believed
that there was plenty of work for her to do within that communion.

The year 1921 was an important one in Evelyn Underhill's life. In that
year she gave the Upton Lectures at the Unitarian-affiliated
Manchester College and in so doing became the first woman lecturer
in religion to appear in the Oxford University list. These lectures,
published subsequently as The Life of the Spirit and the Life of To-day,
are one of Underhill's most lucid descriptions of spiritual life. In many
ways their expansive character is expressed in her excellent article,
"Sources of Power in Human Life", which appeared in 1921 in the
Unitarian publication, The Hibbert Journal. In this article she
described the contemporary malaise of anxiety and the resources to
combat it. Her diagnosis is that the malaise results from an
impoverishment of the spirit and an atrophying of the human soul. It
was to the mystics that she turned for a solution. It is they who teach
that life is not so much unreal as half real and it is they who point to
the need for a wider vision and inner discipline in order that life be
transformed. True to her broad understanding of human creativity,
Underhill recognized that the mystics are not alone in pointing to the
need to nurture the soul; philosophy, the arts and religion do the same.
They all encourage the increase in contemplation as a remedy for the
contemporary malaise. It is not that the contemplative life is to replace
the active one, but that the two should be mixed, producing a realistic
means of overcoming the evil of the world.
By 1921 Underhill had diagnosed the problem of her age as an
atrophying of the soul and she was convinced that the soul was best
nurtured within institutional religion. Her personal decision to operate
within Anglicanism was firm. As it turned out, she would remain
within that communion for the rest of her life,
 Page 9
gradually growing to love it and appreciate its unique character.
However, the problems alluded to by her remark that during the war
years she "went to pieces" had clearly not been solved. For help with
them she placed herself under the direction of Friedrich von Hugel,
the Catholic lay theologian. Her attraction to him is understandable.
Von Hugel was the best Catholic theologian in England at the time
and a man with sympathy both for mysticism and Modernism. He died
in 1925, but for three years Underhill conferred with him. Although
her claim that she owed her whole spiritual life to him is hyperbolic,
he did significantly influence her life. That his philosophical ideas
came to have a direct influence on her is especially evident in Man
and the Supernatural, which she published two years after his death.
In the preface to the twelfth edition of Mysticism published in 1930,
she credited him directly with moving her to accept the philosophy of
critical realism. Von Hugel's importance for her was more than
philosophical, however, as the correspondence between them reveals.

7 His principal gift to her was to help give intellectual and emotional
balance to her life. As he saw it, what Underhill needed was to
compensate for her natural tendency toward what he called pure
mysticism, a tendency which led to an emotional starvation and a
disembodied spirituality which was cut off from the finite and
historical. He urged her to accept an inclusive mysticism which saw
all of life, thought, action, and feeling as material to be transformed
by God. To counter her natural theocentric orientation and develop her
incarnational sensitivity, he urged Christocentric devotion and sent her
to work in the slums of North Kensington. He dealt with her
scrupulosity by trying to convince her that no ideal had power to
transform unless it was incorporated into one's life and that personal
transformation was characterized not by a flight "of the alone to the
alone" but by living in and through the world.
Although von Hugel's influence on Underhill was great, it is false to
argue, as some scholars have done, that Underhill was principally a
disciple of von Hugel. She was a distinguished writer for a decade
before she came under his direction and she spent fifteen years after
his death writing in areas in which von Hugel had little competence.
Nonetheless, her personal debt to him was great. It was von Hugel
who helped move her from the theoretical
 Page 10
to the practical, from Neo-Platonism to a deeper incarnational
understanding of reality, from a position where prayer and life in the
world were separate to where they were joined. It was because of his
influence that by 1925 she could write:
... (W)hen (God) becomes to us a living, all penetrating reality and not a
theological statement, (it) is found to require from us a life which spends
itself in love and service in the world, whilst ever in its best experience
and aspirations, pointing beyond it. A life, in fact, moving towards a goal
where work and prayer become one thing ...

Although Underhill explored this transfiguration of personality in the

mystics, it was the catalyst of von Hugel, which was necessary to help
her see how that transfiguration could occur in her own life. It was to
him that she owed the redirection of her life away from a disembodied
mysticism to a more integrated and mature spirituality. Nonetheless,
an evaluation of his impact on her remains difficult. Her clearest
statement about his importance as a philosopher is found in her essay,
"The Finite and the Infinite: A Study of the Philosophy of Baron
Friederich von Hugel."9 Although the essay is about his philosophy,
one learns from it what Underhill valued in him. In her initial
characterization of the man, one is struck by her juxtaposition of
adjectives: he is lovable, genial, homely, and transcendent and
profound. It is both his "critical mind" and "his adoring soul" which
attracts her. One senses that it is his balance which makes him
trustworthy to her, but it is clearly his "passion for God," his vivid and
first-hand sense of Reality, which allows him to speak with
"certitude.'' What is evident from the essay is that von Hugel provided
Underhill with a philosophical framework which allowed her to
explore her experience of the spiritual life. It was his "critical realism"
or "limited dualism," "a two-step philosophy toward life eternal and
life successive" which provided her an alternative to her early
monistic worldview. Von Hugel's "two-fold attitude" led of necessity
to a love of the concrete as "the sacramental utterance of God" and to
the belief in the availability of the supernatural in nature and in
sacrament. His emphasis on the ordinary was balanced by an
emphasis on the sacramental and the
 Page 11
institutional. He saw the church as the vehicle for the sacramental, but
more importantly as a "great interconnection of souls." These views
on nature, the sacrament, and the church rested on his most
fundamental assertion of the personal and objective Being of God. In
an age of subjectivism, arid intellectualism, and rampant
individualism, von Hugel's philosophy with its emphasis on the
transcendence of God, the organic interpenetration and connection of
souls, and the availability of the Divine through institutions, nature,
and sacrament presented Underhill with a different philosophic
starting point, one much more amenable to her experience. It is no
wonder that her gratitude to him was unbounded.
By the mid-1920's Evelyn Underhill directed her interests increasingly
toward an exploration of the spiritual life as it was lived out in the
world. She believed that the spiritual life "must penetrate every level
of existence and every relationshippolitics, industry, science, art and
our attitude for one another, our attitude to living nature, spiritualizing
and unselfing all this;"

10 and it was to this end she dedicated the last years of her life. This
dedication took a variety of forms. Her principal work was that of a
spiritual guide who gave individual direction, retreats, and inspiration
in her writing. Although her particular vocation was to point to the
spiritual, she believed that the spiritual was found enmeshed in life
itself. Her commitment was to illuminating and fostering the life of
holiness lived in the world.

The next two articles, "Suggestion and Religious Experience" and

"Christian Fellowship: Past and Present" illustrates how Underhill
used her analytical skills to explore religious experience and religious
community. In "Suggestion and Religious Experience" she brought
together her interest in psychology with her knowledge of mysticism.
She acknowledged that religious transformation takes place through
the mechanism of the psyche and that suggestion is an important
process in that transformation. Bolstering her insights with examples
from the lives of the mystics, she explored under what conditions
suggestion works most effectively. Her intent was to show that
suggestion can be used to mold our plastic human nature toward the
beauty of holiness or the mawkish pietism of the religious
sentimentalist. In "Christian Fellowship" she examined personal
religious
 Page 12
experience and its connection to religious community. In this cogently
argued article published in 1924 Underhill examined the history of
Christian group life and explored the characteristics of healthy
Christian community. Her premise is that for the Christian, the
relationship with God is primary and prior to the relationship of
compassion toward others. She argued that historically Christian
fellowships have had a teleological rather than a social objective, that
is, that their first aim is fellowship with God and that derived from
that is their desire to join in fellowship with each other. She claimed
that when this primary link between the individual and God is broken
and the social objective takes precedence, Christian community
disintegrates.
Underhill's purpose in "Christian Fellowship" was to show that
communal religious life has its basis in the individual's relationship
with God. It is this theme of personal religious experience which she
develops in her masterful article, "The Authority of Personal
Religious Experience" published in 1925. Here one finds the mature
Underhill at her best. She understands the importance of corporate
religious life and the necessity of living one's spiritual life in the
world. It is against these hard-won insights that she reasserts the
power and authority of the personal experience of God. In this piece
she evaluated the claims made for personal religious experience and
the means by which one can determine its veracity. She argued that
such experience is authoritative when it emerges from and is backed
up by the experience of corporate religion and when it transforms life.
It is always, she believes, a vocational experience, impelling one to
greater service and stimulating and evoking a similar response in
others. By placing personal religious experience within the contexts of
corporate religious life and life lived within the world, she offers some
means by which to evaluate this phenomenon. Her maturation has
reached the point where she sees no ultimate separation between the
religion of authority and the religion of the spirit or between the
spiritual life and the life of love.
In her last years the principal objective of Underhill's vocation was to
show that the spiritual life belonged to everyone, that it was the
pinnacle of humanness, and that it was achieved not apart from the
world but through and in the world. The remaining selections
elaborate these themes in a variety of ways.
 Page 13
As the vehicle for transformation, prayer was an essential part of the
spiritual life and as such was explored by Underhill in her writing. In
1926 she published a small booklet Prayer which summed up in a
simple, homey way her profound insights into the nature of this
activity. Her uncanny ability to immediately grasp her readers' attitude
toward prayer and to begin there is revealed early on when she says
that "ours are vague and formal efforts at prayer." Not condemning
this, she urges her readers to discover what the great and difficult art
of prayer can mean for them. Analogizing spiritual needs to physical
ones, she claims that souls need food, fresh air, and sufficient
exercise. That is, reading and meditation, training in awareness of the
presence of God and private and cooperate prayer all are prerequisites
to the kind of prayer which is a life, the total life of the soul which
results in both a self-forgetting "outflow of worship of God" and "a
close, confident, dependent clinging to Him." Put more succinctly, this
life of prayer is one of adoration and adherence. This prayer which
infuses all life and is given to all who desire it is not essentially about
repentence, petition or intercession, but about adoration and the
identification of self with God's interests.
In "Possibilities of Prayer", published in 1927, Underhill discussed
not the nature of prayer, but its by-products. She answers the question,
"What can prayer do for the individual?" Her premise is that prayer
and its consequences are open to all and that all life can become
prayer. Prayer, however, is no human activity but the action of God in
the human soul. Through it, the person is put in touch with the
supernatural and as a result the supernatural is brought into the world.
Prayer helps to sanctify, that is, it produces an expansiveness and a
simplification of personality and it frees deep energies in the
individual. Prayer, then, not only transforms the individual, but the
world as well.
As a writer, retreat director, and spiritual guide, Evelyn Underhill
placed great emphasis on prayer but she always rooted it within a
large theological context. Two articles, "Our Two-Fold Relation with
Reality" (1925) and "God and Spirit" (1930), illustrates the
theological framework in which she operated. In these the incipient
dualism of her early work is made more obvious and hence the
influence of von Hugel is more notable. Nonetheless Underhill is
never the theologian, but the eager searcher
 Page 14
for the meaning of human life. In "Our Two-Fold Relation with
Reality" she explored how we apprehend the Divine reality in two
waysthe historical, natural and contingent, and the timeless,
supernatural and absolute. It is the function of religion to stimulate
and give opening to this second way and it is the purpose of human
life to weld these two relations into one. In "God and Spirit" she took
up, albeit from a different aspect, the relationship of human life to
Divine life. She did this by exploring two notions of spiritspirit as
Absolute Being and as created spirit. The role of Absolute Spirit is not
only to create spirit, but to continue to stimulate and pressure it to
greater spiritual life. The purpose then of created spirit, of human life,
is "to clothe and express within the space-time world, (the) Absolute
Spirit of God, the one Reality." She pointed out that our understanding
of ourselves as created spirit is partial and paradoxical. We are
required to abandon ourselves to the sustaining power of the Absolute
Spirit and yet we are simultaneously stimulated to vigorous personal
initiative. Although religious history is filled with examples of the
human will becoming an instrument of the Divine Will, we will only
personally understand this paradoxical tension between human action
and the action of God as we live more deeply into our spiritual
heritage. The substance of "God and Spirit" appeared subsequently in
The Golden Sequence, which Underhill, in the preface, called a
"personal little book.'' Of all of her books, Golden Sequence was her
favorite. In it she tried to deal with the chief spiritual problem of the
modern world, namely the inability to surrender to the priority of the
spirit in all things. She explored the Christian doctrine of the Spirit
and explained what the saints knew so well, that first there is
surrender and from that follow love and service to one's fellows.
Underhill's early work focused on mystic consciousness, its stages and
manifestations. Her later work examined the spiritual life as lived out
in the world. For her, the spiritual life was the call to holiness and
although she did not often deal with this topic directly, all of her
writing in some way points to it. One of the best examples of the
importance she gave this topic is shown in an essay she wrote for
"Studies in Sanctity," a series which appeared in the Spectator.
Underhill served as religious editor of that magazine for four years
and although her major responsibility was to
 Page 15
review religious books, she contributed a few essays as well. "Father
Wainwright" is about an Anglican clergyman who died in 1929 after
half a century of work among the poor and destitute of London's
Dockland; it reveals Underhill's understanding of the nature of
holiness. She describes Father Wainwright's life as one of austerity,
devotion, and total self-giving. In abject circumstances he radiated a
charity which seemed more than human. He retained his own person,
yet he became a channel through which God's life and love were
evident. To live God's love in the world was the mark of holiness and
it was a call which could be followed by anyone and lived out in
whatever circumstances.
The call to each was to personal holiness or perfection, but it was not
a call to flight from an imperfect world. The fact that Underhill knew
that this call was to be lived out in the world is illustrated by two
examples. Although she recognized the importance of religious
institutions in supporting and sustaining the spiritual life, she also
recognized that it was inappropriate to search for the perfect
denomination. The point was rather to find a place where one could
work and develop a life of prayer and service. In 1933 she wrote: "But
the whole question of course is, not 'What attracts and would help
me?' but 'Where can I serve God best?'and usually the answer to that
is 'where He has put me'(W)e are here to feed His sheep where we
find them, not to look for comfy quarters."

11

As she recognized that one was not to seek to be comfortable within

religious institutions, she also recognized that one should not seek to
be comfortable in the face of societal violence. The issue on which
she could not remain silent was that of war. In the late 1930's there
were few pacifists in England or elsewhere in Europe. By siding with
this tiny minority, Underhill opposed not only general public opinion
and ecclesiastical support for the war, but the urging of religious
quietists who believed such public involvement intruded on one's
relationship with God. Sister Mary of St. John, prioress of the
Carmelite convent in Exmouth, writing to Underhill between 1936
and 1940, urged her both to join the Roman Catholic church and to
give up her interest in the world and its problems as a means of
drawing closer to God.12 Although Underhill cherished this
relationship, she did not heed Sister Mary of St. John's advice on
either count. One's corporate
 Page 16
religious life was to be carried out wherever there was work to be
done and one's place was in the world, pointing to God's love even in
the face of human atrocity and violence.
This latter commitment is nowhere more obvious than in her final
writing on pacifism. "Meditation on Peace", the "Postscript" of Into
The Way of Peace, and ''The Church and War" written in 1939 and
1940 are important not only in explaining Underhill's pacifist position,
but because they stand in marked contrast to "Problems of Conflict,"
"The Consecration of England," and the "Note For the Fight For Right
Movement" which were written during World War I and espoused her
patriotic support for the war effort.
Underhill's pacifism emerged from her understanding of what it is to
be a Christian, namely to live God's kingdom in the world. In
"Meditation on Peace" she maintained that as a Christian one must
accept all people, good and bad, just and unjust, as God's children
and, consequently, one must live without bitterness or anger toward
them. This peace of God, which is one of the first fruits of the spirit, is
bought at a great price because although pacifists accept all, they are
not indifferent to sin and suffering, but bear it and absorb it. In
"Postscript" the same theme is echoed. The Christian pacifist
participates in redeeming the world through selfless cooperation,
inexhaustible charity, and unlimited faith. As such, pacifists are like
strangers in a foreign land because they are precursors of things to
come, that is, of a world transfigured by love. In "The Church and
War" she called all Christians to reject war as incompatible with their
religious commitment. War, she argued, arises either from sin or fear
and as such must be rejected as an inappropriate method to bring
about order. Although the church is not of the world, it is in it and
cannot flee confrontation. The church, however, is very much in the
business of pleasing rather than challenging adherents to live into its
great mission, that is, to bring in the victory of wisdom and love
which is the Kingdom of God.
In these final writings on pacifism Underhill had come full circle. The
pacifist, as precursor of a new order, had taken the place of the mystic,
the "pioneer of humanity," who pointed to new possibilities in human
consciousness. Both mystics and pacifists were forerunners, gifted by
God to lead humanity to its full
 Page 17
realization. The mystic focuses on union with God; the pacifist
focuses on God's love lived out in a broken and violent world. Both
the mystic and the pacifist were transformed persons who lived lives
of "divine fecundity."
How should this prolific writing of Evelyn Underhill be evaluated?
Certainly within her own time Underhill was well-received. She was
acknowledged as a scholar and was the recipient of many honors: she
was the first woman to be chosen as an outside lecturer at Oxford and
the first lay woman to give retreats within the Anglican church; she
was both a Fellow at King's College, London, and a holder of an
honorary Doctor of Divinity degree from the University of Aberdeen.
She was, as well, beloved to many both within and without
Anglicanism. This evaluation by contemporaries at least in part was
influenced by her interaction with them. Although the person of
Evelyn Underhill was physically undistinguishedshe was a slightly
built woman of no remarkable beautyshe had about her both a manner
and appearance which made her easily approachable.

13 To those who knew her privately, she was Mrs. S. M. (Stuart

Moore), a woman of great spontaneity, attentiveness, and generosity.
Although she was passionately committed to religious life, there was
nothing churchy or self-righteous about her. She had a quick sense of
humor, an uncanny ability to understand others, and a facility for
saying exactly what was needed in a simple, caring manner. Although
she was sophisticated and cultivated, she always gave central
importance to the ordinary in life and her intellectuality, although
considerable, never intruded in her relationships with others; she was
anything but pompous. Neither was she remote or reclusive. She
enjoyed social life and regularly opened her Campden Hill Square
home for Sunday tea to both the great and not great. She was
particularly fond and encouraging of young people and often invited
them to her home. Although she lived at a time when class divisions
were still marked, she always reached beyond them, offering her
insight and wisdom to whomever asked for it. She not only kept up
her contacts with poor families in North Kensington, she also included
uneducated girls in her retreats. If she disdained anything it was the
adulation and fawning of devotées who naturally were attracted to her.
Although because of temperment and social mores, she was an
extraordinarily private
 Page 18
woman, Underhill gave of herself in unlimited ways. Through her
extensive correspondence, her many retreats (she sometimes gave as
many as eight a year), her one-on-one spiritual direction, and her
voluminous writing, she literally became a spiritual guide to her
generation.
Although Underhill had considerable public and personal recognition
in her own time, the estimation of her work subsequent to her death in
1941 has been mixed. Valerie Pitt's evaluation that Underhill's work is
marked by her class and her time cannot be refuted, but neither should
it be taken as substantive.

14 Stephen Katz, a philosopher of religion, recognizes Underhill's

pioneering work in mysticism, but criticizes her epistemological
assumptions.15 Martin Thornton's estimate,16 reiterated by Kenneth
Leech,17 that her work represents the last gasp of the Oxford
Movement, has only limited validity. Clearly Underhill drew from the
inspiration of Newman and his followers, but the principal influence
on her were the medieval mystics and her work and its impact carries
their mark rather than that of more contemporary influences. Another
typical approach to Underhill's work is to see it as popularization,
either of traditional Christianity or more specifically of the writing of
von Hugel. Such evaluations by Urban Holmes18 19 or the much
more sympathetic Douglas Steere tend to underrate her originality.20

Evelyn Underhill's contribution to her contemporaries has been

recognized by Michael Ramsey, who claims that she did more than
anyone else to sustain the spiritual life of Anglicanism during the
interwar years,21 and by Henry Bodgener, who pointed out her role as
spiritual guide to an entire generation in England.22 Horton Davies, in
summarizing her importance, explained how she reflected religious
movements in her time. He wrote: "Evelyn Underhill expressed in her
own pilgrimage the religious movement of the whole period as it
proceeded from immanentalism to transcendentalism, from Liberal
Protestantism to Orthodoxy, from private mysticism to public
worship, from the individual to the institutional expression of
allegiance, and from the theocentric to the Christocentric faith."23
Although her work was in synchroneity with her time it was not
merely reflective of it. To the contrary, the originality of her
contribution, although not yet fully explored, has been hinted at by a
variety of scholars.
 Page 19
For example, Richard Woods cites her contribution to a democratic,
futuristic, and creative understanding of mysticism,

24 and Harvey Egan,25 as well as Horton Davies26 and Douglas

Steere27 point to the connection she established between mysticism
and social concern. Egan and Margaret Furse28 are particularly aware
of her appreciation of mysticism as a total way of life. Still others
value her work for its breadth. A. M. Allchin claims that universality
is an important characteristic of her writing29 and John Booty called
her "a bridge" not merely between believer and unbeliever but
between religion and the behavioral and natural sciences.30

These critiques reveal that almost fifty years after her death the work
of Evelyn Underhill has not yet been definitively evaluated. What is
clear is that her contribution is significant. In his masterful survey of
twentieth century religions thought John Macquarrie claimed that
Underhill is one of the three women who has made a substantial
contribution to this field.31 His comments point to the need for further
evaluation of her writing. The articles collected here not only show
the development of Underhill's thought but they provide the reader
with an opportunity to evaluate her contribution first-hand. Although
in unsystematic and fragmented form, this collection presents the
principal insights of this important twentieth century religious thinker.
For Underhill's work to be evaluated appropriately, certain issues must
be examined. It is impossible to understand her lasting contribution
unless her work is placed within the context of early twentieth century
thought. Nor can the particular character of her thought be appreciated
unless it is understood as emanating from specific life circumstances.
Evelyn Underhill wrote within the context of the farreaching social
and intellectual changes of the early part of this century. By that time
the intellectual synthesis which undergirded Western thought had
fractured and the optimism which characterized so much of the
European intellectual tradition since the Enlightenment had been
replaced by deep cynicism and disillusionment. Religion was not
immune from this crisis.
One of the central assumptions to be challenged in this crisis was that
of authority: on what authority does one claim to
 Page 20
know the truth? In religion this challenge expressed itself in
contesting the time-honored authorities of both Scripture and
tradition. It is within this context that mysticism emerged. Personal
experience of the Holy served as the foundation from which claims of
truth could be made. Cultural receptivity to mysticism was prepared
both by developments in psychology which focused on the
understanding of human consciousness and philosophical
developments, particularly in Idealism, which gave priority to
experience. It was within this cultural milieu that Underhill made
available her study of the nature and development of human spiritual
consciousness, drawing her evidence from the writings of those who
claimed to have a different consciousness of reality. In explaining this
consciousness she wrote:
Normal consciousness sorts out some elements from the mass of
experiences beating at our doors and constructs from them a certain order;
but this order lacks any deep meaning or true cohesion, because normal
consciousness is incapable of apprehending the underlying reality from
which these scattered experiences proceed. The claim of the mystical
consciousness is to a closer reading of truth; to an apprehension of the
divine unifying principle behind appearance. .... To know this at first-
handnot to guess, believe or accept, but to be certainis the highest
achievement of human consciousness and the ultimate object of mysticism.

32

Her central insight is then that mysticism is an experience of the

interconnectedness and relationality of all of reality. By describing
and analyzing that experience, she established the fact of mysticism
and offered her beleaguered contemporaries a fresh approach to
religion itself. Religion was not to be associated principally with
doctrinal adherence, institutional affiliation or ethical living, but with
personal engagement with the Absolute. This engagement she
analogized as love and characterized as producing a changed
consciousness and a transformed life.
Evelyn Underhill's articulation of the mystic fact was a major
contribution, and if she had ceased writing after 1920 her work would
be noteworthy nonetheless. What happened, however, is that personal
crisis forced her to reevaluate her ideas. Mysticism was produced out
of the crisis of intellectual freedom; it stood as
 Page 21
a testament to personal religion lived out independent of historical
institutions. Although the second crisis of her life involved intellectual
problems, it was principally about how to sustain the life of the spirit.
This crisis led her to nuance her subsequent work. Having established
the important witness of the mystics to human spiritual consciousness,
she began to focus on prayer, the means by which one had access to
God, and spiritual life, the lived-out consequence of the relationship
with the Divine. In the prolific writing of the last years of her life, the
themes of prayer, the spiritual life, and worship become intertwined,
each was part of the vast web of a life lived in response to God. As the
focus of her work changed, so, too, did its philosophical
underpinnings. In the first decade of this century she saw scientific
determinism as the great enemy of human development: as a
consequence she advanced evidence for a mystical consciousness
which defied such determinism. By the 1920's she came to see that a
natural monismwhat she called "the shallow doctrine of immanence
unbalanced by any adequate sense of transcendence"

33 as the assumption which must be challenged. Immanence must be

refuted because it eliminated the possibility of transcendence, the
most obvious fact of Reality. It was clear to her that her understanding
of mysticism was not capable of refuting immanentism precisely
because it was too neo-Platonic, too "exclusive" of the material,
historical world. It was in her second personal crisis that she was able
to understand the limitations of her pure mysticism. What von Hugel
was able to help her see was that everything was a vehicle for the
experience of God; ultimately she was able to accept his philosophical
theory of critical realism. Under this theory the Real was God, the
Absolute Spirit, and created, contingent, embodied spirit was and
could be because of it. The dualities of matter and spirit, of
transcendence and immanence remain in tension but are ultimately
overcome. To participatein the spiritual life is to experience first-hand
that reality. The spiritual life becomes for Underhill not a portion of
life, but reality itself. It includes everything and as such exposes the
false dichotomies created by much of theology. God is the other, the
wholly transcendent, and the penetrating intimacy in all things. As
such, God is accessible to all through ordinary life.
 Page 22
Underhill never considered herself a theologian, but rather a student
of human potentiality. She began from the experience of life itself and
went in search for those ideas, be they theological or philosophical,
which illuminated that experience. She often found herself at odds
with current theology. She rejected the theology of the Social Gospel
as shallow and although she appreciated the contributions of Barth,
Otto, and Brunner to restoring the importance of transcendence, she
saw them as too one-sided. Underhill's own view cannot be easily
labeled. Although she admitted that she was more theocentric than
Christocentric, that designation is not fully descriptive. She might best
be called spiritcentric and hence deeply incarnational. For her, Reality
is the spirit and all is real to the degree it participates in that life. She
works, however, not in the realm of theology or philosophy but in the
realm of life. She posits a life penetrated and united by the Spirit and
examines how the spirit changes consciousness and transforms being,
how the life of the spirit becomes the life of love.
Underhill's early work makes almost no reference to prayer. Yet in her
writing after 1925, prayer becomes a common theme. Although she
defined degrees and kinds of prayer, what she usually meant by prayer
was the prayer of quiet or contemplative prayer, that which was the
means through which one was placed in relationship with God. Prayer
was intercourse with God and its end was to make oneself useful to
God. As such it meant self-transformation not for one's personal ends,
but for cooperation with God. Prayer opened up, energized, healed,
and cleansed the one who prayed. Although it was God who caused
prayer to happen, one could prepare for and respond to the gift of
prayer. If mysticism was above all a way of life, meaning that the
union of love transformed life, so prayer, as the vehicle to that union,
was a way of life, too. From another angle, this life of prayer could be
called the spiritual life or a "total concentration on the total interests
of God which must be expressed in action."
34 It is this articulation of the spiritual life which was Underhill's
second important contribution.

If Mysticism was about the establishment of the existence of a human

consciousness which went beyond normal consciousness, her latter
work was about how ordinary persons could move
 Page 23
toward a greater realization of that consciousness. Underhill
recognized that the spiritual life took many forms but that it contained
within it an ongoing double action which on the one hand was an
interior and deepening communion with God and on the other an ever-
widening outgoing toward the world. The spiritual life is a balanced
life of faith and works, of surrender and activity. Although much of
her emphasis falls on the side of being, rather than doing, this
resulted, at least in part, as a response to an age which valued only
activity. "We must be good before we can do good," she wrote, "be
real before we can accomplish real things. No generalized
benevolence, no social Christianity, however beautiful and devoted,
can take the place of this centering of the spirit on eternal values; this
humble deliberate recourse to Reality."

35

The principal ways Underhill educated persons to an understanding of

spiritual consciousness was through her writing and through spiritual
direction and retreats. The two major books of her later years were
Mixed Pasture and Worship. In both, Underhill made an important
contribution to nurturing the spiritual life. Published in 1933, Mixed
Pasture is just that, an offering of herbage, a collection of articles
about interior and exterior aspects of Christian spirituality. It contains
essays on the first principles underlying mystical religion, the social
implications of Christianity, and various expressions of the spiritual
life as revealed by St. Francis, Richard the Hermit, Walter Hilton, and
Baron von Hugel. The volume illustrates Underhill's wide range of
interests and her penetrating understanding of the interior life.
Worship, published in 1936, was her second most important book after
Mysticism. In it she explored the nature, principles, and chief
expressions of humanity's response and relationship to the Eternal.
She examined the elements of worshipritual, symbol, sacrament, and
sacrificeand the diverse historical expressions of cultus. Her intent, as
indicated in the preface, was to show the genius of each of these
historical forms of worshipJewish, Eastern or Western Catholic,
Reform, Free, and Anglican"chapels of various types in the one
Cathedral of the Spirit," rather than to focus on its limitations. Like
Mysticism, Worship illustrated Underhill's insight, depth of
understanding, and broad erudition, and like it, it was a pioneering
work which became a classic.
 Page 24
In addition to these important later writings, Underhill took up both
spiritual direction and conducting of retreats, two forms of ministry
which were largely unknown within the Church of England but which
she believed were valuable activities for deepening the interior life.
She carried out spiritual direction, what she considered the ancient
practise of the care of souls, through correspondence, as well as
through personal contact. Her early correspondence with Margaret
Robinson (19041917) revealed her commitment to this form of
ministry and her later letters give evidence of a highly sensitive and
knowledgeable spiritual director.
As spiritual direction provided an opportunity to deepened religious
commitment, so did a retreat. She saw the retreat as a natural activity
in the process of spiritual development, the objective of which was the
same as that of life: to ground oneself in God. Underhill's extensive
participation in the retreat movement of the 1920s and 1930s either at
Pleshey, the retreat house she loved most, or at others throughout
England, was particularly directed to women and clergy in the Church
of England. Although the number of persons influenced directly by
this ministry were few, many of these retreats were published
subsequently and hence reached a larger audience.
Underhill's gift to her own time was an attentiveness to its real needs.
She spent almost forty years attempting to meet those needs by
writing in non-technical language about the human condition and its
potentiality. At a time when institutional religion was moribund,
doctrine was ignored, and materialism was rampant, Underhill gave
new life to the religious quest.
The fact that Evelyn Underhill was able to make two major
contributionsone to an understanding of mysticism and the other to an
understanding of the spiritual lifeis easier to document than to explain.
How was a lay, self-educated, married woman capable of doing this?
In some ways her marginality worked in her favor. Not only was she
an outsider, namely a woman who had no formal ecclesiastical or
academic position, she also wrote on topics which were not of central
interest to the religious or academic establishment. She did not
challenge the turf of anyone and there were few who could challenge
her competence. She could be ignored by those in power, but
ultimately
 Page 25
that was of little consequence because she had a large public
following.
Her marginality not only worked to protect her, it also allowed her to
be creative. Because she owed nothing to anyone, because she had
nothing to preserve and no standard to maintain, she was permitted to
operate from her own resources. Thrust back on her own experience,
she was able to define a new topic for investigation and to find a
unique way of explaining its validity. Because she was on the
periphery of power, she was able to see both the needs of her time and
a solution to them in a different way. At the heart of her work is the
insight that knowledge is achieved not through analysis but through
personal engagement and that the connection between the individual
and Reality, the Absolute, or God, is analogized to the relationship of
love. This is a psychological insight about the experience of knowing
itself. Recent research on women's psychology and spirituality
indicates that their principal mode of learning is through relationship.

36 If this can be confirmed, it may be possible to argue that her gender

provided Underhill with the central insight of all of her work.

Evelyn Underhill worked on the frontier of what it meant to be

human. Although she drew her inspiration from the Christian mystical
tradition, she reinterpreted its sources in such a way as to make them
intelligible to her contemporaries. Based on their evidence, she
claimed a potentiality for each person to participate in the mystic
adventure. But the claim of her later writing was even more far-
reaching; each person is called to participate in the spiritual life, to be
filled-up with the object of love itself, God. It is this contribution that
established Underhill as one of the most authentic and convincing
modern guides to the ancient quest for the holy.
Notes
1. T. S. Eliot, MS. A. ff. 90, 91. Cited in Helen Gardner, The
Composition of the Four Quartets (London: Faber and Faber, 1978),
6970.
2. von Hugel-Underhill Correspondence. TS. 21 Dec. 1921. Archives.
St. Andrews University Library. St. Andrews, Scotland.
 Page 26
3. Lucy Menzies, Biography of Evelyn Underhill. TS (unfinished).
Underhill Collection. Archives. St. Andrews University Library. St.
Andrews, Scotland, vii, 17.
4. Ibid, vii, 29.
5. ''To Mrs. Meyrick Heath," 14 May 1911, Letters of Evelyn
Underhill, ed. Charles Williams (New York: Longmans, Green and
Co., 1943), 126.
6. "To Dom Chapman," 9 June 1931, Letters, 19596.
7. This correspondence is in typescript form in the archives of the
library of St. Andrews University. A notebook kept by Underhill
during this time is in the archives of King's College, London.
Underhill Collection, 58, MS.
8. Evelyn Underhill "The Christian Basis for Social Action," in Mixed
Pasture (London: Methuen, 1933), 11011.
9. Evelyn Underhill "The Finite and Infinite: A Study of the
Philosophy of Baron Friedrich von Hugel," in Mixed Pasture, 20928.
10. Evelyn Underhill, The School of Charity (London: Longmans,
Green and Co., 1934), 9495.
11. "To F. H.," 20 March 1933, Letters, p. 210.
12. Letters from Sister Mary of St. John. 19361940. Underhill
Collection, 45, MS. Archives. King's College, London.
13. This description is a compilation from interviews with the
following women who knew Evelyn Underhill: Lady Laura Eastaugh,
Miss Daphne Martin-Hurst, Miss Agatha Norman, Mrs. Renee Tickell
(née Haymes).
14. Valerie Pitt, "Clouds of Unknowing," Prism, 3, No. 3 (1959), 712.
15. Stephen Katz, "Introduction" and "Language, Epistemology and
Mysticism," in Mysticism and Philosophical Analysis, ed. Stephen
Katz (New York: Oxford University Press, 1978), 2, 2274.
16. Martin Thornton, "The Cultural Factor in Spirituality," in The
Great Christian Centuries to Come, ed. C. Martin (London: Mowbray,
1974), 183.
17. Kenneth Leech, Soul Friend (New York: Harper and Row, 1980),
8182.
18. Urban Holmes, History of Christian Spirituality (New York:
Seabury Press, 1981), 149.
19. In Urban Holmes, What is Anglicanism? (Wilton, Ct.: Morehouse-
Barlow, 1982), 6572. In this book his treatment is more sympathetic.
20. Douglas Steere, "Introduction" in Spiritual Counsels and Letters
of Baron von Hugel. (New York: Harper and Row, 1961), 1334.
 Page 27
21. Michael Ramsey, "Forword" in Christopher Armstrong, Evelyn
Underhill: An Introduction To Her Life and Writing (Grand Rapids,
Mich.: Eerdmans, 1975), 10.
22. Henry Bodgener, "Evelyn Underhill: A Spiritual Director to Her
Generation," London Quarterly and Holborn Review, (1958), 4550.
23. Horton Davies, Worship and Theology in England (Princeton,
N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1965), 5, 14445.
24. Richard Woods, "Introduction" in Understanding Mysticism, ed.
Richard Woods (Garden City, New York: Doubleday and Co., 1980),
115.
25. Harvey Egan, What Are They Saying About Mysticism? (New
York: Paulist Press, 1982), 48.
26. Horton Davies, Worship and Theology In England (Princeton,
New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1965), 5, 14547.
27. Douglas Steere, "Evelyn Underhill," Lecture at Pendle Hill Study
Center, Wallingford, PA., Nov. 1984.
28. Margaret Furse, "Mysticism: Classic Modern Interpreters and
Their Premise of Continuity," Anglican Theological Review, 60, No. 2
(1978), 18990.
29. A. M. Allchin and Michael Ramsay, Evelyn Underhill: Two
Centenary Essays (Oxford: SLG Press, 1977), 79.
30. John Booty, "Christian Spirituality From Wilberforce to Temple,"
in Anglican Spirituality, ed. William Wolf (Wilton, Ct.: Morehouse
Barlow, 1982), 92.
31. John Macquarrie, Twentieth Century Religious Thought (London:
SCM, 1981), 40809.
32. Evelyn Underhill, Essentials of Mysticism and Other Essays,
(London: J. M. Dent, 1920), 67.
33. Evelyn Underhill, Mysticism (London: Methuen, 1930), 12th
revised ed., viii.
34. Evelyn Underhill, The Spiritual Life: Four Broadcast Talks,
(London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1937), 87.
35. Evelyn Underhill, The Life of the Spirit and the Life of To-day
(London: Methuen, 1922), 42.
36. See Beatrice Bruteau, "Neo-Feminism and the Next Evolution in
Consciousness," Cross Currents 27 (1977), 17481. Carol Ochs,
Women and Spirituality (Totowa, New Jersey: Rowman and
Allanhead, 1983), 14142. Jean Baker Miller, Toward A New
Psychology of Woman (Boston: Beacon Press, 1976), 83, 3241. Ann
Ulanov, Receiving Woman: Studies in the Psychology and Theology of
the Feminine (Phila.: Westminster Press, 1981), 90. Carol Christ,
Diving Deep and Surfacing: Women Writers on a Spiritual Quest
(Boston: Beacon Press, 1980), 2122.
 Page 28
Carol Gilligan, In A Different Voice (Cambridge, MA.: Harvard
University Press, 1982), 89; 1617; 15556; 17071. Anne Carr, "On
Feminist Spirituality," in Women's Spirituality: Resources for
Christian Development, ed. Joann Wolski Conn (Mahwah, New
Jersey: Paulist Press, 1986), 4958.
References*
Allchin, A. M., and Michael Ramsey. Evelyn Underhill: Two
Centenary Essays. Oxford: SLG Press, 1977.
Bodgener, Henry. "Evelyn Underhill: A Spiritual Director to Her
Generation," London Quarterly and Holborn Review, (1958), 4650.
Booty, John. "Christian Spirituality From Wilberforce to Temple." In
Anglican Spirituality. Ed. William Wolf. Wilton, Ct.: Morehouse
Barlow, 1982, 69104.
Bruteau, Beatrice. "Neo-Feminism and the Next Evolution in
Consciousness," Cross Currents, 27 (1977), 17082.
Carr, Anne. "On Feminist Spirituality." In Women's Spirituality:
Resources for Christian Development. Ed. Joann Wolski Conn.
Mahwah, N.J.: Paulist Press, 1986, 279297.
Christ, Carol. Diving Deep and Surfacing: Women Writers on a
Spiritual Quest. Boston: Beacon Press, 1980.
Davis, Horton. Worship and Theology in England. Vol. 5. Princeton,
N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1965.
Egan, Havey. What Are They Saying About Mysticism? New York:
Paulist Press, 1982.
Furse, Margaret. "Mysticism: Classic Modern Interpreters and Their
Premise of Continuity." Anglican Theological Review, 60, No. 2
(1978), 18093.
Gardner, Helen. The Composition of the Four Quartets. London:
Faber and Faber, 1978.
* Published and unpublished works by Evelyn Underhill as well as works
entirely or substantially about her are listed in the bibliography at the end
of this volume.
 Page 29
Gilligan, Carol. In a Different Voice. Cambridge, Ma.: Harvard
University Press, 1982.
Holmes, Urban. History of Christian Spirituality. New York: Seabury
Press, 1981.
Holmes, Urban. What is Anglicanism. Wilton, Ct.: Morehouse-
Barlow, 1982.
Katz, Stephen. "Introduction" and "Language, Epistemology and
Mysticism." In Mysticism and Philosophical Analysis. Ed. Stephen
Katz. New York: Oxford University Press, 1978, 19, 2274.
Leech, Kenneth. Soul Friend. New York: Harper and Row, 1980.
MacQuarrie. Twentieth Century Religious Thought. London: SCM,
1981.
Miller, Jean Baker. Toward A New Psychology of Woman. Boston:
Beacon Press, 1976.
Ochs, Carol. Women and Spirituality. Totowa, New Jersey: Rowman
and Allanhead, 1983.
Pitt, Valerie. "Clouds of Unknowing." Prism, 3, No. 3 (1959), 713.
Ramsey, Michael. "Foreword." In Evelyn Underhill: An Introduction
to Her Life and Writing. By Christopher Armstrong. Grand Rapids,
Mich.: Eerdmans, 1975, 1x-x.
Steere, Douglas. "Evelyn Underhill." Lecture at Pendle Hill Study
Center, Wallingford, PA., Nov. 1984.
Steere, Douglas. "Introduction." In Spiritual Counsels and Letters of
Baron von Hugel. New York: Harper and Row, 1961.
Thornton, Martin. "The Cultural Factor in Spirituality." In The Great
Christian Centuries to Come. Ed. C. Martin. London: Mowbray,
1974, 18097.
Ulanov, Ann. Receiving Woman: Studies in the Psychology and
Theology of the Feminine. Phila: Westminster Press, 1981.
Woods. "Introduction." In Understanding Mysticism. Ed. Richard
Woods. Garden City, New York: Doubleday and Co., 1980, 115.
 Page 31
"Defence of Magic," published in 1907 in the Fortnightly Review,
revealed Underhill's move from fascination with the occult to a focus
on mysticism. In this article she recognized the appeal and power of
magic. Although linking true magic to mystery, she acknowledges its
tendency to separate knowledge from love. The seminal insight of all
Underhill's subsequent writing, namely that knowledge and love are
linked, is clearly articulated here.
 Page 33

A Defence of Magic
I
The gradual debasement of the verbal currency results in many
regrettable misconceptions. Of these, perhaps none provides so
constant an irritant for the student of mysticism as the loss of the true
meaning of the word Magic. Magic, in the vulgar tongue, means the
art practised by Mr. Maskelyne. The shelf which is devoted to its
literature in the London Library contains many useful works on
sleight-of-hand and parlour tricks. It has dragged with it in its fall the
terrible verb, "to conjure," which, forgetting that it once compelled the
spirits of men and angels, is now content to produce rabbits from top-
hats.
Yet the real significance of these words should hardly be lost in a
Christian country; for Magic is the science of those Magi whose quest
of the symbolic Blazing Star brought them to the cradle of the
Incarnate God. This science does not consist in the production of
marvels. Its true adepts have always condemned necromancy, fortune-
telling, and other devices for the astonishment of the crowd. It is a
living and serious philosophy, descended from immemorial antiquity,
and never failing of initiates, who have handed down to the present
day its secret wisdom, symbols and speculations.
There is a schoolmaster who said to his construing class, "Remember
that the Latin poets did not invariably write nonsense." So, it seems
necessary to remind the present generation, weighed down as we are
by a sense of our own perspeciacity, that the occult philosophers, from
Empedocles to Paracelsus, were great personalities, who exercised a
commanding influence over
 Page 34
the minds with which they came in contact. Throughout the long and
tangled history of "the science of the charlatan" discerning students
may perceive a thread of gold, never lost though often concealed,
which links the hidden wisdom of the ancient with the profoundest
speculations of the modern schools. This thread is the true "tradition
of magic"; originating in the East, formulated and preserved in the
religion of Egypt. In Gnosticism, in the Hebrew Kabals, in much of
the ceremonial of the Christian religion, and finally in secret
associations which still exist in most European countries, the ''thread
of gold" has wandered down the centuries. These things have kept
alive, if not intact, a philosophy which, like religion, has been always
misunderstood by the unworthy majority, but remains a source of
illumination to the few. It is this philosophy which I propose to
defend; and because the quaint fine trappings of "far-off forgotten
things" are apt to offer careless readers the picturesqueness of cloak
and feathers instead of the living organism which these things clothe, I
will examine it first as exhibited in the writings and in the experience
of an eminently sane French philosopher of the nineteenth century.
This writer found in the magical tradition, rehandled in the terms of
modern thought, an adequate theory of the universe and rule of
practical life. He thus forms a link between our time and that of his
teachers, the Kabalists and Hermetic philosophers of the Middle Ages.
Alphonse Louis Constant, well known under his fantastic pseudonym
of Eliphas Lévi, was born in France about the year 1810. He was a
shoemaker's son; but his unusual intelligence obtained for him an
education at the seminary of St. Sulpice, where he received minor
orders. Constant's eager mind, at once critical and visionary, could not
rest in the arid formularism of the French Catholic theology of his
day. He made the inevitable pilgrimage of the youthful individualist
from orthodoxy to Voltarian agnosticism, was expelled from St.
Sulpice, and passed under the influence of a political illuminist named
Esquiros, who announced himself as an initiate of occult science.
Possibly Constant obtained from Esquiros his first introduction to
magic: if this be so, the pupil soon excelled his master. During these
Wanderjahre he made a romantic but unhappy marriage, his wife
finally deserted him, to his great grief. It is perhaps not unreasonable
to trace a
 Page 35
connection between these events and the turning of Eliphas Lévi's
mind towards those speculations which afterwards dominated his life.
The date at which he embraced Hermetic philosophy is obscure; but in
1853 he was already skilled in magic, and well known to its serious
students. In this year he came to England, and there performed the
amazing ceremonial evocation of Apollonius of Tyana which he
describes in his most celebrated work, the Dogme de la Haute Magie.
This extraordinary narrative is like a wizard's tale of the Middle Ages
reported by the Society for Psychical Research. Nothing can be more
curious than its blend of the mystical, scientific, and bizarre. The
assignation with an unknown old lady outside Westminster Abbey; the
"completely equipped magician's cabinet," which she promptly places
at Constant's disposal, with its altars, mirrors, perfumes, and
pentagrams; the twenty-one days of preparation for the rite. Then the
evocation: Constant, crowned with vervain leaves and clothed in a
white magician's robe, reciting the antique ritual, and, in a true
scientific spirit, checking his own sensations at each point in the
ceremony. His attitude at the beginning of the adventure is not that of
a mystic seeking transcendental truth; it is that of a victim of intense
intellectual curiosity. Nevertheless, the ceremony produced its
traditional effect. A phantom appeared; vague at first, but afterwards
distinct. Many ordinary spiritualistic phenomena accompanied the
evocation: the sense of fear, of intense cold. The hand by which
Constant held the magic sword was touched and benumbed from the
shoulder, and so remained for many days. At the third evocation he
became exhausted, and sank into a condition of coma; but on his
awakening, he found that the questions he had desired to ask the
phantom had answered themselves "within his own mind" during the
period of unconsciousness.
Though he refused to acknowledge it probable, or even possible, that
he had really evoked and seen the spirit of Apollonius of Tyana, this
vision was for Constant a crucial experience, and left behind it marked
physical and mental effects. "Je n'explique pas," he says, "par quelles
lois physiologiques j'ai vu et que j'ai touche; j'affirme seulement que
j'ai vu et que j'ai touché, que j'ai vu clairement et distinctement, sans
rêves, et cela suffit pour croire à l'efficacité réelle des cérémonies
magiques." Again,
 Page 36
"L'effet de cette expérience sur moi fut quelque chose d'inexplicable.
Je n'étais plus le même homme, quelque chose d'un autre monde avait
passé en moi; je n'étais plus ni gai, ni triste, mais j'éprouvais un
singulier attrait pour la mort, sans être, cependant, aucunement tenté
de recourir au suicide." (Dogme de la Haute Magie, pp. 270271).
Reading this passage, it is difficult to avoid the conclusion that, owing
perhaps to the ecstasy produced by the perfumes, the ritual, the
solitude, acting on an eager imagination, there happened to Constant
in the course of this experience one of those sudden uprushes from the
subliminal consciousness which underlie the phenomena of
conversion. It marks, in all probability, its writer's real, as apart from
his merely intellectual, initiation into the spirit of occult philosophy.
It is during the decade 18551865, corresponding roughly with the
period of Eliphas Lévi's literary activity, that we can best observe that
mental evolution which is so candidly reflected in his writing. The
first part of his great work upon Hermetic science, the Dogme de la
Haute Magie, was issued in 1854, and its sequel, the Ritual, in 1856.
In 1860 appeared the Histoire de la Magie: La Clef des Grands
Mystères, which completes the trilogy, following in 1861, and La
Science des Espritsa violent condemnation of popular spiritualismin
1865. During the remainder of his life, Constant wrote much, but
published nothing. His pupils have, however, issued many of his
MSS. and letters since his death in 1875. Hence there is considerable
material available for the student who desires to investigate Eliphas
Lévi's spiritual pilgrimages.
He died in complete communion with that Catholic Church from
which he had set out in his youth: to which his subsequent adventures,
rightly understood, constituted a gradual and consistent return. He has
some claim to be included in the ranks of her great apologists; for his
works demonstrate, with uncompromising clearness, the fundamental
identity of all religious and philosophic truth with that esoteric
mystery which dogmatic Catholicism at once veils and reveals. "Les
cultes changent, et la religion est toujours la même," he says in his
posthumous Livre des Splendeurs.
 Page 37
This sameness, this One, he at last attained; only to be taunted, by
those still entangled amongst the Many, with the obvious insincerity
of such a reconciliation with the Church. But to the unprejudiced
mind, this reconciliation appears as the inevitable end, for him, of the
journey on which he set out. The spectacle presented to us is that of a
man of eager desires and natural intuitions pursuing the one eternal
quest by strange paths, but with a passionate sincerity. It matters little
what road such adventurers choose; whether they seek the symbolic
perfection of the Magnum Opus or the Grand Arcanum of the Cross.
The end which these things veil is always one. This truth Constant
apprehended. It forms the justification of his philosophy and the
coping-stone of his work: a work full of fantasy and not guiltless of
perversity, yet, as he proudly proclaims on the title-page of the
Histoire de la Magie, Opus hierarchicum et Catholicum.
II
Let us now consider the principles of High Magic, as we find them
formulated in Eliphas Lévi's works.
Like the world which it professes to interpret, Magic has a body and a
soul; an external system of words and ceremonies, and an inner
doctrine. The external systemwhich is all that the word Magic
connotes for the average manis hardly attractive to educated minds. It
consists of a series of confusing and ridiculous veils: pretended
miracles, absurd if literally understood, strange words and numbers,
personifications and mystifications, clearly designed for the
bewilderment of impatient investigators. Stripped of these archaic
mystery-mongerings, delightful to the aesthetic sense of the adept but
exasperating to the ignorant inquirer, true Magic rests on two dogmas,
neither of which can be dismissed as absurd by respectful admirers of
the amazing hypotheses of fashionable psychology and physics. The
first dogma affirms the existence of an imponderable medium or
"universal agent," beyond the plane of our normal sensual
perceptions, which interpenetrates and binds up the material world.
For this medium Lévi borrowed from the Martinists the rather
unfortunate name of Astral Light: a term to which the religious
rummage-sales
 Page 38
of current Theosophy have given a familiarity which treads upon the
margin of contempt.
The Astral Light possesses, nevertheless, a respectable ancestry. It is
identical with the "ground of the soul" of religious mysticism, with the
Azoth which the Spiritual Alchemists call "the First Matter of the
Great Work," and with the "Burning Body of the Holy Ghost" of
Christian Gnoticism. From it came the Odic Force of old-fashioned
spiritualists, and the Vril of Lord Lytton's "Coming Race." According
to the doctrine of Magic, the Astral Light is a storehouse of forces
more powerful than those which we know upon the physical plane.
Intensely receptive, it provides that moral and intellectual
''atmosphere" of which many are conscious, and also constitutes the
"cosmic memory" in which the images of all beings and events are
preserved, as they are preserved in the memory of man. On this
theory, spiritualists, evoking the phantoms of the dead, merely call
them up from the recesses of universal instead of individual
remembrance. Further, the Astral Light is first cousin to the ether of
Sir Oliver Lodge, and is the vehicle of telepathy, clairvoyance, and all
those supranormal phenomena which science has taken out of the
hands of the occultists and re-named "meta-physic." Modern
psychology, it is plain, can ill afford to sneer at the first principle of
Magic.
Occult philosophy has always proclaimed its knowledge of this
medium: postulating it as a scientific fact susceptible of verification
by the trained powers of the initiate. The possessor of such powers,
not the wizard or fortune-teller, is the true magician; and it is the first
object of occult education, or "initiation," to establish a conscious
communion with this supersensual plane of experience, imposing
upon its forces the directive force of the will, as easily as we impose
that will upon the "material" things of sense.
Hence the second axiom of Magic, which has also a curiously modern
air; for it postulates simply the limitless power of such a disciplined
will. This dogma has lately been "taken over" without
acknowledgment from occult philosophy, to become the trump card of
Christian Science and "New Thought." The ingenious authors of Volo,
The Will to be Well, and Just How to Wake the Solar Plexus, have
some of the pure gold of the Magi concealed amongst the strange
trappings of their faiths.
 Page 39
The first lesson of the would-be Magus is self-mastery. "Au moyen
d'une gymnastique persévérante et graduée," says Lévi, "les forces et
l'agilité du corps se developpent ou se créent dans une proportion qui
étonne. Il en est de même des puissances de l'âme. Voulez-vous régner
sur vous-mêmes et sur les autres? Apprenez à vouloir. Comment peut-
on apprendre à vouloir? Ici est le premier arcane de l'initiation
magique" (Rituel, p. 35).
In essence, then, the magical initiation is a traditional form of mental
discipline, strengthening and focusing the will, by which lie below the
threshold of ordinary consciousness are liberated, and enabled to
report their discoveries to the active and sentient mind. This
discipline, like that of the religious life, consists partly in physical
austerities and in a deliberate divorce from the world, partly in the
cultivation of will-power, but largely in a yielding of the mind to the
influence of suggestions which have been selected and accumulated in
the course of ages because of their power over that imagination which
Eliphas Lévi calls "The eye of the soul." There is nothing supernatural
about it. It is character-building with an object, conducted upon a
heroic scale. In Magic, the uprushes of thought, the abrupt intuitions,
which reach us from the subliminal region, are developed and
controlled by rhythms and symbols which have become traditional
because the experience of centuries has proved their efficacy.
This is the truth hidden beneath the apparently absurd rituals of
preparation, the doctrines of signs and numbers, pentacles, charms,
and the rest. It is known amongst the Indian mystics, who recognize in
the Mantra, or occult rhythmic formula, an invaluable help to the
attainment of ecstatic states. It again appears in the new American
"mysticism," as the necessary starting point of efficacious meditation.
It is the practical reason of that need of a formal liturgy which is felt
by nearly every organic religion. The true "magic word," or spell, is
untranslatable, because its power resides only partially in that outward
sense which is apprehended by the intellect, but chiefly in the rhythm,
which is addressed to the subliminal mind. Did the Catholic Church
choose to acknowledge a law long known to the Magicians, she has
here as explanation of that instinct which has caused her to cling so
strenuously to a Latin liturgy, much of whose amazingand truly
magicpower would evaporate were it
 Page 40
translated into the vulgar tongue. Symbols, religious and other, and
the many symbolic acts which appear meaningless when judged by
the reason alone, perform a similar office.
"Toutes ces dipositions de nombres et de caractères," says Lévi [i.e.,
sacred words, pentacles, ceremonial gestures], "ne sont, comme nous
l'avons déjà dit, que des instruments d'éducation pour la volonté, dont
ils fixent et déterminent les habitudes. Ils servent en outre à rattacher
ensemble, dans l'action, toutes les puissances de l'âme humaine, et à
augmenter la force créatrice de l'imagination" (Rituel, p. 71).
Magic symbols, therefore, from votive candles to Solomon's Seal, fall,
in modern technical language, into two classes. The first class
contains instruments of self-suggestion and will direction. To this
belong spells, charms, rituals, perfumes, the magician's vervain
wreath and burning ambergris, and the "Youth! Health! Strength!"
which the student of New Thought repeats when she is brushing her
hair in the morning. The second class contains autoscopes: i.e.,
material objects which focus and express the subconscious
perceptions of the operator. The dowser's divining rod, fortune-teller's
cards, and the crystal gazer's ball are characteristic examples. Both
kinds are rendered necessary rather by the disabilities of the human,
than by the peculiarities of the superhuman plane; and the great adept,
like the great saint, may attain heights at which he can entirely
dispense with these "outward and visible signs."
These things, now commonplaces of psychology, have been known to
students of Magic for countless generations. Those who decry the
philosophy because of the absurdity of the symbols should remember
that the embraces, gestures, grimaces, and other "ritual acts" by which
we all concentrate, liberate, and express love, wrath, and enthusiasm
willwhen divorced from their inspiring emotionsill endure a strictly
rational examination.
To the two dogmas of the Universal Agent and the power of the will
there is to be added a third, that of Analogy, or of implicit
correspondence between the seen and unseen worlds. In this,
occultism finds the basis of its transcendental speculations. Quod
Superius sicut quod inferiusthe first words of that Table of Emerald,
which ranks as the magician's Table of Stoneis an axiom which must
be agreeable to all Platonists. Truly chaotic
 Page 41
in the breadth of its application, it embraces alike the visible world,
which thus becomes the mirror of the invisible; the parables and
symbols of religion; and the creations of musicians, painters, poets.
"L'analogie," says Lévi, "est le dernier mot de la science et le premier
mot de la foi ... le seul médiateur possible entre le visible et l'invisible,
entre le fini et l'infini" (Dogme, p. 361).
This vital quality and illuminating power of analogy crops up in many
unexpected places. It is present of necessity in every perfect work of art.
It permeates all the great periods of English literature. Sir Thomas
Browne spoke for more than himself when he said, in a well-known
passage of the Religio Medici: "The severe schools shall never laugh me
out of the philosophy of Hermes, that this visible world is but a picture
of the invisible, wherein, as in a portrait, things are not truly, but in
equivocal shapes, and as they counterfeit some real substance in that
invisible fabric."
Our best critics are at one with the magicians in proclaiming its
importance. "Intuitive perception of the hidden analogies of things," says
Hazlitt, in English Novelists, "or, as it may be called, his instinct of the
imagination, is perhaps what stamps the character of genius on the
productions of art more than any other circumstance."
Comparing these passages with Lévi's already quoted dicta, we perceive
that there are several senses in which it may be said that the keys of
Magic open doors from the Many to the One.
The central doctrine of Magic may therefore be summed up thus:
That an intangible and real Cosmic medium exists, which
(a)
interpenetrates, influences, and supports the tangible and apparent
world.
(b)That there is an established analogy and equilibrium between this
unseen world and the illusory manifestations which we call the world
of sense.
 of sense.
(c)That this analogy may be discerned and this equilibrium controlled,
by the disciplined will of man, which thus becomes master of itself,
and to a certain degree director of its fate.

I submit that these conclusions cannot be dismissed by any student of

idealism as vain and foolish inventions.
 Page 42
The third dogma of Magic, torn from its frame, is now recognized as a
factor in religion and in therapeutics: our newest theories on these
subjects being merely the old Hermetic wine in new bottles. The
methods of the magical physician differ in nothing but splendour of
ceremonial from those of the modern mental healer.
"Toute la puissance du médecin occulte," says Lévi, "est dans la
conscience de sa volonté, et tout son art consiste à produire la foi dans
son malade" (Rituel, p. 312).
This simple truth was in the possession of the magi at a time when
Church and State saw no alternatives but the burning or beautification
of its practitioners. Now, under the polite names of mental hygiene,
suggestion, and psycho-therapeutics, it is steadily advancing to the
front rank of medical Shibboleths. Yet it is still the same "Magic art"
which has been employed for centuries by the adepts of Hermetic
science.
Again, the accredited psychological theory of religious "experience"
rests upon the assumption that by self-suggestion, by the will-to-
believe, by "recollection," and other means, it is possible to shift the
threshold of consciousness, and to exhibit supranormal powers and
perceptions which are variously attributed to inspiration and to
disease. This is exactly what ceremonial magic professes, in milder
and more picturesque language, to do for her initiates:
"Les opérations magiques ... sont le résultat d'une science et d'une
habitude qui exaltent la volonté humaine au-dessus de ses limites
habituelles" (Rituel, p. 32).
Recipes for this exaltation of personality and for that opening up of
the subliminal field which accompanies itconcealed from the profane
by a mass of confusing allegories and verbiageform the back-bone of
all grimoires and occult rituals. The Magi psychologists before their
time were perfectly aware that ceremony has no objective importance
except in its effect upon the operator's mind. In order that this effect
may be enhanced, it is given an atmosphere of intensest mystery and
sacredness, its rules are strict, its higher arcana difficult of attainment.
The arduous preparation and strange rites of an evocation have power,
not over the spirits of the dead, but over the consciousness of the
living, who is thus caught up from the world of sense to a new plane
of
 Page 43
perception. For him, not for unknown Presences, are these splendours
and arts displayed. No philosophy ever said more plainly to its
initiates "The Spirit of God is within you." Thus the whole education
of the genuine occult student tends to awake in him a new vision and a
new attitude; altering the constituents of that apperceiving mass by
which ordinary men are content to know and judge theor rather
theiruniverse.
Finallyin spite of the consistent employment by all great adepts of
their "occult power" in the healing of diseaseMagic, like Christianity,
combines a practical policy of pity for the sick with a creed of
suffering and renunciation. Eliphas Lévi, whilst advising the initiate
whose conscious will has reached its full strength to employ his
powers in the alleviation of pain and prolongation of life, laughs at the
student who seeks in Magic a method of escaping suffering or of
satisfying his own desires. None, he says know better than the true
magician that suffering is of the essence of the world-plan.
"Malheur à l'homme qui ne sait pas et qui ne veut pas souffrir, car il
sera écrasé de douleurs" (Histoire, p. 36). And again, perhaps his
finest single utterance, "Apprendre à souffrir, apprendre à mourir, c'est
la gymnastique de l'Éternité, c'est la noviciat immortel" (Ibid., p. 147).
So much for that pure Theory of Magic of which Eliphas Lévi is the
greatest modern exponent. In his works, its doctrines are seen
"through a temperament," and transfigured, perhaps even distorted, in
the process. But this is true of every philosophy and religion which
man undertakes to interpret to man. It is impossible to deal here with
the criticism to which he has been subjected by students of his system,
of whom the eminent occultist, Mr. A. E. Waite, must be reckoned as
chief. These criticisms, in so far as they are destructive, would appear
generally to arise: first, from the natural annoyance which is aroused
in any school by the proceedings of a born "free lance"; next from an
angry inability to comprehend Lévi's return to the Church of Rome;
finally, from a misunderstanding of the degree of reality which he
attributed to the symbolic framework on which he wove his deep
speculation upon God and the Soul. These symbolsdrawn chiefly from
the Kabala, the Tarot, and medieval Alchemyhad, as he progressed,
less and less objective importance for him. They
 Page 44
were his "ladder to the stars." He was born upon the earth, crying, like
the figures in Blake's design, "I want! I want!" By this ladder he, like
many other adepts before him, attained something of that which he
desired.
He found in the exalted imagery of the Hebrew Kabala the best
symbolic expression of Magical philosophy: but he found the final
satisfaction of that thirst which Magic had awakened in the mysteries
of the Catholic religion. This, it would seem, was the logical result of
his progress from a merely intellectual and agnostic to an implicit and
spiritual understanding of Hermetic science. It is the defect of all
modern occultism that it is tainted by a certain intellectual arrogance.
A divorce has been effected between knowledge and love, between
the religion and the science of the Magi; and, in the language of
mysticism, till these be reunited the Divine Word cannot be born.
Eliphas Lévi came to a point at which this was brought home to him;
when he saw that "L'étude approfondie des mystères de la nature peut
éloigner de Dieu l'observateur inattentif, chez qui la fatigue de l'esprit
paralyse les élans du coeur" (Histoire, p. 541). He perceived that
Catholic symbolism, though he believed it to be misunderstood by its
official keepers (and "l'in-intelligence des symboles est toujours
calomniatrice") might well be the revealing medium of those eternal
truths which transcendental magic had always possessed but was no
longer able to convey. There, at any rate, place was provided for the
"élans du coeur," in which the spirit of man pierces furthest into the
unknown. In Catholicism he found, as in Magic, the same qualities of
purity and detachment, faith, steadfastness, and self-control,
accomplishing the same task: that, namely, of opening the eyes of the
soul and passing "beyond the flaming rampart of the world." In Magic
he found an explanation beneath the dogmas of the Church; a
reasonable theory of her sacraments and ceremonies: a reconciling
medium between philosophy and orthodox faith.
That Christianity, heir of all wisdom and truth, is also the heir of the
Magi; that current theology veils, as popular Magic veils, the same
ineffable truths, is Lévi's final position. It is a position which is not
without justification. All rituals and ceremonies, whatever
explanations of their efficacy may be offered by their official
apologists, have, and must have, as the rationale of their existence, a
magicali.e., a hypnoticcharacter; and all
 Page 45
persons who are naturally drawn towards ceremonial religion are in
this respect really devotees of Magic. Sacraments, however simple
their beginnings, tend, as they evolve, to assume a magical aspect.
Those who observe with understanding, for instance, the Roman rite
of baptism, with its spells and exorcisms, its truly hermetic
employment of salt, anointing chrism, and ceremonial lights, must see
in it a ceremony nearer to the beneficent operations of white magic,
than to the simple lustrations practised by Saint John the Baptist.
In the liturgies of the great Eastern and Western churches the occult
elementshowever we may choose to account for their presenceare
peculiarly well marked. Here are sacred numbers, perfumes,
invocations, words of power. The ceremonies which attend the vesting
of the priest in his hieratic robes, the rites of purification, the blessing
of incense, are all paralleled in the preparations for a magical
evocation. In the Latin Church the Asperges, the triple repetitions of
words of power in the Kyrie, Sanctus, and Agnus, and the roll-call of
angelical names with which the Preface ends, are instances of ritual
acts of which the true intention would be well understood by any
expert student of occultism.
In many minor observancesi.e., the Rosary, with its hermetically-
correct number sequenceswe seem to stand on the very borderland
between magician and priest. But when all this has been conceded, the
religious value of these ceremonies remains unimpaired, for only
under that ecstatic condition which it is the very business of Magic to
induce, can the subconscious mind which is the medium of our
spiritual experiences come to its own, and communicate with the
transcendental world. The appeal of religion is not to the intellect but
to the soul. Its theology may or may not convince the reason: only its
Magic will open the inner door. Therefore Christianity, when she
founds her external system on sacraments and symbols, on prayer and
praise, and insists on the power of the pure and self-denying will and
the "magic chain" of congregational worship, joins hands with those
Magi whose gold, frankincense and myrrh were the first gifts that she
received.
This was the truth which Eliphas Lévi reached. When he began his
investigations of Magic he was in no sense a mystic. The illumination
which he offers in his earliest work is upon the
 Page 46
intellectual, never upon the spiritual plane. As he progressed the
Universal Medicine worked in him, and he read deeper and deeper
into the esoteric and spiritual meanings of the doctrines of hermetic
science. Hence his willingness, at last, to avail himself of the active
magic of the Church. Biographers have assailed him for the
"inconsistency" of his reconciliation, and for his tendency to explain
away or modify in later works positions rather arrogantly assumed in
his early writings. But it is just this childlike exhibition of his own
mental and spiritual processes which constitutes the value of Eliphas
Lévi's books, both to the psychologist and to the younger adventurers
who are bound on his own quest.
That quest, as no student of mysticism needs to be reminded, is
always one. In Hermetic language, its end may be deduced by
analogy, apprehended by faith, achieved by obedience to the four laws
of initiation: Oser, Vouloir, Savoir, Se Taire. It is the quest on which
the true adepts of Magic have always been set, though disguising their
standards with many strange devices and mystifications because of the
enemies upon the road. It is their glory that they have been able, of all
the pilgrims on that way, to proclaim the unique dogma of the true
Catholicity, which for Eliphas Lévi, the last of their great initiates,
proved the word for power which reconciled reason with faith:"Je
crois qu'un même espoir vit sous tous les symboles."
This is the defense of Magic.
 Page 47
In 1912, a year after the publication of Mysticism, "Bergson and the
Mystics" appeared in the English Review. Underhill's enthusiasm for
Bergson as a philosopher who confirmed the mystic adventure is
evident throughout.
 Page 49

Bergson and the Mystics

During the past twelve months the philosophy of Henri Bergson has
been discussed from many points of view; the value of its contribution
to our understanding of biology, ethnics, art, and social life has been
carefully investigated. Yet, strangely enough, one group of
phenomena, one type of activity on which it throws remarkable and
unexpected light, has so far been left out of consideration. I mean that
group of phenomena, that kind of life which by friends and enemies
alike is generally called ''mystical."
From the point of view of that normal consciousness which is
characteristic of the average man, this group of phenomena seems
perhaps not very important. For it, the mystic is either a remote, half-
sacred figure, or the proper object of amused contempt; and this for
the most natural of reasons. The reality of his life, since it baffles alike
the analytic brain and busy tongue, he finds himself unable to
communicate to us. Full though it be of high romance and radiant with
a strange enticing beauty, it is yet known only in the living of it, like
the passion of love. The mystic's "path is in the pathless; his trace is in
the traceless"; and human intelligence ever tends to discredit all those
experiences which its clumsy device of speech refuses to express,
regardless of the fact that all life's finest moments are thereby
excluded from participation in reality.
Now Bergson, as it seems to some of us, comes as a mediator between
these inarticulate explorers of the Infinite and the map-loving human
mind; since he offers to us, not the sharp
 Page 50
conventional diagram of some older philosophies, but a fluid and
living "scheme of things"a teeming world of life, a complex realm of
consciousnessand a way of looking at that world and that
consciousness which, if we choose to employ it, opens to us new
possibilities of attainment. Within the enriched and extended field of
vision of which he makes us free, the shallow-soiled but highly-
cultivated country of common sense looks astonishingly small.
Above, about and beneath it is the wild unknownworld within world
enshrined, of hidden rock and spring, thick jungle, star-swept
spacesfull of incalculable possibilities, ablaze with hidden splendours.
All those countless worlds were once within our reach, potential
homes for us, had life chosen to cut her way to freedom by another
path than this; had consciousness been focussed on some other aspect
of many-edged reality. In such a universe the experience of the
mystic, which is as much a fact as the experience of artist philosopher
or practical man, cannot easily be discredited. He may be as rare as
any other type of genius: but history forces us to admit that he
represents a permanently recurrent variation of human consciousness;
a variation which sees, and reacts to, the world, in another way than
that which is roughly characteristic of the majority of men.
The mystics' way of seeing the world, if we trust their reports, is a
larger way than that of humanity in general. As civilized man
congratulates himself on the possession of a wider universe than that
of the aboriginal savage, for whom the "flaming ramparts" are set up
close beyond the fences of his tribal home; so the mystic knows
himself of a greater country, heir to a universe of deeper and richer
significance than that which is accessible to the consciousness of the
practical man. He tells us this in many different tongues, describes it
under symbols of various difficulty; but always with an accent of
steady certitude and of exultant passion which is difficult to resist. He
may say with Dionysius the Areopagite, that his exalted vision
penetrates to "the Divine Dark which is an inaccessible light"; with
Ruysbroeck that he has launched his spirit's ship upon "the vast and
stormy sea of the divine"; with Richard Jefferies, that he has been
"absorbed into the being or existence of the universe"; with Jacob
Boehme, that "he has looked into the deepest foundations of things'';
with Malaval, that "by one of love's secrets" he "penetrates the outer
 Page 51
husk of creation to the divinity which is within"; or with Angela of
Foligno, that he has "beheld a beauty so great that I can say nothing
concerning it, save that I saw the Supreme Beauty which contains in
itself all goodness."
Whether they use the language of religion, philosophy or art, these
adventurersand countless others who have shared their questwould
probably agree that this communion with Reality, this austere yet
intimate experience which only paradox can express, was obtained by
a change of attitude, a change of relation between the world and the
self. The substance, and to some extent the method of their mystic
vision, was always that which St. Augustine has described to us in a
celebrated passage of the "Confessions"
The mind withdrew its thoughts from experience, extracting itself from the
contradictory throng of sensuous images, that it might find out what that
Light was wherein it was bathed ... and thus, with the flash of one hurried
glance, it attained to the Vision of that which is.

"If the mind turns from its ordinary preoccupation with material
things," says, in effect, the greatest intellect of the 4th century, "it
may, only for an instant, catch a glimpse of undistorted reality." A
long line of contemplatives have proved for themselves the truth of
these words: more, that the ''hurried glance" may learn to sustain
itself, become the forerunner of a deeper, more permanent state of
comprehension. Now, with the twentieth century, Bergson brings their
principles and their practice into immediate relation with philosophy:
telling us, in almost Augustinian language, how great and valid may
be the results of that new direction of mental movement, that
alteration and intensification of consciousness, which is the secret of
artistic perception, of contemplation and of ecstasy.
"Our psychic life," he says, "may be lived at different heights, now
nearer to action, now further removed from it; according to our
attention to life ... that which is usually held to be a greater complexity
of the psychical life appears to us, from our point of view, to be a
greater dilation of the whole personality; which, normally screwed
down by action, expands with the
 Page 52
unscrewing of the vice in which it has allowed itself to be squeezed,
and, always whole and undivided, spreads itself over a wider and
wider surface."
In this dilatation of consciousnessreleased from its usual servitude to
the "throng of sensuous images"Bergson finds our only chance of
"knowing reality"; the living, moving actuality of the Light wherein
we are bathed. It is an act, he says, in which "will and vision become
one," and here every mystic, knowing how intense must be the act of
withdrawal by which he attains the contemplative state, would agree
with him.
Only in such mystics is the faculty of intuition, that strange, hardly
describable power of knowing by contact or self-mergence,
heightened, steadied and controlled; till the hurried glance of
Augustine becomes "the deep gaze of love from which nothing
escapes," giving to its possessor a permanent consciousness of reality,
raising the levels of his inner life. The great artist, whom Bergson
holds the true knower of the Real, shares to some extent this mystic
consciousness. He has "won the confidence of reality by long
comradeship with its external manifestation," and, through and by
those "sensuous images," has attained as it were a sacramental
communion with Truth. The ''thick veil" which hangs between our
true selves and our consciousness is for him almost transparent. For
the mystic it has been rent asunder, and he can enter his holy of holies
whenever he will. Hence he is able, in a deeper sense than is possible
to the artist, to unite himself with the very being of Reality; and so
lives with a more intense existence than ordinary men are able to
attain.
What then is the nature of the change which this immense
development of intuition effects in the consciousness of the mystic?
How can we actualize to ourselves the difference between his
experience and that of ordinary men? Here again Bergson, in his
general discussion of human consciousness, comes to help us with
suggestions which place the situation in new light; and bring the
strange adventures of the mystic into line with the rules which appear
to govern the normal manifestations of man's psychic life.
"An intuition," he says first, "is nothing but a direction of movement:
and although capable of infinite development, is simplicity itself." The
mystic art, then, consists first in a direction of movement. That
ceaseless change, that stream of consciousness
 Page 53
which is our mental life, is turned a new way, orientated afresh. Thus
its whole relations with the universe are changed: "the glory of the
lighted mind" plays upon new, neglected levels of reality. next, this
alteration creates a "new" state of things, does not merely add
something to the old. The perception which it brings is not put into a
water-tight compartment, but invades and tinctures the whole of life;
altering the quality or intensity of the self. The degree of that self's
intensity is the governing factor in determining the world that it
knows; as the personality is heightened, deeper and deeper layers of
existence are revealed. This has always been the experience of the
mystic. "All things were new," says George Fox of his hour of
illumination, "and all the creation gave another smell unto me than
before, beyond what words can utter." "The same tree,'' says Blake,
"may move one to tears of joy, and be to another only a green thing
that stands in the way. The difference between the two is the
difference between mystic and nonmystic vision: and this is simply a
difference of intensity."
"The mystics," says Plotinus, anticipating the psychological
conclusions of the newest philosophy, belong to "that race of divine
men who through a more excellent power and with piercing eyes,
acutely perceive the supernal light; to the vision of which they raise
themselves up, above the clouds and darkness of the lower world, and
there abidingly despise everything in these regions of sense. Having
just such joy of that place, which is truly and properly their own, as he
who after many wanderings is at length restored to his own country."
In his theory of rhythm, and his theory of the nature of mind, Bergson
seems to offer us a hint as to the way in which this "more excellent
power," this restoration to the country of the soul non tantum
cernendam sed et inhabitandam, may be attainedis attained, in the
case of those who possess mystical genius of a high type.
The soul, the total psychic life of man, he says, is something much
greater than the little patch of consciousness "which most of us idly
identify with ourselves." It is like a sword; the "sword of the spirit."
Only the point of that sword penetrates matter, sets up relations with
it, and cuts the path through which the whole of life shall move. But
behind this point of conscious mental activity is the whole weight and
thrust of the unseen blade: that blade which
 Page 54
is weapon and warrior in one. Long ages of evolution have tempered
the point to the work demanded of it by daily life. In its ceaseless
onward push it cuts in one direction only; through that concrete
"world of things" in which man finds himself, and with which he is
forced to deal. The brain, through which it acts, with which as it were
its living point is shod, closes it in, limits and defines its operations: is
on one hand a tool, on the other a screen. Had our development taken
another path than that which we know and so easily accept as
"natural," the matter of the brain, amenable as it is to the creative
touch of life, might have become the medium by which we oriented
ourselves to another world of reality.
Now in mystics we seem to have a fortunate variation of the race, in
which just this thing has come about. They do not wear the mental
blinkers which keep the attention of the average man focussed on one
narrow path. Under the spur of their vivid faculty of intuition they
"gather up all their being and thrust it forward"the whole personality,
not its sharp intellectual tip aloneon a new free path. Hence they live
and move in worlds to us unrealized; see other aspects of the many
levelled, many colored world of reality. They hear supernal harmonies
to which we are deaf, are swept by unspeakable emotions, endure
invasions from the transcendent sphere, against which we have raised
the prudent earth-works of common sense. Born capable of a new
attitude or, as we say, "with a mystical temperament," they have
followed the trend of that attitude, and forced their mental machinery
to accommodate itself to the new situation; followed ''the Mystic
Way," with all its hardships and rewards. Life, for them, is turned in a
new direction. Urged by that intuition which is "nothing but a
direction of movement," consciousness has changed; the brain has
been forced to learn new movements, other than those which minister
to the practical needs of physical life. The function of the brain, as
Bergson has told us, is just this production of movement. It is the
bridge between the soul and the outer world. It receives sensations;
executes movements in response. It is a plastic machine; and those
reactions which it performs most frequently soon make their mark,
setting up habits of thought and perception which tend to easy, almost
automatic accomplishment.
 Page 55
But the mystic has little use for those easy mental habits. With him, as
with the artist, a hard-won innocence of eye must replace our common
careless way of seeing things. "Our knowledge of things," says
Bergson, "derives its form from our bodily functions and lower needs.
... By unmaking that which these needs have made, we may restore to
Intuition its original purity, and so recover contact with the Real." In
the lives of the great mystics, we see just this business in progress.
They are lives of great interior struggle; of psychic uproar; in which
the deliberate unmaking of the old, holds as large a place as the
emergence and training of the new.
We know how the time of adolescence in the normal human animal is
a time of strain, of transmutation, rather than of steady growth. The
universe of the child is then unmade, the universe of the man built up
in its place. More, character itself goes into the melting pot, to submit
to profound modifications as the passions of maturity emerge. The
sword of the spirit turns in its sheath; personality is "new born." Now,
the mystic is the adolescent of the infinite; and we find, when we
come to study his life, just that process of path-cutting and
transmutation in progress, which means that the enduring stream of
ceaseless change which is his true existenceis, in its deepest sense,
himselfhas taken a new and difficult direction, instead of following the
old easy channels appropriate to those who understood as a child and
knew in part. The crisis which begins his new careerinitiated his
consciousness of realityis often called by him "new birth," so fresh
and strange it seems.
The first hurried glance at That Which Is was but the pathfinder on a
way along which the totality of his life is bound to move. At first, that
new movement must be at the expense of great effort. Strange,
difficult acts are required; old habits are uselessworse, are in the way.
This interior struggle of re-adjustment, the necessity which is thus
demonstrated by the Bergsonian psychology, is well known to the
mystics. They call it the "Way of Purgation;" one of the three great
arbitrary divisions in which they split up the continuous sweep of their
life, its indivisible movement towards Freedom and Reality. They give
us many vivid pictures of its stress and turmoil, in which we can
almost see spiritat once free in
 Page 56
essence and fettered in factat her life-long work of twisting matter, in
this case the matter of that physical body by which she deals with the
physical world, to her own high purposes. Often the physical body of
the mystic suffers pain and illness under the stress and violence with
which spirit attacks its task; a task for which edifying reasons are
often adduced, but which is really conditioned by the psychological
necessity of "restoring intuition to its original purity," so that, in the
words of an old English contemplative, "vanity spised and spurned, to
truth unpartingly we draw."
The stream of life, thenfree, eager, and creativeis forced by the mystic
into a special channel: his elan vital is set towards a special end. The
brain, that "instrument of oblivian," is compelled in the interests of his
peculiar vocation to forget much that it usually remembers; to
remember much that it usually forgets. Another Bergsonian simile
here comes to throw light upon the situation. The intellect, he has
said, is like a cinematograph. It is selective rather than receptive;
moving at a certain pace, a certain rhythm, it takes a series of
snapshots of the continuous flux of reality through and with which it
moves. The question of what snapshots it takes, what bits of reality it
picks out and perceives, will depend upon the relation between its
rhythm and the rhythmic flow of other aspects of the flux. The wider
the rhythm and higher the tension of the perceiving consciousnessthe
longer its time-span or its "Now"the larger will be the aspects of
reality received. It is only thanks to the comparatively long rhythm,
the high tension of human consciousness, that we receive under the
synthetic forms of light and sound the incredibly rapid rhythms of the
physical world. An alteration in the pace of our mental cinematograph
would give us, as the result of those same physical movements, not
light or sound, but some other thing unknown and unconceived.
All extensions, then, of the rhythm, all increase of the intensity, at
which our psychic life proceeds, tend to give us reality in larger slices:
make us capable of a higher synthetic act. The great man, or great
mind, which can dominate life, in one who gathers up into the unity of
an extended rhythmperceives all at oncea vast number of smaller
events and things which seem separate to other men. So the great seer
or prophet tran-
 Page 57
scends the common time-span, and perceives events in a wide and
comprehensive vision. "Would not the whole of history," says
Bergson, "be contained in a very short time for a consciousness at a
highest degree of tension than our own; which should watch the
development of humanity while contracting it, so to speak, into the
great phases of its evolution?" Such a sentence as this casts sudden
light on St. Thomas' definition of the Beatific Vision as a
''participation of Eternity," or Ruysbroeck's deep saying of God, that
"He contemplates Himself and takes things in an Eternal Now,
wherein the past and future have no place." It helps us, too, to
understand that "experience of eternity," that "timelessness" which the
mystic always reports as a characteristic of this ecstatic contemplation
of Deity. In such ecstasies, his tension is so high, his "Now" is so
different from the "Now" of ordinary human consciousness,it
embraces in its sweep so much greater a fieldthat he can only describe
it as "partaking of the character of Eternity."
O abbondante grazia, ond' io presunsi ficcar lo viso per la luce eterna tanto
che la veduta vi consunsi!
Nel suo profondo vidi che s'interna, legato con amore in un volume, ciò
che per l'universo si squaderna;
Sustanzia ed accidentí, e lor costume, quasi conflati insieme per tal modo,
che cio ch'io dico e un semplice lume.
It may well come about that the commentator of the future will
interpret this great passagemore, the whole canto from which it is
takenin terms not far removed from the positions of the Bergsonian
philosophy.
There is another aspect of the mystic experience which is lit for us by
this concept of life as movement, and rhythm and pace as controlling
factors of our apprehension of reality. The idea of rest, Bergson has
told us, is an illusion; the static world, the static thing, exists only for
the human intelligence, which always "kills the thing it loves" in order
to examine it at its ease. We pin the butterfly of life upon paper,
arrange it with careful art, and then congratulate ourselves upon its
natural appearance. But the reality, the "essential being" of the
butterfly, its movement which was its life, evaporated at the touch of
paper and pin. Life,physical,
 Page 58
mental or spiritual lifeslips through our clever fingers when we try to
catch it: and all that remains on our hands, all that we pin to the paper,
is the empty husk we call Science, Metaphysics, or Theology. The
reality of which these things are the outward sign, is "in a state of
flux," to adopt the classic phrase of Heracleitus. The indivisible
continuity, the "duration through change" of the self, is by a
microcosm of the ever-moving, never-resting Universe. The illusion
of "rest" is produced when we, and the object on which our attention
is fixed, are moving at the same pace, as when two railway trains run
side by side: for consciousness of movement is only possible to us
through consciousness of changed relation. So in the mental world;
the rhythm or motion of the things we apprehend is only realized by
us in its contrast to the rhythm of pace of apprehending mind. All
movements slower than our own are imperceptible by us: such is the
gentle, ceaseless change which constitutes the growth of animal and
plant.
When we apply this line of thought to our study of the mystics, we
find that a new and bright light is cast upon certain of their more
paradoxical utterances. We know that in describing his contemplative
experience, the mystic perpetually resorts to the ideas of stillness,
quiescence, immobility, to expressnot only his own statebut also that
of the Divine Truth which he declares himself to perceive. He says
with Plotinus, that "being in an ecstasy or energizing enthusiastically,
he became established in a quiet or solitary union; not at all deviating
from his own essence, nor revolving about himself, but being entirely
stable, and becoming as it were stability itself." The active minds of
busy modern men have not been slow to criticize such declarations. In
particular, adherents of the new philosophy have made haste to
discredit that "Unchanging Unity," "stability itself," which the mystics
persistently describe. Yet a little reflection on her own first principles
might well give pause to these hurried iconoclasts. If the mystic does,
as he declares, change the quality of consciousness by his art of
contemplationand change it in a sense which makes him free of the
wider world which is ''transcendent" to ordinary menthis must mean
that he effects a change of rhythm, an alteration of spiritual pace,
which makes his consciousness approximate more closely to the
"pace" of the supernal sphere. Each such approximation brings him
nearer to the
 Page 59
"illumination of stillness." Should his rhythm actually become that of
the Reality he perceives, should he attain to that mystic surrender in
which the fidgeting to and fro of his individual mind is merged in the
great movement of the Whole, it will seem to him that his own spirit
and the Reality which sustains it, are both "at rest." He will then say
with Ruysbroeck that he "dwells altogether in restful fruition''"that
simple and unchanging condition" says Tauler, "wherein if a man truly
enters, he feels that he has been throughout eternity." So Jelalu d'Din
Eternal life, for me, is the time of union;
Because time, for me, hath no place there.

"I am immersed in the Godhead like a fish in the sea," says Mechtild
of Hackborn in a sudden illuminating image: moving with the great
flux of things, yet peacefully supported on its tide.
More, this consciousness of tranquility is reflected back by the mystic
to the Divine Reality in which he feels himself to be immersed. Since
he is as he says, "in union" with itmoves with its movements, and
works its willit seems to himas the twisting world seems to our normal
senses, to be indeed at rest. Hence comes a persistently static element
in the highest of man's apprehensions of God. "Semper agens, semper
quietus!" cried Augustine. "He is Very Rest," said Julian Norwich. "I
beheld a Thing fixed and stable as it was indescribable," says Angela
of Foligno, "and more than this I cannot say, save what I have often
said already; namely that all was good." This paradox of the spiritual
consciousness has forced the theologians to many an ingenious
diagram, many an airy argument. Had they taken their departure from
psychology instead of metaphysics, it might more easily have been
explained. Almost alone amongst mystical writers, the extraordinary
genius of Ruysbroeck seems to have grasped something of the
meaning of this dual vision of Reality: as life, change, Becoming; and
as Being, fruition, rest. "Tranquility according to His essence, activity
according to His nature: perfect stillness, perfect fecundity"this, he
says is the two-fold character of Deity; rather, the two-fold character
of our knowledge of Deity. The first is the experience of the great
mystic in his hours of ecstatic contemplation, when his little rhythm is
merged in the
 Page 60
great rhythm of the transcendent world: when the soul, in Boehme's
words, "joins hands and dances with Sophia the Divine Wisdom." The
second is the more normal experience of a consciousness, mystically
perceptive it is true, but in whom the friction of individual life, the fret
of personal activity, preserves the sense of movement, work and
change. "He is active in all loving work, for he sees his rest. He is a
pilgrim, for he sees his crown." This striving, this implicity active
aspect of the mystic life, is persistently denied by the enemies of
mysticism. Yet here it is that we see the elan vital at work, ceaselessly
moving towards the high levels of reality.
What that reality is, that completed life of freedom, which is spirit's
aim and ideal, we shall never know, says Bergson, by the busy
exercise of thought; but only in that "Free Act" in which we gather up
all our being and thrust it forward towards worlds unknown. If this be
so, then surely the mystic, most intrepid of voyagers upon the
strangest of seas, must take a high place amongst the readers of the
Riddle of the World. We have seen that his "contemplation" is little
else than a disciplined and developed intuition; Augustine's "flashing
hurried glance'' held steady by the educated will. The direction of his
movement, the intention of his ceaseless change is towards that
freedom, that capacity for creation which Bergson holds out to us as
the objective of the spirit of life. He is an initiate of that Whole
wherefrom we subtract those partial aspects of reality which we label
Beauty or Truth. He knows it by being; by the conformity of his
rhythm with the great rhythm of the All. "Pilgrimage to the place of
the wise," says Jelalu 'd Din, "is to find escape from the flame of
separation"to merge the discrete world of appearance in the
continuous world of appearance in the continuous flux of that one
reality which discloses itself to us as Spirit, Master, Life. Here the
ideals of the new philosopher and the far-off mystic coincide; each
reinforcing and affirmingone by the gift of experience, the other by
that of interpretationhumanity's growing version of That Which Is.
 Page 61
"The Future of Mysticism" appeared in Everyman in 1918. In it is
revealed Underhill's growing conviction that mysticism flourishes best
within the great historical religious traditions and institutions where it
is nurtured and protected. Mysticism in turn renews and brings vitality
to those institutions.
 Page 63

The Future of Mysticism

What is to be the future of Mysticism? What part is it destined to play
in the mental and spiritual life of mankind? These questions must
often occur to those who watch with interest the present so-called
"Mystical Revival." But they cannot be answered until we have
arrived at some conception of what we believe "Mysticism" to be, for
this worldwhich had in the past a precise and well-understood
meaninghas unfortunately become one of the vaguest in the language.
On one hand, a few people still understand it in the ancient and only
accurate sense, as the science or art of the spiritual life. On the other,
it is freely used to describe all that belongs to the psychic and occult,
"spiritualism," theosophy, and symbolism. To some, again, it is
synonymous with the mood which finds a sacramental meaning in
nature; by others it is loosely applied to all the works of the religious
imagination. When, therefore, we discuss its future, we must first
define the exact content which we give to the term; for the future of
religious contemplation may conceivably be widely different from
that of psychic research.
Mysticism, then, will here be identified, first, with that practical
education of the spirit which was the art of the great mystics of the
past, and which leads to the condition of perfect harmony with the
eternal world which they call the "unitive life"; and, secondly, with a
belief in, and realisation of, that spiritual world behind the world of
the senses, which those mystics describe to usa mystical reading of
existence. In the one case, it is a matter of pure experience; in the
other, of intuition and faith.
 Page 64
Nothing here said will concern spiritualism, occultism, or any other
"ism" which professes to reveal the secrets of the unseen, set up
communication with the departed, or confer abnormal powers. These,
while interesting subjects of inquiry in themselves, are wholly
unconnected with true mysticism.
The celebrated modernist, the late Father Tyrrell, said that the religion
of the future would probably consist in mysticism and charity; but if
these great words be given their full weight of meaning, this prophecy
seems to set too high a standard for the spiritual powers of the average
man. The religion of the spiritual genius always has consisted in
mysticism and charity, because these are the highest expressions of
the saint's love for God and for his fellow-men. But religion of so
lofty and all-absorbing a type, only possible to those possessing
nobility of character and clearness of sight, demands heroic
disciplines and sacrifices from those who embrace it, the abandoning
of many things which we think comfortable and pleasant, a real
knight-errantry of the soul. We hope that the great dynasty of the
mystical giants will never fail; but the lessons of history suggest that
they are never likely to be numerous. Their virile spirituality is too
difficult for the average man, and is unlikely in the future as in the
past to form the dominant element of his religion. Such mystics are
the fine flower of humanity, possessing as their birthright a special
aptitude for God. Like other great artists and specialists, they have
given years of patient effort to the education and full development of
those power, in obedience to that innate passion for the perfect which
is the greatest of all human attributes. For this they have always given
up their worldly prospects, often their families and friends. They have
suffered much, and have been rewarded, first, by a great enrichment
of consciousness, an initiation into the true meaning and beauty of the
world, and, finally, by the achievement of the state of complete
harmony with the Divine order which they call "union with God."
Plainly this career is not within the reach of the majority. They must
be content with the tidings which these great wayfarers bring back to
us: tidings which seem to waken vague memories, and often stir us to
a passionate sense of incompleteness and unrest.
There is little we can say about the future which may await this vital
mysticism of the great mystics. In its essentials, it has
 Page 65
varied little since its first appearance in history; though in its
expressions it has generally made use of the religious formulae of its
time. Nevertheless, the future of mysticism as a whole, the
enlightenment it is destined to give to the mass of mankind, must
depend on the appearance among us of such great seers, such first-
hand explorers of the infinite; as great periods in music, poetry, or
painting depend on the appearance of creative artists, who are able in
their works, and by the fire of their personal inspiration, to stimulate
the more languid perceptions of truth and beauty possessed by their
fellow-men. Now life radiates from such personalities and infects the
whole of the society in which they emerge: and thus a "mystical
period" such as they which had so marked an effect on Germany and
the Netherlands in the fourteenth century, or on France in the
seventeenth, comes into existence. Such a mystical period requires
two factors. First, the appearance of one or more great mystics,
centres of spiritual vitality, revealing in their works and their example
the loveliness and unfathomable reality of that supernal world on
which they live; next, a condition of public opinion sympathetic to the
mystics revelations, a generally experienced need of some more
durable object of desire, some more real satisfaction of the heart's
craving, than any that can be found amongst the changing
circumstances of human life. Few will deny that the second factor, at
any rate, exists amongst us at the present moment: that, emerging as a
natural reaction from the materialism of the nineteenth century, it has
been immensely quickened by the widespread desolation of the war,
by the awful commentary which the events of the last three years have
provided on our dreams of an achieved Utopia, a perfect civilisation,
an earthly realm of peace and good will.
The reality and depth of this craving for spiritual certitudes is shown
by the avidity with which mystical literature is now seized and read,
the quick following obtained by cults and movements which either
are, or appear to be, mystical in type. Much of the literature, many of
the movements, are trivial, and attract a devotion far beyond their
deserts. Many offer their adherents a "nature mysticism" which is little
better than a refined paganism, and utterly lacks that bracing effect
upon character which is inherent in a true mystical faith. Others teach
an easy form of
 Page 66
mental passivity not unlike that of the old quietists, which gives to its
practitioner a deceptive impression of spiritual peace. The classics of
mystical literature have sufficiently exposed the errors of such short
cuts into the infinite. The true mystical life, far from being a short cut,
has been well described as an "heroic super-naturalism." It is not easy.
Its moments of rapturous certitude are paid for by hard struggles and
sacrifices. It flourishes best in alliance with a lofty moral code, a
strong sense of duty, a definite religious faith capable of upholding the
mystic during the many periods in which his vision fails him. Its
contemplations do not consist in a luxurious sinking down into the
infinite, but in a deliberate concentration of consciousness upon the
spiritual worldthe art of prayer raised to its highest denomination. The
lessons of the past suggest to us that such a mysticism, frequently the
aftermath of periods of misery and strife such as we now endure, is
more likely to arise with than without the great historic churches and
faiths. To these churches and faiths it has again and again brought its
gift of fresh life, of renewed and intensified communion with the
spiritual world; and through them has radiated that gift upon the
world. It is in this direction that its future may most hopefully be
looked for, since divorced from all institutional expression it tends to
become strange, vague, or merely sentimental. True mysticism is the
soul of religion, but, like the soul of man, it needs a body if it is to
fulfill its mighty destiny. This destiny is not merely individual; it is
socialto disclosure to other men of fresh realms of the spirit, the
imparting of more abundant life to the race.
 Page 67
"Sources of Power in Human Life" appeared in 1921, the same year
Underhill delivered her lectures at Manchester College, Oxford. This
essay, which appeared in the Unitarian publication, the Hibbert
Journal, reflects the same theme of the lectures, namely the
contemporary malaise of anxiety and the resources to combat it.
 Page 69

Sources of Power in Human Life

I
The civilised world at present seems to many of us to be living, as it
were, under a cloud. Its dominant mood is that of unhappiness,
depression, unrest. It is obsessed by anxieties and suspicions,
uncertain in its hold on life. It has forgotten joy. Like a neurotic man,
whose sickness has no name and few definite symptoms beyond
general uneasiness and lack of hope, it is incapable of the existence
which it feels to be wholesome and complete. Impotent and uncertain
of aim, full of conflicts it cannot resolve, society is becoming more
and more querulous, less and less reasonable. Sometimes it seeks
violent and destructive changes as the only cure for its state.
Sometimes it tries grotesque and superstitious remedies. Sometimes it
relapses into apathy. But we cannot hope for any permanent
improvement until it discovers the real nature of its disease.
The source of the trouble must first be sought, not in a disorder of the
social body as a whole, but in the state of the individual cells
composing it. Those individual cellsthe ordinary men and women of
whom society is builtare not, most of them, living with the whole of
their lives. Theyor rather we, for few of us can clear ourselves of this
chargeare imperfectly vitalised. We have allowed one whole aspect of
our being, and that the most important, to atrophy; never using the
whole of the power and perception of which we are capable, never
stretching to full span. Thus our existence is impoverished, and our
reaction to our surroundings distorted. We are in fact, fitted for active
correspondence with a wider, richer world, a more real order than
 Page 70
that in which we suppose ourselves to dwell: and this correspondence
is a necessity, if we are to be sound and happy members of human
society, using our power to the full. We know what happens when we
do not get enough physical exercise. We know, too, the damage that
results when an active intellect is given nothing to do, an ardent
emotional nature lacks opportunity of expression. But we forget that
the soul is, or should be, yet more vividly alive than body or brain. It,
too, demands its share of experience; its food and work. It is, or
should be, aware of its own aspect of the universethe spiritual aspect.
And when the soul's innate spiritual craving, its natural hunger for life
and love, is misunderstood or ignored, when opportunity for self-
expression is denied it; then, not only its own existence but the whole
personal and social life it should sustain is thrown out of key. This, I
believe, is what is happening to us now. We are being starved at the
source; and the problem which confronts us is, how best we may tap
that source, draw from it the strength which will enable us to deal
effectively with life. This question is far more practical than many of
those which are agitated by social reformers. It is, indeed, the central
question for the sociologist; for it concerns the true mental health and
full vitality of every human being, and we cannot hope to construct a
stable community unless these, the members that compose it, are thus
living a full and balanced life.
From time to time we know that men and women have emerged who
pierced the mesh of convention, looked with clear eyes at the universe
of which we are a part, and saw, felt, and loved the spiritual reality
which alone gives meaning to the whole. If we read spiritual history
with the same interest and understanding which we give to tales of
dynasties and wars, we should recognise these men and women as
pioneers of the race. In different ways, under different symbols, they
have told what they knew. Though these symbols may obscure their
meaning, we see that at bottom they are all trying to tell us the same
thing: that all saw and felt a Life and Reality which is one, and were
inspired by it with the same passion of love and desire. These men and
women, if we look at them side by side and compare their discoveries
about the power of human nature with our own distracted state, their
quiet certainties and heroic sacrifices with our anxiety and greed,
suggest to us that modern progress has not been entirely in the
 Page 71
direction of goodness and truth; and that the nervous sickness of
society, the aridity of our lives, are so many condemnations of our
own sloth, stupidity, and cowardice. They saw something really there,
which we have either missed, or confused with the special creed under
which it was offered to us. But the life of the spirit is a concrete
reality, not a religious notion or a dream. It has always been present
with mankind: independent of the religions with which it has been
associated, the imperfect ideas of God which men have held.
In every religion, mixed with much that is crude and symbolic, we see
the human soul seeking with more or less success for its own life, a
"new birth" into the atmosphere of reality. The preaching of the
Hebrew prophets and Christian apostles, the monastic movement in its
purity, the spiritual teaching of the Sufis, and of ancient India, the
missions of such men as Boehme, Fox, or Wesleyall these, as we are
now beginning to see, have been efforts, generally misunderstood, to
meet this one need and show this one way to happiness and abundant
life. Those who responded without flinching to the invitation to a
change of heart, generally found the promise of new life was true.
They discovered for themselves that there is something in the universe
which demands our love and humble adoration; which, in spite of all
our disillusions, in spite of squalor, cruelty, waste, decay, does
perpetually whisper to us messages of confidence and hope and repays
our faith and love by a gift of power. This element of experience is
just as real as any of the other elements; more, it is abiding and
invincible. If we attended to it, allowed it to influence our conduct,
regarding it as at least of equal importance with the so-called
"economic" considerations in life, we should be happy. Even as it is
we all have moments in which we are sure that there is more to see,
know, and love; and that we ourselves shall be more real, do better
work, when we see, know, and love it.
The mystics have given many names to this voice and this message.
But all agree that the world we commonly live in is not so much
unreal as half real. We have got it out of proportion, because there is
somethingto them obviouswhich we commonly leave out. The mystic
Jacob Boehme, struggling to express what he has perceived, says,
"When I see a right man, there I see three worlds standing." These
three worlds are the "dark" physical
 Page 72
world of conflict and painmere nature, as it is when it is left to itself;
the ''fire-world" of energetic creative life that inspires it; and the
"light-world" of spiritual energy, beauty, and truth. Some of the most
recent speculations both of biology and of philosophy seem to be
leading us back to such an analysis of the Real. A distinguished
French thinker, Dr. Geley, has lately declared that life has three
elements: basal substances, vital dynamism, and psychic principle. A
complete man, Boehme feels, must in some sense be, and live in, all
these three levels of reality. That is, he must be not only the complete
and healthy animal, not only the vigourous, creative personality, not
only the exalted spirit living in contact with the "light," but all these.
Not many of us can claim to live up to this ideal; yet, if we do not live
up to it, we are not fully alive in any department of our being, since
one of our chief powers has atrophied, and one aspect of the universe
is closed to us. Most of us, it is clear, live in two worlds: too many
only in the "dark" world of unmeaning, toilsome physical existence.
Mysticism, which is the science of the spirit as psychology is the
science of the mind, has for its object the introduction of our
consciousness into the third world; that world of eternal beauty and
significance which is not separated from us, but, as another great
mystic observed, "absent only from those who do not perceive it." Its
aim is to arouse and educate the spiritual principle already latent in us,
and give it its rightful place. "Our whole teaching," says Boehme, "is
nothing else than how a man should kindle in himself God's light-
world." The "seed" of the light-world is present in each of us, though
not realised by a consciousness too busily engaged with other things.
Our business is to make it central for that consciousness, draw from
our environment the nourishment it needs, and so "grow up from
nature-dark to spirit-light."
I do not say that other aspects of life are not real too, or that we do not
truly form a part of the texture of the physical universe. I believe that
we do form part of it: but this texture, like the cellular stuff of which
our bodies are built, is only understood when we become aware both
of the unresting life-forcethe Firewhich energizes every part of it, and
of the Spirit of Light which is its "Father and ever-present
Companion." To achieve such a realisation is not to withdraw from the
stream of natural life
 Page 73
and effort, but to plunge into it more deeply, find its heart. There we
discover ourselves to be in contract within fact, to be the agents ofa
veritable Life which is not merely goodness, not merely beauty, not
merely power, but the source and synthesis of all these. Those who
trusted this life enough to take the risks its demands have been, in
spite of suffering and hardshipfor it is no easier to achieve than any
other kind of perfection,the strongest, happiest, and most harmonized
of men. "The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long suffering,
gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance." This, said St.
Paul, who knew by experience the worlds of nature, fire, and light, is
what a complete man ought to be like. Compare this picture of an
equable and fully harmonised personality with that of a characteristic
neurasthenic, or of an embittered worker concentrated on the struggle
for a material advantage; and consider that the whole difference
between these types of human success and human failure is the
presence or the absence of the spiritual principle in life. We know that
where this spiritual principle has been dominant, as it was in the early,
enthusiastic stage of many religious movements, it has brought with it
a sense of well-being, a joy, a power of endurance, and a vigour
unknown to the mass of men. There is no reason but human indolence
and scepticism why these gifts should not again transform the race.
Looked at in this way, we see that the struggle for a personal spiritual
life is no selfish undertaking, as busy social reformers sometimes
insist. On the contrary, it is the first step in all valid social reform.
Society is keenly interested in, and gains from, the full development
of each of its members; and no one is fully developed in whom that
life still sleeps. Moreover, those who know the "light-world" can't
keep it to themselves. It shines through them. As an artist reveals new
beauty to the mass of men, so the truly spiritual man inevitably
stimulates their capacity for God, and so gives them new life and new
access to reality. He is a centre of infection; but that which he spreads
is happiness and power. So, whether we regard it from the social or
the individualistic point of view, it is plain that the reintegration of our
lives, and the achievement of a more complete existence, is demanded
of us: and that this is a task hard enough to call forth all our energies
and all our enthusiasm. Instead of a formal religion, bound up
 Page 74
with a creed based on marvellous occurrences, or theological
doctrines which we, perhaps, find it difficult to accept, we have a new
more real lifehumanity's next stage of growthto aim at; a life possible
of realisation here and now, which, as the mystics assure us, can
"transform the furnace of the world into a garden of flowers."
II
We may recognise and even regret the absence of a spiritual element
in our lives; and with it our lack of power, our starved sense of joy.
But we shall not listen for long to those who deplore our condition
unless they be prepared to give us not merely a diagnosis, but a
prescription. And this prescription must be given us, not in some
traditional formula, but in the language of our own day; though we
must expect to find that its ingredients have long been known and
used. Modern man has, in some sense, made himself a new universe
from fresh data. The stream of history has carried him on to a point of
view which is perhaps no truer than that of the past, but is for him
inevitable. The theory of evolution, the modern concept of electric
energy, the "new" psychology, even a caricature of the law of
relativity, control his vision of the world. If we want to help him, we
must take him as he is. Here, where he stands, we must stand by him,
and point out the colour, form, and beauty, the infinite possibilities,
the unchanging splendour of the landscape from his point of view. It is
no use telling him what that landscape used to look like from the
view-point which was occupied by the early Christian or the
mediaeval manthe names they gave to its salient features, the bits they
liked best. He does not want, in Boehme's pungent phrase, to be "a
mere historical new man." This means that we must restate the truths
we hold to be eternal; and a little consideration shows that this
restatement must find a place for two distinct and complementary
aspects of all true spiritual lifeits outer vision and its inner discipline.
First, Vision. The man who is dissatisfied with meaningless
incompleteness of physical existence and its apparent aims, wants to
be helped to glimpse a wider horizon, grasp something of that Reality
in which he lives and moves. The mystics assure him that
 Page 75
this Reality is God, and that the whole secret of existence is contained
in His love. They say that, until we thus fall in love with the spiritual
world, we shall not be aware of its beauty and compelling power; and
that, to give ourselves the chance of doing this, we must attend to it.
For lack of attention a thousand forms of loveliness elude us every
day. The artist's world, so much richer and more significant than ours,
is simply the reward of his steadfast and disinterested gaze. So too
perception of God depends on attention to Him. Hence the second
point, Discipline. The inner self must be trained if it is thus to become
aware at first hand of the "world of light." Until this remaking of
personality, this redirection of consciousness, is achieved, the ordinary
man must, to a great extent, trust other people's account of it.
Now a practical mysticismby which I mean the spiritual development
possible to the average manoffers just these two things; which are
indeed two aspects of one transformation, since "we only behold that
which we are." It shows us innumerable men and women who had the
vision; who were aware of an unchanging love and beauty which
really transformed their lives, so that they gazed more and more
deeply into its heart. It offers to teach the method of self-conquest and
of contemplation by which they remade their consciousness, and
redeemed their lives from concentration on the transitory and unreal.
It shows us their final state, in which they became fresh centres of
creative life; receiving itas an artist receives aesthetic joyin order to
give again. This, it says, is the way men can cure their spiritual
impotence, their uncertain touch on life, and obtain access to the real
sources of vitality.
But mysticism is not alone in pointing out this way. Its first
declaration, that there are other and more real ways of seeing the
world awaiting those who will try them, is supported by orthodox
religion, by philosophy, by the arts. When we listen to great music or
poetry, when visible beauty suddenly looks us in the eyes, we seem to
stand on the fringes of a world into which we have never fully
penetrated: a joyous and divine world, in which the elements of
common life are given new colour and worth, and their apparent
conflicts understood. This is the "kingdom of heaven" into which it
was the first object of Christianity to introduce the minds of men; and
few of us pass through life without at least a
 Page 76
glimpse of it. Philosophy too speaks of that same vision. Idealism
seems based on an intuitive knowledge of it, and of the sharp
distinction between that absolute and unchanging world of spiritual
reality and the illusions of material life. Even the fashionable realism
of the moment, which acknowledges nothing beyond the world of
space and time which we know in part, yet tends more and more to a
spiritual reading of existence. It too discerns a tendency in the
ceaseless onward flow of creative life towards a higher perfection, a
transcendence we vaguely call "divine." For it the universe is not
seeking that which is already present in eternity, but is slowly making
its own heavenevolving the light-world from the dark matter and
creative fire. Every life, thought, deed or love which transcends the
level of being in which it is born, and achieves the spiritual plane,
contributes to the bringing in of that heaven, the "manifestation of the
sons of God." Our bit of effort is thus a part of the great thrust of life,
''gazing eagerly as if with outstretched neck," as St. Paul said in a
flash of poetic intuition, towards a divine perfection not yet reached.
Accepting in a general sense the picture this philosophy puts before
usand we must acknowledge its appeal to our courage and industry, its
implied spirit of faith, hope, and love,we may turn from vision to
discipline; and see what psychology has to tell us of the sources and
powers of the inner life, the extent in which it may be directed to
spiritual ends. At once we see that it too declares transcendence, the
sublimation and vigorous use on higher levels of our crude instinct
and desires, to be the secret of full life, of mental health and power.
When Boehme, having described the three-fold world in which a right
man dwells, goes on to say that the art of living is to "harness our
fiery energies to the service of the light," he is speaking almost in the
words of a modern psychologist. What are those fiery energies? They
are the passions and instincts born of our lowliest needs, ready to be
spent on any object, but capable too of a sublimation of which we do
not yet know the limits. We are adolescents, feeling within ourselves
the conflict of the animal-child out of whom we have grown, and the
spirit-adult to which we tend: yet it is the primitive energy of that
animal-child, the "anxious fiery life" stretching out towards
experience, which shall make possible the emergence of the new man.
It craves for more life and more love; and this craving, this
 Page 77
urge, is the unique instrument of all progress, physical, mental, or
spiritual,one aspect of the "secret onward push" which actuates every
living thing.
We are not closed systems, but a part of the texture of the universe;
and, equally with it, channels of the power that inspires it. Through us
creative spiritwhether we choose to call it with Boehme the fiery
driver, or with Bergson mental energy, or with Freud the libidois
surging. This energy, with its tendency to press on somewhere, is ours
to direct and use; becoming, according to the degree of its
sublimation, a strong sinner, fighter, lover, artist, or saint. All lies in
the direction in which we thus push into experience, the levels with
which we choose to set up our correspondences, on which we satisfy
our hunger, spend our desire and love. How do we set up
correspondences with any level of experience? Simply by attending to
it. The man of science learns nature's laws by concentrating upon
them. It is to the steady and impassioned gaze of the artist that beauty
and significance are revealed in common things, to inspire the love
and rapture he expresses in his works. So too it is primarily the man
who attends to the spiritual world that finds it. "Knock, and it shall be
opened unto you; seek, and ye shall find," is, like many other New
Testament sayings, a scientific statement. This proceeding need not
involve any formal creed or religious practice, save the one act of
faith that there is a spiritual aspect of existence to be found.
Now attention is a limited gift. We can only attend at one time to a
certain narrow range of experiences: and of these, those in the centre
of the field will be intensely real to us, those on the fringes will be
vague. It needs a little consideration before we realise how tiny a
fraction of our possible experience we can takes in, how much we are
obliged to renounce; the extent in which even the most self-indulgent
life is based on self-denial. Hence the importance of a wise use of
attention. It is for us to choose what we will put in the centre of our
field. Commonly we put our worldly interests and anxieties, our
transient loves. The result of this was described by St. Paul: "The
natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God, for they are
foolishness to him." They are not in focus; he cannot perceive them as
realities. Though he may be an idealist in philosophy, he lives as
 Page 78
though materialism alone were true; repressing those inconsistent
impulses and feelings which testify to other levels of reality, and by
this act throwing his mental life out of key. The mystics put spiritual
interests in the centre of the field, and by attending to that aspect of
reality enter more and more deeply into it; coming at last to the
perfect and conscious harmony with the spiritual order which some of
them call the "practice of the presence of God." How do they do this?
First by that quiet, steady attention to the spiritual which is the
essence of prayer: an art which any one may practise who chooses to
open his door to the eternal world waiting on the fringes of the
common life. Next by a drastic reordering of their whole natures in
conformity with the perfection they have seen and loved. Last, by
energetic work in harmony with their ideals; for nothing is truly ours
till we have expressed it in our deeds. These are the three elements of
that discipline which the spiritual life demands of those who really
want itsteady contemplation, drastic self-conquest, eager service; and
this, I believe, is their true order of importance.
The deliberate act of attention comes first. If we ask, "Attention to
what?" it is easiest for us, heirs of Christian civilisation, to say,
"Attention to God"; because this is a name we all understand until we
attempt to define it. "Be still, be still and know," is the condition of
entrance into that atmosphere of reality. The mystics say again and
again that their only secret is "the love of God"; that if we attend to
God we inevitably love Him, and that this love evokes the power to do
hard things. By love we come to share His point of view. "The sharp
dart of longing love,'' says an old English writer, "shall never fail of
the prick, which is God." No one who has witnessed the expansion of
a starved nature touched by this vivid and unearthly passion, its
growth in nobility and power, can doubt that this is a vital process, a
real episode in the remaking of man. Unless we thus fall in love with
the spiritual world, we shall never be aware of its beauty and
compelling power. To give ourselves the chance of this, we must
attend to it: and such an attention is simply the essence of prayer.
Therefore we need not hope to attain a sane and stable life until we
have placed the inner stillness of devotion at its heart: setting aside a
definite time each day in which to attend to it, scrutinising our moral
nature in its light, combing out the tight knots of
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prejudice and self-interest in which that nature so largely consists, and
for its sake doing our ordinary work as well as we can in a spirit of
consecration.
Should one of these constituents be left out, all the others are maimed.
Neither contemplative, moralist, nor man of action alone satisfies
human ideals and human cravings. We tend at present to starve our
spirits by encouraging the active life at the expense of the
contemplative life; forgetting that action itself depends for its
perfection on the outward fling of the heart in adoration, conditioning
its homeward turning swing of charity. "Do you wish for a pause?"
said someone to Elizabeth Fry at a social gathering. Under the spell of
her personality the pause was made, and all present breathed for a few
moments the atmosphere of the spiritual world; the only atmosphere
in which we can hope to glimpse the true proportions of things. The
vagueness and ineffectuality of more social effort is due to the lack of
this pause in our perpetual busyness.
III
The old Christian ideal for ordinary men and women was that which
was called the "mixed life"; in which, as Ruysbroeck said of it, "work
and contemplation dwell in us side by side and we are perfectly in
both of them at once." This conception came from Christ's own life:
the supreme example of a balanced consciousness, rooted in eternity
yet fully alive in the world of time, and swinging as it were between
loving attention to God and practical service of man. All that I have so
far said of it is only a restatement of one or two principle points in his
teaching and experience. If we read the New Testament without
dogmatic prejudices, accepting the narratives of the Gospels and the
Acts as they stand, we see that the whole book is the record of a group
of people who, under the leadership of one supremely harmonised
personality, found out a new and true way of livingnot recondite, but
ready for everyone who has the courage to try it,and practised it with
success. We see that the main object of Jesus was to declare the
"kingdom of heaven," not as far off, but as something existing here
and now in the world. He did not invite men to spin theories about
what he was; but to "follow'' him, leave
 Page 80
unreal interests, accept his view of life, and try the experiment of
living in his way. His unique impressiveness arose from the fact that
he was himself living and growing in that kingdom, and spoke from
within it; for it was and is, as the mystics have always insisted, "a
temper, not place." Those who trusted him he introduced into it;
conferring on them the "pearl," the "hidden treasure," the "leaven,'' a
new life achieved at least in germ, not by shirking any of the dreadful
accidents of existence, but by absorbing every bit of itsuffering,
treachery, disillusion, deathinto the scheme.
This change of consciousnessthis "new birth" on fresh levels of
beingis what the New Testament writers mean by salvation: for them,
not a religious notion, but a concrete fact. Its possibilities they think
are endless: "It doth not yet appear what we shall be." They are sure
that, perfectly exhibited in Christ, this whole and vivid life is also
accessible to all men. He was, said St. Paul, "the eldest in a vast
family of brothers"; showing the real curve of all human growth "from
glory to glory." In the completeness of his adaptation to the two
worlds of spirit and of sense, expressed in his two chief activitiesthe
nights spent in solitary communion with his Father, the days spent in
human intercourse and helpfulness,the true nature of man was fully
revealed. The "mystery," says St. Paul, is the existence in us of the
same capacity for wholeness of life"Christ in you the hope of glory":
and the real obligation laid on Christians is not to believe theological
statements, but to "put on that new man." Two thousand years have
passed and we have not, save in a few isolated cases, achieved this
fuller vitality. As a rule we pay little attention to the witness of the
handful of men and women who have done so. Yet now psychology
begins to hint that a more thorough life indeed waits for us; that
untapped wells of health and power and unexplored levels of
sublimation are within reach. It supports our secret conviction that, if
we could but see existence as Christ and those who shared his mind
have seen it,that is to say, transfigured and made significant by the
light of the "Kingdom of God,"we should know how to deal with its
problems, material and spiritual alike. Many of the mystics assure us
that they did see life in this way, and they describe its result.
Ruysbroeck says that a truly enlightened man "walks in heaven" here
and now, seeing all
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things in a "simple light": and that the mark of this walking in heaven
is, that he is filled with "a wide-spreading love to all in common." In
that phrase is concealed the link between what is sometimes called
"social Christianity" and the spiritual life. It means that our passional
nature with its cravings and ardours, instead of making whirlpools of
self-centred anguish and self-centred joy, becomes an instrument of
the spirit and flow out in streams of charity and power towards all life.
Such wide-spreading loveall the ardour, tenderness, and idealism of
the lover spent not on one chosen object but all living thingsis a
passion born of the spiritual vision, and is its inevitable active
expression in the world of time. We ought to possess it. If we do not,
that is because we neglect the two ways to its achievement. One of
these is an individual activity; the deliberate turning of the attention
towards the spiritual world. The other is corporate; the full use of that
herd-instinct which underlies our whole social life. The spiritual
consciousness is more often caught than taught. When the young man
with great possessions asked Jesus, "What shall I do to be saved?"
Jesus replied in effect, "Put aside all lesser interests, strip off
unrealities, and come, give yourself the chance of catching the
infection of holiness from me." He gave his secret in its fulness to the
"little flock" which simply followed him, not to the educated persons
who listened and argued with him. From them it spread to all who
submitted to their influence: for the gift of a real and harmonised life
flows out inevitably from those who possess it to other men. Again
and again the history of spiritual experiences illustrates this law; that
its propagation is most often by way of discipleship and of the
corporate life, not by the intensive culture of solitary effort. God
educates men through men. We most easily recognise spiritual reality
when it is perceived transfiguring human character, and most easily
attain it by sympathetic contagion. The common idea of the mystic or
contemplative as an individualist is false; though, like an artist, a
measure of solitude is essential to him. He receives in order to give
again. The lives of St. Francis, Fox, Wesley, General Booth, are
various examples of this peculiar power of spreading new life.
We acknowledge this law in other departments of experience, and are
careful to place our children where they can get the
 Page 82
influences we think appropriate to their future. These influences,
social, intellectual, or practical, arise from the collective attitude of
the group, its "spirit" or "tone"; and especially from the strong
personalities of that group, the leaders of the herd. Psychologists tell
us that as members of a flock or a crowd our sensitiveness to the
impressions of our fellow-members, our "collective suggestibility," is
enormously increased. This law, of which all religious bodies take full
advantage, holds good even on the highest levels of spiritual life.
Therefore since most of us are weaklings, if we wish to further our
latent capacity for that life we should draw together; obtaining from
our incorporation the herd-advantages of corporate enthusiasm, unity
of aim, mutual protection, and forming a nucleus to which others can
adhere. Thus the strong will be saved from the evils of individualism
and the weak will receive support. Christianity has shown us the
extent in which a ''little flock," swayed by love and adoration, may
ultimately influence the world: and it may be that our hope for the
future depends on the formation of such groupshives of the Spirit,in
which the worker of every grade, the thinker, the artist may each have
their place. In such an open society, the fact that all the members
shared substantially the same view of human life, strove through in
differing ways for the same ideals, were filled by the same
enthusiasms, would allow the problems and experiences of the Spirit
to be accepted as real, and discussed with frankness and simplicity.
Thus oases of prayer and clear thinking might be created in our social
wilderness, gradually developing such corporate power and
consciousness as we see in really living religious bodies. The history
of the Bãb movement, or of the Salvation Army, show that this is no
idle dream: and indeed there seems no reason but our own apathy and
self-consciousness to prevent the formation of such groups among
those workers of all types who are already dissatisfied with their own
vague hold on reality. Were they created within existing Churches,
this might yet heal those Churches of their creeping paralysis and
make them again true centres of life and light, giving shelter and
nourishment to the neglected mystical element in our psychic lives.
The rule of such a group need be little more than the "heavenly rule"
of faith, hope, and charity; for these are and must remain the key-
words of human transcendence. Faith carries with
 Page 83
it the realisation of man's true existence within a spiritual kingdom
here and now, hope his infinite power of recovery and advancement,
charity his attitude towards other selves and things, visible and
invisible alike. Under this threefold lawwhich is really the threefold
expression of one ideal and one love, and must be applied without
shirking to every problem of existencethe active life would be fully,
even enthusiastically, lived. Every real manly and womanly instinct
would find due and harmonious expression, since these instincts in
their purity are movements of the spirit of life. And on the other hand,
that vivid and earnest communion with the eternal order which is the
essence of prayer would be fostered: perhaps by some definite rule of
silence and solitude, perhaps by an extension of that system of
corporate retreats which is now being tried by the Churches with
astonishing results. Such an experiment, which is the essence of
Christianity, has never been made on an extended scale. We do not
know the extent of the renovation which might be worked silently
from within, did those able to apprehend eternity thus accept its
obligations, draw together, and work for the regeneration of the
whole. For members of such groups luxury, idleness, and indifference
to the common good would be impossible. They would inevitably
come to practice that sane asceticismnot incompatible with gaiety of
heartwhich consists in concentration on the real, and quiet avoidance
of the attractive sham; and makes of the true ascetic an athlete, who
keeps in training for a definite end. Plainness and simplicity do help
the spiritual life, and they are more easy and wholesome when
practised in common than when adopted by individuals in defiance of
the social order surrounding them.
The aim alike of the group and of its individual members must be the
unification of idea, emotion, and action; the redirection of energy
from lower to higher and more universal interests under the unique
impulsion of the love of God. Such a simplification of life and
consecration of its powerswith a resulting positive sense of happiness
and liberationis seen in some degree in the great lover of truth, of
beauty, or of his fellow-men. But its perfection is only found in those
who are dedicated to eternal interest or, in the language of religion,
whose "self is wholly merged in the will of God." There is nothing
new in this
 Page 84
prescription. It has been the ideal of all prophets and saints. But the
truths which these declared now need some fresh expression, which
shall win for this interest the mighty forces of herd-suggestion and
make the laws of the kingdom in all their costing effort and moral
austerity "good form" for our distracted herd.
The group then, however formedand first no doubt it will be small and
simple,has before it an ample choice of work to test its courage and
sincerity. Though its aims should involve no mawkish idealism,
refusal of fun, or insistence on "uplift," yet its earnestness must find
expression in acts. Every established evil is a challenge to it. All
weak, suffering, or neglected things invite its interest; all men and
women confused and disheartened by the pressure of a merely
material life. Generosity and pity, a deep understanding of man's slow
struggles and of the unequal movements of life, will forbid
intolerance. But new knowledge of beauty must reveal the ugliness of
the many satisfactions we now offer ourselves, and new love the
defective character of many of our social relations. Looking always
for the reality behind the appearance of life, and seeing the possible
perfection of every soul and so of every society, the member of such a
group must have a definite attitude, for instance, towards such
problems as war, state punishment, industrialism, the drink traffic,
prostitution, international diplomacy and finance; and must bring this
attitude to bear on the politics of the State. Again, the doing of all
work in the spiritual light, the judging of all economic problems by its
standards, not those of expediency, is for him a necessity of existence;
because he regards the whole world as a religious fact. Consider the
effect of this imperative on the attitude of worker, trader, designer,
employer: how many questions would then answer themselves, how
many sore places would be healed. New value would be given to
craftsmanshipitself an expression of Spirit and part of the creative
scheme,and a sense of dedication, now almost unknown, to those who
direct it. These proposals are not unpractical. Impracticality consists
rather in permitting one side of our nature to atrophy, and acquiescing
in the consequent low level of consciousness and of achievement. The
spiritual groups of earlier timesFrancis and his "little brothers," Fox
and his friends, Wesley and his discipleswere remarkable for the
vigour and originality with which they tackled the problems of
existence.
 Page 85
Spiritual values were so real to them that they could afford to treat our
most reverend illusions lightly. To their fresh simplicity of vision no
evil appeared "necessary" or incurable: no hostility too great to be
overcome by love. Sloth or lack of zest, and doubtful dread or lack of
hope are, said Julian of Norwich, the only serious sickness of the soul.
If it were not for these we might do all things; and those in whom that
zest and hope have triumphed are there to prove that this is true.
 Page 87
"Suggestion and Religious Experience" appeared first in the
Fortnightly Review in 1922 and was reprinted with modification in
Life of the Spirit and the Life of Today. This article brings together
Underhill's interest in psychology and her knowledge of mysticism.
She argued that suggestion can be used as a means to lead one toward
holiness.
 Page 89

Suggestion and Religious Experience

The study of suggestion has followed that of psycho-analysis into the
social arena, and is rapidly becoming the favourite sport of the
amateur psychologist. Nevertheless, its real character, even now, is
little understood save by the specialist; still less the wide range over
which its principles can be applied. The cures ascribed to Christian
Science or psycho-therapy, the moral reformation worked by a
revival, the certitude and experience of traditional belief, are all
frequently and easily accounted for as "mere suggestion"; without any
attempt to think out what the agent is which can and does produce
these great enduring changes in the mind, and through them in the
body too.
Now a suggestion, of course, for psychology is not merely a mood or
belief caught from someone else, or the emotional result of impressive
surroundings; though these may be sources of suggestion. It is not a
persuasive argument addressed to our reasoning minds. It is a
dynamic idea, which, out of countless ideas that experience offers us,
has penetrated past the reasoning mind to the deeper and unconscious
levels, and there has played an active part. When we say this we
perceive how greatly suggestion, rightly understood, must interest the
student of religious experience; how valuable is the clue it puts into
his hand. Since the claim of religion is upon the whole man, and since
its transforming work in him must be done through his ordinary
psychic machinery and in conformity with the laws that govern it,
every increase in our knowledge of that machinery helps us towards a
deeper comprehension of the way in which it produces its effects.
More, it shows
 Page 90
religious teachers how they can use the machinery, and so best work
for success.
From this point of view, perhaps the most fruitful of all our recent
discoveries in the mental region will turn out to be that which is
beginning to reveal to us the extent and character of the unconscious
mind; the possibility of bringing its processes within the control of the
will, bending its plastic shape to our own mould. This control, which
is an aspect of our human freedom, is now seen to be in some degree
possible to everyone; and may be used to promote our physical,
moral, or spiritual good. And the chief means by which it acts is
suggestion, which is indeed one of the most powerful agents of self-
help or self-destruction that we possess. Though the laws which
govern the "unconscious" are now beginning to be made out, we know
as a matter of fact little about this psychic hinterland or matrix, the
inner nature of which is very imperfectly given in the fluctuating
experiences of consciousness. But we do know, first, that it is the
home of instinct, memory and habit, the source of conduct; and next
that its control and modification form a large part of what we mean by
the training of character. Further, we know that it is astonishingly
sensitive, plastic to impressions, and unforgetting. Nothing that
happens leaves it exactly as it was before. There all the tendencies
formed by out-grown levels of culture are conserved; thence surge up
the impulses on which we really act, the beliefs that colour our view
of the world. All this material is amenable to the moulding influence
of suggestion, as clay to the artist's hand.
Suggestion is usually said to be of two kinds. First, hetero-suggestion,
in which the self-realising idea is received either knowingly or
unknowingly from the outer world; as for instance, when we join in an
enthusiastic meeting or impressive service, and the feeling of the
crowd becomes our own, profoundly modifying at least for the
moment our psychic life. Secondly, autosuggestion. In this, by means
of the conscious mind, an idea is planted in the unconscious and there
left to mature. Thus do consciously accepted beliefs, religious, social,
or scientific, gradually and silently permeate our whole being and
show their results in character; and only when such permeation has
taken place can we regard them as our own. A little reflection shows,
however, that these two forms of suggestion shade into one another;
and
 Page 91
that no hetero-suggestion, however impressively given, becomes
active in us until we have in some sort accepted it and transformed it
into an auto-suggestion. Theology expresses this fact in its own
special language when it says that "the will must co-operate with
grace"i.e., the suggestion of the spiritualif it is to be "efficacious."
Thus the primacy of the will is safeguarded; for it can, and should,
select from among the countless dynamic suggestions which life pours
in on us those which serve the best interests of the self. As a rule men
take little trouble to sort out the incoming suggestions; allowing
uncriticised beliefs and prejudices, ideas or fear or ill-health free
entrance, and failing to seize and affirm ideas of power or joy. They
would be more careful did they grasp more fully the immense and
often enduring effect of these accepted suggestions; the extent to
which the unreasoning psychic deeps are plastic to incoming ideas.
Yet this suggestibility and suppleness are constantly exhibited in
everyday life; first as sympathy, which is the emotional response to
the suggestion made by other people's feeling states, and next as
imitation, which is the active and often involuntary acceptance of the
suggestion made by other people's manners, clothes or deeds. The
very existence of churches depends on the fact that men most easily
form religious habits and tend to have religious experiences when
assembled in groups and caused to perform the same acts. We are so
accustomed to this psychic contagion that we do not realise the
strangeness of the process. But now we are learning that our plasticity
reaches a degree previously unsuspected, and that we have yet found
neither its limits nor its laws.
In the religious sphere some of the more sensational demonstrations of
this psychic suggestibility have been long notorious. Obvious
instances are those ecstaticssome of them true saints, but some only
nervous invalidswhose continuous and ardent meditations on the
Cross produced in them the actual marks of the Passion of Christ. In
less extreme types, that eager emotional desire to share the sufferings
of the Redeemer which mediaeval religion encouraged often modified
the whole life of the contemplative; shaping the plastic mind, and
sometimes the body too, to its own mould. Julian of Norwich is an
excellent example of this sort or religious suggestibility. As a young
girl Julian prayed that she might have an illness at thirty years of age,
and also a closer
 Page 92
knowledge of Christ's pains. She forgot the prayer; but it worked
below the threshold, as forgotten suggestions often do, and when she
was thirty the illness came. Its psychic origin can still be recognised in
her own candid account of it; and with the illness of the other half of
that dynamic prayer received its fulfillment, in the well-known visions
of the Passion to which we owe her Revelations of Divine Love.
This is simply a striking instance of a process which is always taking
place in us, for good and evil. The deeper mind opens to all who
knock, so long as the newcomers be not enemies of some strong habit
or impression already within. To suggestions that coincide either with
our longings or our established beliefs and loves it gives an easy
welcome; and these, once within, always tend to self-realisation. Thus
the French Carmelite, Thérèse de L'Enfant Jésus, once she was
convinced that it was her destiny to be a "victim of love," began that
career of ill-health which ended with her death at the age of twenty-
four. The lives of the saints are full of incidents explicable on the
same lines; exhibiting again and again the dramatic realisation for
good or for ill of traditional ideas. Therefore St. Paul's admonition,
"Whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are of good report,
think on these things," is a piece of practical advice of which the
importance can hardly be exaggerated; for it deals with the conditions
under which man makes his own mentality.
Those, then, who speak of the results of psycho-therapy of the
phenomena of religious experience as mere suggestion, are
unfortunate in their choice of an epithet; for the power they thus
disparage is a controlling factor in every human life. So if we wish to
explore the elements contributing to religious development this is one
which we must not neglect. A large part of the efficacy of corporate
and private religious exercises depends directly on the fact that the
religious idea, rightly received into the mind, and re-enforced by
regular devotional acts, will always tend to realise itself. It is
interesting to note how perfectly adapted the rituals of historic
Christianity are to this end. The more complex and solemn the
ceremony, the more archaic and universal the symbols it employs, so
much the more powerfulfor those natures able to yield to itthe
suggestion becomes. Music, rhythmic chanting, symbolic gesture, the
solemn periods of recited prayer, all
 Page 93
contribute to this effect; so, too, does the corporate and really
ceremonial silence of Quaker worship. In churches of the Catholic
type every object that meets the eye, every scent, every attitude we are
encouraged to assume, gives the acquiescent mind a push in the same
direction; and the nice warm devotional feeling with which what is
called a good congregation finishes the singing of a favourite hymn
belongs to the same order of phenomena. The rhythmic phrasesnot as
a rule very full of meaning or intellectual appealexercise a slightly
hypnotic effect on the analysing surface mind; and induce a condition
of suggestibility open to all the influences of the place and our fellow-
worshippers.
The Authorised translation of Ephesians v. 19, "Speaking to
yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs," whatever we
may think of its accuracy, describes a chief function of religious
services of the hearty congregational sort. We do speak to our deeper
and more plastic selves in our psalms and hymns; so too in the
common recitation, especially in chanting, of a creed. We administer
through these rhythmic affirmations, so long as we sing them with
intention, a powerful suggestion to ourselves and everyone else within
reach. "Receive his leaven," said William Penn, "and it will change
thee, his medicine, and it will cure thee. He is as infallible as free;
without money, and with certainty. Yield up thy body, soul, and spirit
to him that maketh all things new: new heaven and new earth, new
love, new joy, new peace, new works, and new life and conversation."
That is fine literature; but it is of greater importance to realise that it is
also good psychology, and that here we are given the key to those
amazing regenerations of character which are the romance of the
religious life.
Fears have been expressed that, by the application of the laws of
suggestion to religious experience, religion may be reduced to a mere
favourable subjectivism and faith identified with suggestibility. But
here the bearing of this series of facts on bodily health provides us
with a useful analogy. Bodily health is no illusion. It does not consist
merely in thinking that we are well; but is a real condition of well-
being, dependent on the correct working of our physical and psychical
life. This correct and wholesome working will be furthered, and if
injured may be restored, by good suggestions; it will be disturbed by
bad suggestions. So too the life of
 Page 94
the Spirit is a concrete fact; but this life, with its growth and
experiences, its definitely ontological references, is lived here and
now, in and through the self's psychic life, and indeed his bodily life
tooa truth which is reflected in sacramentalism. Therefore, sharing as
it does life's plastic character, it too is amenable to suggestion and can
be helped or hindered by it.
Everything, indeed, seems to point to a close connection between
what might be called the mechanism of prayer and of suggestion. To
say this is in no way to minimise the transcendental character of
prayer. In both states there is a spontaneous or deliberate throwing
open of the deeper mind to influences which, fully accepted, tend to
realise themselves. This parallelism is strikingly shown when we
compare the directions given by all great teachers of prayer and
contemplation with the method by which health-giving suggestions
are made to the bodily life. In both we find an insistence on the
stilling and recollecting of the mind, on surrender, a held passivity, not
merely limp but purposeful; on the need of yielding to, and accepting,
the vivifying suggestions of power. We might even go further than this
and say that the other-worldly influence which religion calls ''grace"
is, in effect, the direct suggestion of the spiritual affecting the soul's
life. As we are commonly docile to the countless hetero-suggestions,
some helpful, some weakening, some actually harmful, which our
environment is always making to us, the mystical temperament is so
spiritually suggestible that it can receive those given by the all-
penetrating Divine life. This view is, indeed, supported and illustrated
by the descriptions of contemplative experience which abound in
spiritual literature.
"Son," says the inward voice to Thomas à Kempis, "My grace is
precious, and suffereth not itself to be mingled with strange things nor
earthly consolations. Wherefore it behoveth thee to cast away
impediments to grace if thou willest to receive the impouring thereof.
Ask for thyself a secret place, love to dwell alone with thyself, seek
confabulation of none other ... put the readiness for God before all
other things, for thou canst not both take heed to Me and delight in
things transitory. ... This grace is a light supernatural and a special gift
of God and a proper sign of the chosen children of God, and the
earnest of everlasting
 Page 95
health; for God lifteth up man from earthly things to love heavenly
things, and of him that is fleshly maketh a spiritual man."
Could we have a more vivid picture of the conditions of withdrawal
and attention under which the psyche is most amenable to suggestion;
or of the inward transfiguration worked by a great self-realising idea?
Such transfiguration has literally on the physical plane caused the
blind to see, the deaf to hear, the dumb to speak; and seems to be
observed operating on the highest levels in religious experience.
When, further, à Kempis prays "Increase in me more grace, that I may
fulfil Thy word and make perfect mine own health," is he not
describing the right balance to be sought between the initial surrender
to a vivifying suggestion and the self's appropriation and manly use of
it? This appropriation is not accomplished by limp acquiescence, nor
does it issue in infantile dependence; it is an aspect of the vital
balance between the indrawing and outgiving of power.
It seems, then, worth while for students of religious experience to
inquire into the conditions in which a suggestion is most likely to be
received and realised. These conditions, as psychologists have so far
defined them, can be resumed under the three heads of quiescence,
attention, and feeling; and these, of course, are outstanding
characteristics of the contemplative state, as described in the teaching
of the mystics.
First, let us take quiescence. In order fully to lay open the unconscious
to suggested ideas, the surface mind must be called in from its
responses to the outer world, or in religious language recollected, till
the hum of that outer world is hardly perceived by it. Also the body
must be relaxed, making no demands on the machinery controlling the
motor system, and the conditions in general must be those of complete
mental and bodily rest. Here is the psychological equivalent of that
which spiritual writers call the Quiet; a state defined by one of them
as "a rest most busy." "Those who are in this prayer," says St. Teresa,
"wish their bodies to remain motionless, for it seems to them that at
the least movement they will lose their sweet peace." Others say that
in this state they stop the wheel of imagination, leave all that they can
think, and sink into their ''nothingness," or their "ground." In
Ruysbroeck's phrase, they are "inwardly abiding in simplicity and
 Page 96
stillness and utter peace"; and this is man's state of maximum
receptivity. "The best and noblest way in which thou mayest come
into this work and life," says Master Eckhart, "is by keeping silence
and letting God work and speak. ... When we simply keep ourselves
receptive, we are more perfect than when at work.''
But this preparatory state of surrendered quiet must at once be
qualified by the second point: attention. It does, as St. Teresa so
constantly insists, depend on the will, and is not a limp yielding to
anything or nothing. It has an ordained deliberate aim, is a behaviour-
cycle directed to an end; and this is what marks out the real and
fruitful quiescence of the contemplative from the non-directed
surrender of mere quietism. The quieted mind must receive and
holdyet without discursive thoughtthe idea which it desires to realise;
and this idea must interest it and be real for it, so that attention is
concentrated upon it spontaneously. "You must know, my daughters,"
says St. Teresa, "that this is no supernatural act, but depends on our
will; and that therefore we can do it, with that ordinary assistance of
God which we need for all our acts and even for our good thoughts."
This willed state of attentive recollection is called by psychology
contention, by religion introversion. The more completely the idea
thus absorbs us, the greater will be its transforming power; a truth
expressed by the old English mystic who declared that "A blind intent
stretching to God should never fail of success." When interest wavers,
the suggestion begins to lose ground. Such concentration can be
improved by practice; hence the value which religious specialists have
always ascribed to the regular daily exercise of meditation and
contemplation; the quiet and steady holding in the mind of the thought
which it is desired to realise. St. Teresa merely translates this truth
into the special language of devotion when she says: "We ought little
by little to habituate ourselves to gentle and silent converse with Him,
so that He may make us feel His presence in the soul." In fact, a state
bordering on reverie, and practically identical with that which the
mystics called the prayer of quiet, in which a simple conception is
thus dwelt on without effort or discursive thought, is found to be the
most favourable of all conditions for the practice of auto-suggestion;
and Madame Guyon clearly exhibits to us the connection between
these two states when she says, "Our activity should consist in
endeavouring
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to acquire and maintain such a state as may be most susceptible of
divine impressions, most flexile to all the operations of the Eternal
World."
Psycho-therapists tell us that in order to experience the full effects of
suggestion, we shouldhaving achieved a state of quiet attentionrepeat
rapidly and rhythmically, but with intention, the idea we wish to
realise. Further, they insist that the shorter, the simpler, and more
general this verbal formula, the more effective it will be. The
application of this law to religious experience was well understood by
the mediaeval mystics. It explains to us the value which they, and in
fact nearly all devout persons, attribute to what are called in technical
language "affective acts" or ejaculatory prayers; that is to say, short
phrases repeated or held in the mind, which sum up and express the
self's penitence, love, or adoration. Thus the author of the Cloud of
Unknowing says to his disciple: "Fill thy spirit with the ghostly
meaning of this word Sin, and without any special beholding unto any
kind of sin, whether it be denial or deadly. And cry thus ghostly ever
upon one: Sin, sin, sin! out! out! out! This ghostly cry is better learned
of God by the proof than of man by word. For it is best when it is in
pure spirit, without special thought or any pronouncing of word."
Here the directions are exact, and such as any psychologist at the
present day would give for the realisation of suggestions. Indeed,
religious teachers, informed by experience, have always ascribed
special efficacy to these "short acts" of prayer and of affirmation;
which are really brief suggestions, similar to those which Baudouin
recommends as conducive to bodily well-being. The repeated
affirmation of Julian of Norwich, "All shall be well! All shall be well!
All manner of thing shall be well!" fills all her revelations with its
life-giving suggestion of joyous faith; and countless generations of
Christians have thus applied to their souls' health those very methods
by which our contemporaries are now enthusiastically curing
indigestion and cold in the head. Hence there is real value in such
devotions as the Rosary, and the Protestant churches showed little
psychological insight when they abandoned it. Such "vain"
repetitions, however much the rational mind may dislike, discredit,
and denounce them, have power to penetrate and modify the deeper
psychic levels; always provided
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that they are fully weighted with meaning and desire, conflict with no
accepted belief, and are never allowed to become merely
mechanicalthe standing danger alike of all verbal suggestion and all
formal devotional acts.
Here we touch the third essential of effective suggestion: feeling.
When an idea is charged with emotion, it is far more likely to realise
itself. War neuroses taught us the terrible potency of the emotional
stimulus of anxiety or fear. But this power of feeling over the
unconscious has also its favourable aspect. Here we find psychology
justifying the often criticised emotional element of religion. Its
function is to increase the energy of the idea. The cool judicious type
of belief will never possess the life-changing power of a more fervid,
though perhaps a less rational, faith. Thus the state of corporate
suggestibility created at a revival, and on which the success of that
revival depends, is closely connected with the emotional character of
the appeal which is made. And upon higher levels we see that the
transfigured lives and heroic energies of the great figures of Christian
history represent the realisation of an idea of which the heart was an
impassioned and unearthly love, subduing to its purposes all the
impulses and powers of the natural man. "If you would truly know
how these things come to pass," said Saint Bonaventura, "ask it of
desire, not of intellect; of the ardours of prayer, not of the teaching of
the schools." More and more psychology tends to endorse the truth of
these words.
Quiescence, attention, and emotional interest may therefore be
regarded as the essentials of successful suggestion. But there are two
other characteristics which have been described by the Nancy school
of psychologists, and appear to be of great importance for the
understanding of the mechanism of religious experience. These have
been called the law of Unconscious Teleology and the law of
Reversed Effort.
The law of Unconscious Teleology declares that, when an end has
been effectively suggested to the unconscious, it will always tend to
work towards its realisation; finding for itself the appropriate means.
Thus in psycho-therapy it is found that a general suggestion of health
made to the ailing person is often enough. The doctor may not himself
know enough about the malady to suggest stage by stage the process
of cure. But he
 Page 99
suggests that cure; and the changes and readjustments necessary for its
realisation are made unconsciously, under the influence of the
dynamic idea. Thus the injunction of the Cloud of Unknowing, "Look
that nothing live in thy working mind but a naked intent directed to
God"suggesting as it does to the psyche the ontological object of
faithstrikingly anticipates the last conclusions of science. And here we
notice that a fervent belief that the accepted suggestion will "work" is
by no means essential to its success. More important is a humble
willingness to try the method, give it a chance. That which reason
cannot grasp may yet penetrate to the deeper mind and there become
active, provided that the intellect does not set up resistances to it. This
is found true in medical practice, and religious teachers have always
declared it to be true in the spiritual sphere; holding obedience,
humility, and a measure of resignation, not "spiritual vision," to be the
conditions of the healing and renovation of the soul. Thus
acquiescence in religious practice, co-operation in the corporate life of
a church, are often seen to work for good in those who submit to
them; though they may lack, as they so frequently say, "all spiritual
sense." The cumulative suggestions of the cultus penetrate past the
surface mind to the unconscious, and there initiate a transforming
work. This happens not by magic, but in conformity with
psychological law.
This tendency of the unconscious to realise a suggested end should
surely lay on religious teachers the obligation of forming a clear and
vital conception of the ideas they wish to suggest, either to themselves
in their meditations, or to others by their teaching. For these ideas,
however generalised, will set up profound changes in the mind that
receives them, there working out their whole content of good or bad
suggestion; and this power is not confined to those that tend to fulness
of life. Thus the wrong conception of self-immolation and sacrifice
will be faithfully realised by the unconscious in terms of misery,
weakness or disease. The idea of herself as a "victim of love" worked
physical destruction in Thérèse de l'Enfant Jésus. Her contemporary,
Elizabeth Catez, said when she took the veil, "I long to suffer, I go to
Carmel for nothing else than this"; and almost at once entered on the
illness of which, in a few years, she died. We shall never perhaps
know all the havoc wrought by the once fashionable Protestant
 Page 100
doctrines of predestination, and of the total depravity of human nature.
All this shows how necessary it is that hopeful, manly, and
constructive conceptions should be given prominence in religious
teaching; how important is the tone of a service, and how close many
hymns are to what might be called psychological sin, stressing as they
do a neurotic shrinking from full human life, a childish love of shelter,
a morbid preoccupation with failure and guilt. No one under fifty, and
few people over that age, ought to be allowed to chant stuff about
O Paradise, O Paradise,
'Tis weary waiting here.

or
The highest hopes we cherish here,
How fast they tire and faint!

and even more objectionable quotations may be found in abundance in

current hymnals. Such hymns make devitalising suggestions, adverse
to the health and energy of the self; the more powerful because they
are sung collectively and in rhythm, and cast in an emotional mould.
There was some truth in the accusation of the Indian teacher, Rama-
Krishna, that the books of the Christians insisted too exclusively on
sin. He said: "He who repeats again and again, 'I am bound! I am
bound!' remains in bondage. He who repeats, day and night, 'I am a
sinner! I am a sinner! becomes a sinner indeed."
Finally there is the so-called "Law of Reversed Effort," a
psychological discovery which casts considerable light on religious
experience. Briefly, this means that when a suggestion has entered the
unconscious, and there become active, direct conscious resistance to it
is not merely useless, but actually tends to intensify it. If it is to be
dislodged, this will not be accomplished by mere struggle, but by the
persuasive power of another and superior auto-suggestion. Further,
when we seek to suggest or establish a new habit, the more anxious
and desperate our effort the less will be our success. In the small
matters of life, all have experienced
 Page 101
the working of this law: in frustrated struggles to attend to that which
does not interest us, to keep our balance when learning to bicycle, to
avoid coughing in church. But it has also more important applications.
Thus it indicates that any tense, deliberate struggle to believe, or to
overcome some moral weakness, will tend to frustrate itself; for this
anxious effort gives body to imaginative difficulties, fixing attention
on the conflict, not on the desired end. True, if this end is to be
achieved, the will must be directed to it; but only in the larger sense of
giving steadfast direction to the desires and acts of the self, keeping
attention oriented towards the goal. Thus, to try to walk a plank bridge
with our attention fixed on its narrowness and our own uncertain
footsteps is to ask for disaster; but we cross it easily, if instead of this
we look at the bank on the other side, and let ourselves go towards it.
Psychology now suggests that this is the difference between the wrong
and the right way, whether in games, morals, or meditation.
Therefore the law of Reversed Effort warns us against the danger of
making religion too grim and strenuous an affair, showing that it is
possible to make too much of the process of wrestling with evil. An
attention chiefly concentrated on the anxious struggle with sin and
weakness must tend to frustration. The early ascetics, who made
elaborate preparations for dealing with temptation, got as a result
plenty of temptations with which to deal. A better and indeed more
scientific way is shown by the mystics. "When thoughts of sin press
on thee," says the author of the Cloud of Unknowing, "look over their
shoulders seeking another thing, the which thing is God."
These laws of suggestion, taken together, all seem to point one way:
exhibiting the psyche as living, plastic, changeful, perpetually
modified by the suggestions pouring in on it, the experiences and
intuitions to which it reacts. Such a conception, if valid, is plainly of
great importance, not only to the student of religious experience, but
also the practical worker in this field. It compels him to admit that
every thought, fear, prayer, enthusiasm, has its effect upon the plastic
human creature. Even doctrines are dynamic, and may have
unmeasured influence upon life; hence they should be scrutinised
before their admission into consciousness. Nothing so admitted is
forgotten. Nothing leaves us as we
 Page 102
were before. Moreover, suggestion puts into his hands a powerful
weapon, which the apparatus of traditional religion can help him to
use to the very best effect. By its means, he can mould the stuff of
human nature; and it is for him to decide whether the aim he sets
before it be the stern beauty of holiness, or the mawkish pietism of the
religious sentimentalist.
 Page 103
In 1924 the Interpreter published "Christian Fellowship: Past and
Present." In this article Underhill examined personal religious
experience and its connections to religious community. She argues
that Christian community is based on a personal relationship and
fellowship with God rather than primarily on a social objective.
 Page 105

Christian Fellowship: Past and Present

In the enthusiasm for fellowship movements which absorbs so much
religious interest and activity at the present day, we sometimes forget
that, after all, spiritual groups are no new things in the history of
Christianity; which has always depended for its healthfulness on a
delicate balance struck between the corporate and the individual life.
Hence in promoting fellowship we are, or should be, simply
continuing and adapting to the special needs of our time a
fundamental aspect of Christianity, and ought to be able to find in
history the roots of this, its social expression.
But when we look thus into history, and compare the great religious
associations of the past with those of the present, we notice a great
difference not only in method, but also in temper and intention. Why,
for instance, does it seem easy to think of the highest reaches of
spiritual experience, the noblest and purest elevations of the soul to
God, in connection with Benedictine, Franciscan, Quaker, and other
similar communities, and less natural to think first of these purely
religious values in connection with modern fellowship? I can only
suggest my own answer to this question; but it may perhaps lead to a
consideration of what it is that we have to learn from the history of
Christian group-life.
We find, then, that the most healthy religious group movements of the
past were spontaneous associations, based on an identity of aim
transcending themselves. Fellowship with God was their first interest;
with man, their second interest. In other words, they had a teleological
and not a social objective. The link of the members to the object of
devotion was primary; the link
 Page 106
with one another followed from this. They were God-desiring men,
attracted to one another because of this common love; and this
remains today the basis of real Christian fellowship. These groups
were usually formed first by the gathering of disciples round some
teacher or revealer, who had a clearer view of reality, a more burning
of love of God, than the generality of men; a man who attracted to
himself spiritual children, because it is recognised that he had
something with which to satisfy the inextinguishable human longing
for access to God. Such groups as these, of course, conform to the
pattern of the first Christian community; and though the quality of the
leaders has varied enormously, they have this common character, that
they are organic, and not deliberately constructed on the flat. Their
vitalising power depends on the presence within them of at least one
fully vitalised soul, whose loving spirit sets other spirits on fire. They
always begin in the contact of a human soul with God; and the second
moment of their creation is the longing of that soul to share, impart his
secret, and the hunger of other men for this spiritual food. I do not
think there can be any doubt that this at least is taught us by history
over and over again; and it means that real spiritual fellowship
between men has its roots in the communion between man's spirit and
the spirit of God. Directly the social link begins to overpower the
religious link, we commonly find that the great day of that particular
association is past. To use the well-known image of Plotinus, the souls
within it only keep tune together when they are looking at the
Conductor in the midst.
Therefore the typical fellowship may be thought of under the symbol
of a number of lines of endeavour, converging on one point. It has the
stability induced by such centralisation on one objective, and is in
type a church. But many modern fellowships are more like a number
of connected dots; the relation of the members is mainly with one
another, they form a high-minded mob, not an organic group. The
fundamental distinction comes out very clearly if we think of it on the
highest of all levels, in connection with the Holy Eucharist; which, in
accordance with current religious conceptions, is now frequently
described as a Sacrament of Fellowship. It is the centering of each
soul upon the altar, the fact that each is drawn by the same love and
devotion, though from different angles and in very different degrees,
which
 Page 107
make the real fellowship of the Eucharist. The objective, the assigned
end, the heart of the common experience is for all the same; and that
is the identity which binds spirits to one another most firmly, which
makes them most amenable to the good influences of group
suggestion, which opposes the special evils inherent in group life. We
see all this again in the fellowship between artists, craftsmen, men of
science, supremely too in the armythe binding force of a common
enthusiasm for something not ourselves.
Let us, then, take these two points: first that identity of aim is the
secret of fellowship, and next that its true type is seen in the family or
church, and not the hostel or the herd; and in their light let us consider
some of the great Christian fellowships and communities of the past.
Look first at the primitive Benedictines. They are, for our purposes,
very instructive. As they first came into being under St. Benedict's
own rule, they present an almost perfect example of Christian group-
life. They owed their origin to the searching personal experience of St.
Benedict himselfthose three lonely years of spiritual preparation at
Subiaco, from which he came out knowing what he ought to do. It is
plain that this realisation was perceived by others, and they gathered
round him in order to share his certitude. The foundation of their
fellowship was common desire to live in a true relation to God, and
common loyalty to the leaders who helped them to do this. They were
absorbed, not in each other or in any theory of a corporate lifewhich
is, perhaps, only one degree less poisonous than being absorbed in
one's own soulbut in this common allegiance and aim. The first
communities were groups of about a dozen men, each under a father,
an Abbotthe family idea. The monasteries were small farms, where all
alike worked hard. By thus living in association, they obtained
freedom and opportunity to attend to Godtheir real aimin a degree
impossible to individuals in the corrupt Roman world of the 6th
century. The rule of life of St. Benedictwhich represents for all time
what he thinks such a brotherhood, such a social experiment in the
spiritual life, ought to be likeis instinct with the most exquisite
courtesy, consideration, and unselfishness. All is quiet and ordered.
No ferocious religiosity, nothing feverish, nothing peculiar. No
physical austerities. Just the definite attempt to live a fully Christian
life, centred
 Page 108
on God and growing steadily towards God; the balanced life of word
and prayer, in homely, ordered fellowship. All the ordinary little
incidents of common life are made to contribute to this growth in
charity and meekness. St. Benedict's quiet time with God had taught
him to lay stress on elements which the older monasticism had often
missed. Remember how the more fervent and punctual brethren were
told to say the first psalm of the night-office very slowly, so as to give
time for those who overslept themselves to get in to choir; how in the
dormitory they were ''gently to encourage" those who hated getting
up; how the perfect performance of all sorts of humble tasks counted.
Consider the reasonableness which altered the rule to suit the
conditions of the hot Italian summer, and permitted the siesta in the
middle of the day; the direction that monks going on a journey should
make no show of poverty or piety, but put on their tunics and look as
much as possible like other men. This was a fellowship of real human
beings, and the combination of work, reading, and prayer insisted on
for all, produced wholesome and varied life in which each side of
human nature was given opportunity for expression. I have sometimes
thought that those fundamental ideas of early Benedictinism which are
not dependant on actually living togetherthe obligation of full,
harmonious, God-directed life, with its fixed elements of labour, study
and devotion, all vigorously prosecuted, yet all subserviant to the
humble cultivation of Christian inwardnessmight well form the basis
of an open fellowship, corrective of many weaknesses in
contemporary religious life.
At the opposite pole from Benedictine reasonableness, with its truly
Roman sense of order and propriety, and the type of fellowship which
it produced, consider Franciscan enthusiasm and the fellowship in
which it was expressed. The primitive Franciscans, the First
Companions, were individual men of all classes and types, who
suddenly perceived that St. Francis was speaking the literal truth when
he said that perfect poverty was also perfect freedom. He uncovered a
little corner of spiritual reality, and they rushed towards it; inspired by
a common desire to share his divine joy and liberation, escape with
him from the entanglement of things. A great idea bound them
together; not merely the idea of being bound together. We never catch
Brother Leo, Brother Giles, or Brother Juniper worrying about
fellowship; yet its spirit trans-
 Page 109
fuses their lives. They felt, as we must all feel, that individuals living
in a social order which is largely hostile to spiritual values cannot
hope in isolation to achieve freedom, and rearrange and maintain
existence with direct reference to God. Such freedom is, primarily,
freedom from self-regarding impulses; and there is no more subtle and
dangerous form of self-regard than that of the spiritual solitary, forced
as it were to put barbed wire round the edges of his soul. The free
religious associations of the pastand real Franciscanism, following
here the example of real primitive Christianity, was of this sort, more
akin to the Friends of God and the Quakers than to an order properly
so-calledthese were born of an implicit consciousness of this danger.
Their members realised the exact sort of liberation which came from a
joining-up with other like-minded souls; the way in which this met the
human need for mutual support and opportunity of mutual service,
enriched and gave variousness to love. And here is a point where they
have a distinct lesson for our own day.
Yet there is a compensating feature in all these healthy fellowships,
equally important for us; and that is a certain suppleness, ample place
left for individual growth. The group life, the fellowship, is clearly felt
to be only one side of the whole complex of spiritual life. It gives to
the members all the characters and advantages inherent in human
gregariousness; more than this, it gives them a real share in the
leader's spirit, something of his special quality enhances their lives.
We may be sure that in the early thirteenth century, before the
contamination of the primitive ideal, there was felt to be something
about Franciscans which made them, in other people's eyes though
probably not in their own, seem different from any one else. They
were children of the same family; each in his own way reflected
something of the spirit of their father Francis, yet individual variation
of character was left untampered with. As we see that our Lord
welcomed, but never sought to change or level-down the marked
extremes of temperament in the immediate circle of His disciples,
leaving each personality intact; so among the first Franciscans we see
Leo, Juniper, Giles, the gentle, vigorous, mystical, practical, bound in
one fellowship because salted with Lady Poverty's salt. Even more
marked is the unity in diversity of the early Quakers; the sturdy yet
visionary Fox, the intellectual Isaac Penington, the
 Page 110
adventurous Penn, Marmaduke Stevenson taken from the plough and
Robert Barclay the aristocrat, coming from Calvinism via Rome into
the Society of Friends. All these were friends, because all waited in
their own way on one Inner Light. Again, such fellowship and
common life were never, in the best examples, allowed to interfere
with the proper liberties, the silence and solitude, needed for the full
growth to God of every soul. Though the primitive Benedictine rule
contemplates a life entirely in common and without external privacy
of any kind, yet the periods left for meditation and secret prayer
witness to a realisation that both the vertical and the horizontal
expansions are required, if the full possibilities of the soul are to be
expressed. Here, as in all life's greatest manifestations, any indulgence
of the passion for simplification will defeat its own end. Our Lord
Himself, whose public life was passed as the inspiring centre of a
small and open fellowship, balanced this social self-emergence by
long periods of solitary prayer; and what He demanded for Himself,
we may be sure that He also allowed, and still allows, His disciples.
In this St. Francis followed closely the example of His Master.
Though Jesus in Gethsemane asked the prayers and support of His
fellows, it was no act of corporate devotion which revealed to us the
awful mystery of Divine surrender. St. Francis, the most
companionable of souls, is shown to us again and again withdrawing
into solitude for prayer. Whatever view we may take of the episode of
the stigmata, it must represent the dramatic expression of a spiritual
communion far exceeding in worth, reality, and cost that joyous
fellowship with man and nature which makes St. Francis so attractive
to the modern mind. It does not stand alone. We have the record of
those nights when Francisby day the "little poor brother" of all
creation and the child-like minstrel of Christwithdrew into solitude; of
the simple yet profound aspiration which, repeated again and again,
expressed the stretching-out of his soul in love to God. The history of
religion, I think, teaches us steadily that if this individual and vertical
relation of the soul be allowed to slacken or become impoverished, no
mere increase in the horizontal relation will make up for it. Fellowship
life is only truly beneficent where it protects and fosters such personal
communion; indeed, is based on it. We cannot escape this conclusion
by saying that such vivid vertical relations and
 Page 111
experiences are those of the saints, and so have little to do with us.
Sanctity, and not merely a genial well-being, is that which the Church
exists to promote, and Christian fellowships dilute our best religious
values, if they consciously depart from this ideal.
It is instructive for us to compare those groups which maintained the
primary interest of the vertical relation with God, and were associated
for its sake, with those in which the maintenance of their own status
and special conceptions became primary. Compare thus the first
Franciscans, for whom poverty, freedom from possessions, was a
grace, a joy, a bride, with the later Spirituals and their degenerate
offshoots the Fraticelli, for whom uncompromising external poverty
and squalor became a fetish, the practice of which marked them off
from other men. Again, consider the free open society of the Friends
of God, widely scattered in body through Germany, but so closely
united in spirit, in religious feeling, that they were truly friends of one
another because of their primary friendship with God; who put
forward no special doctrines and teaching, but only sought to deepen
and make more inward the Christianity of their time. Compare their
temper with the rigidity of later sects; the "and-and" of the rich, warm,
various, Catholic type of fellowship, deepening experience and
keeping true to the twin stars of humility and love with the "or-or" of
the compromising sectary, narrowing and intensifying life.
Actually contemporary with the Friends of God was the worst
example mediaeval Christianity has to show us, of a fellowship gone
wrongthe notorious Brotherhood of the Free Spirit. This, too, has
something to teach us. We find in it the poisonous notion of two
grades of souls: the crowd, for whom a "popular religion" of outward
symbol and sacraments is good enough, and the superior spirits
capable of initiation into a secret knowledge, who are above these
things and ultimately above all need of discipline, since they are
guided by the Spirit Itself. Of course no saint, indeed no decent
Christian, ever lived who thought himself a superiour spirit, or felt
initiated into anything higher than that Love of God, which always
makes those who have it love the lowliest people best. Nevertheless
the taint of exclusiveness, the claim to have done with the common
external practices and live by an inward illumination, the whole
apparatus of formal grades,
 Page 112
of spiritual advancementall this kind of thing is perpetually attractive
to human nature of a certain type; and right through religious history,
from the Gnostics to our own times, it tends to incorporate itself in
fellowships. It exists, quite strongly, at the present day. There is a
distinct flavour of it about a certain sort of Church Guild, and more
than a flavour about those modern groups which offer their members a
type of spiritual experience above or distinct from that of simple
Christian piety; which profess, as it were, to have a recipe for making
mystics. History condemns all these. People who draw together
because they feel they know more about religion than others are really
drawing away from the Body of Christ. "We, in this Guild, feel
ourselves specially called to the vocation of self-annihilation," said
one religious society chiefly remarkable for this startling self-
consciousness, and for that confident air of knowing all about it which
is so conspicuously absent from the saints. The real value of
incorporation abides the check placed on individualism. The danger
lies in replacing individualism by some such form of group-arrogance.
Again, it is the free gentle tolerance and courtesy, the homeliness,
hospitableness, and mutual helpfulness of an ideal spiritual family that
we want to aim at; for this alone is really Christian, harmonious to the
mind of Christ. We want to avoid a fierce, keyed up type of
devotedness; anything that gives an opening to preciousness. The best
group-movements in Christian history in their purity do give us that
homely, humble, self-forgetting atmosphere; the families of St.
Benedict and St. Francis, for instance, or of the Brethren of the
Common Lifethat group of quite ordinary people who joined up in
order to insure for themselves a simple regular life of work and
prayer. Compare St. Benedict's rule, that monks going into the world
must wear tidy clothes and look as much as possible like ordinary
men, with the sumptuary laws binding on tertiary Franciscans of the
fanatical period, or on many of the Puritan sects, and which made
them stand out from among their fellows. History shows again and
again that external peculiarities, leading inevitably to the "we are the
few, the chosen few," type of feeling, belong to the shady side of
fellowship, and mark the downward grade towards sectarianism.
When we see earnest people adorned with a large clanking bunch of
guild
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medals, we cannot help feeling that perhaps this is not quite the way
in which the modern Friends of God should recognise each other; it is
too cosy, too much like a spiritual club.
True Christian fellowship is at once subtler, deeper, wider, and yet
more gentle and common-place than this. It is born, as the Church was
born at Pentecost, of a common surrender, varying perhaps infinitely
in its expression, to one invading and subduing Power. In this sense it
must still be conterminous with the whole of the invisible Church. Yet
it is natural and right that smaller family groups within the great
family of God should be drawn together by special sympathies and
needs, so long as the great general mutual love of all souls in Christ is
not infringed. This, I think, the past history of Christian groups
teaches us. The best and most fruitful were those which were formed
inside the Church, and never regarded their own incorporation as
implying a criticism of the Church as a whole. Wesley's movement in
its best, richest, most fruitful time, conformed to this law. The great
Orders and associations of the Middle Ages obviously did so; and
their spiritual health is in startling contrast to the cranky intensities of
those which separated themselves from the main body, claimed to be
the recipients of special illumination.
Consider now how the past history of Christian fellowship illustrates
the findings of modern group-psychology. Prof. McDougall, in his
great work on "The Group-Mind," declared four things to be requisite
for the development of an organic group-life. These are: (1) a
common tradition, continued existence along the same lines, so that
all incoming members find, as it were, the home atmosphere waiting
to receive them, and are not obliged to begin again from the beginning
in their own strength. (2) Some sort of authorityfor only thus can the
tradition and its customs conceivably be preserved and handed on
from one generation of members to the next. (3) A conscious common
interest, belief, or enthusiasm. (4) The existence of some antagonistic
conditions, giving something for the group to endure, fight or even
suffer in common; for only thus will corporate loyalty and keenness
be developed. The primitive Christian Church, of course, met all those
conditions fully, and any association of really keen Christians meets
them still. All the best religious orders and communities met these
four conditions.
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(1) They had their special traditions and customstheir own
atmosphere. (2) They had the enduring authority of their leader. St.
Benedict, St. Francis, St. Teresa, Fox, Wesley, General Boothall these
gave a stamp, a family tradition to their creations, a stamp which in
many cases marks them still. (3) They had a conscious common
enthusiasm, for their very lives together, their disciplines and self-
denials, implied one or another aspect of the soul's enthusiasm for
God as the determining influence of their lives. (4) They had
hardships and difficulties to meet; they always found themselves
opposed by other complexes, other ways of seeing and dealing with
life. These characteristics, working together, produced in them a
genuine group consciousness, a corporate mind to which each member
contributed and which on the other hand each member helped to
achieve. It is not a mere vague metaphor to talk of the Benedictine,
Franciscan, or Quaker spirit. These are veritable creations within the
religious sphere, resulting from the incorporation of the founder's
special secret, and its development through and in other souls. Thus a
definite type of character is brought into being and propagated; for the
group-spirit, once developed, is contagious, moulding, gently but
inevitably all who are submitted to its influence. It enhances each
individual consciousness which is merged in it, producing many
varieties of one recognisable type.
Baron von Hugel says that "the very character, actuation and worth of
our own spirit, its closest correspondence with the spirit of God,
consists in its power of penetrating and being penetrated by, other
minds." We are probably nowhere near realising yet the full
implication of this truth; all that it can be made to do in the sphere of
the religious life. Here psychology has a long way to go. But we can
see in history countless illustrations of the great effects flowing from
this phenomenon of spiritual penetration, and so perhaps learn to give
it full opportunity of action on highest levels among ourselves. Its
activity is not limited to community life. Thus in the case of the
Friends of God we may be sure that they consisted of a large number
of ordinary people, leavened by a few choice spirits and endowed thus
with a common spiritual outlook, even a common spiritual sensibility.
Again, I suppose that at one time or another, we have all heard the
remark, "There is something about Quakers which makes them
different from other
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people." There is, indeed, a poise and quietude, a sort of a family
likeness, which we trace back to the founders, who developed it in
suffering persecution and mutual love; and which still reflects the
noble detachment and trustfulness of those who are willing to be
guided by the Inner Light. While outward peculiarity is certainly no
good sign of fellowship, this common possession of radiating grace is
surely the best sign of all.
It is such a real inwardness, a deep spirit of love and prayerfor all
Christians meet on the level of real prayer; they can't help itwhich we
see produced and cultivated in the best group movements of the past,
and which constitutes the true bond of fellowship. And we see these
movements and this result produced, not by any deliberate
establishment of a ring-fenced body or institution, but in a gentle way,
at once natural and supernatural, by the drawing together of Christ's
lovers, and the merging of all their separate strivings in the movement
of His will. We can see something of the same process in a small way
in what often happens at a good retreat. Individuals do not primarily
go to a retreat in order to find fellowship with one another. Yet the
identity of aim and way of life, the prayer-charged atmosphere, the
absence of personal striving, so draws together all those surrendered
to it, that during the hours of silence they are more and more welded
into one. They have lived for a few days the life of the ideal religious
community, and as a consequence wholly new vistas of spiritual
experience have been revealed to them. Thus, even by the busiest of
us, the great religious lessons of the past can be received in the here-
and-now.
Last, and this again is a lesson which history emphatically teaches, all
such incorporations, such use of man's social impulse for religious
ends, must ever be regarded as part of, and helping towards, the
perfecting of the one and only real fellowship of the spirit; that of all
souls which are burning with the love of God. Even now, these souls
usually recognise each other at sight. There is no barrier between
them; whatever their theological colour may be, those different flames
meet, merge and love. Note how clearly this characteristic is brought
out in the Divine Comedy, which sums up all the spiritual discoveries
of the mediaeval world. In the Inferno, the general note is that of a
number of separate and self-centered sufferings. Only Paolo and
Francesca cling to one
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another in utmost loss, because they have at least learned that much
love; and we feel that their agony is mitigated by it, their damnation is
less complete than that of the rest. In the Purgatorio, groups of souls
submit together to discipline, and "we" begins more and more to take
the place of "I." In the Paradiso, the fully redeemed souls are so fused
together, yet without any loss of personality or separate bliss, that the
Eagle, the Rosy Cross, at last the Celestial Rosefellowships of
beatitudebecome the true social expressions of the Will and Love of
God.
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In "The Authority of Personal Religious Experience" published in
Theology in 1925 Underhill gave an eloquent defense of the power
and authority of personal experience of God. She offered means by
which to evaluate such experience and claimed that there is no
separation between this personal experience and the life of love lived
in the world.
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The Authority of Personal Religious Experience

With the growing modern interest in the mystical aspect of religion,
the ever-increasing attention to, and discussion of, individual spiritual
experience, the problem of the degree of authority we should attribute
to such experience becomes pressing for all students of theology. The
claim to a first-hand knowledge of God is as old as man's religious
consciousness. Is it even a valid claim: And if so, what are the tests
and limitations we should apply to it? This question is tantamount to
an inquiry into the extent in which the personal spiritual life of the
individual depends on and takes its sanctions from his own inner light.
It leads to a further question, as to the authority of those who claim to
speak, or seem to speak, from an unusually full, vivid, and direct
spiritual experience, that is to say, the mystics. Are we to accept at its
face value, and act upon, all that they tell us? How much attention
ought we to pay to these sources of information about the spiritual
world? What checks and safeguards ought we to employ in respect of
them? How are we to distinguish the lunatic from the visionary? And
when it comes to the problem of private judgment, how are we to
distinguish the hysteric from the saint? How, in ourselves, are we
going to decide between the results of mental prayer and of auto-
suggestion?
Some months ago a lady was introduced to me who opened the
conversation in these terms: ''My dear Miss Underhill, I do so want to
tell you that I always keep your dear books on a table by
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my bed; and I don't know whether it is your dear books, or whether it
is my soft white bed, but directly I lie down I do have the most
wonderful illuminations from the Absolute!" That lady put in a
nutshell the difficulties in deciding the degree of first-hand authority
attaching to mystical experience. How much of that experience is due
to the dear booksall the suggestions and all the images derived from
tradition and literature? How much is due to the soft white bedsuitable
and protective religious environment? Is the religious individualist,
even the individualist of genius, ever quite so individual and
unsupported as he thinks? Is a pure experience ever possible to him at
all; or must there always be in it a subjective element, an
interpretative activity of the minda mind which has been fed by
literature and dogma? Does "the flight of the Alone to the Alone" ever
really take place?
This discrimination of personal experience from tradition and
environment is by no means so easy as it appears at first sight to eager
admirers of the mystics. I doubt whether it is ever perfectly achieved
even by the onlooker; certainly never by the experient. Take up St.
Augustine's Confessions: a book which brings the problem before us
in an acute form, owing to the distinct claim made in it to first-hand
experience, and the enormous influence it exercised on later
generations. Consider what that book would have been like, indeed
what St. Augustine's spiritual experience would have been like, if he
had not read Plotinus. Do or do not those marvellous passages in
which he is using Plotinian language and ideas bring to the Christian
Church authoritative information about Augustine's own experience of
God? Did Plotinus give him more than a formula by which his real
and immediate apprehensions could be reduced to literary form? Did
not the suggestive influence of the Plotinian books affect the actual
experience as well? Above and beyond this, consider the Christian
atmosphere in which St. Augustine lived: first the presence and
anxious love of St. Monica, then the immense prestige of St.
Ambrose; finally the liturgic influences of the Churchof course,
enormously increased after he entered the priesthood. Have we not
here the soft white bed? Before we can say definitely what first-hand
news of spiritual realities Augustine brings to us, we have to subtract
all this. We have to decide what the mystical experience of a bookless
Augustine on a desert island would have
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been like. All the rest may, for other reasons, carry authority for us;
but not the authority of immediate experience.
When we come to the mystics of the Middle Ages, on whom St.
Augustine's own influence was paramount, the problem becomes even
more acute; and even more and more acute with the addition of each
great constructive mind to the roll of the mystics of the Church. The
pile of books gets bigger and bigger, and the soft white bed gets softer
and softer. The surroundings of the cloister, the growing mass of
mystical literature, envelope the individual with an ever more
favouring atmosphere. He enters a spiritual tradition which has come
to be accepted en bloc by all contemplative minds; and its influence
on him is necessarily great. How much, then, of his total experience
represents illuminations from the Absolute, first-hand and uncoloured
intercourse with God? Certainly far less than earlier students
supposed. We are perpetually identifying more and more of the
significant sayings of the mystics; and tracing them to their source,
finding new truth in the saying that "behind every saint stands another
saint." Even the most eccentric and individual among them, such as
Boehme, Fox, or Blake, even the most impassioned proclaimers of the
uniqueness of their own inner lightthese, too, when we really look into
it, have the dear books and the soft white bed. At the very least they
are all soaked in the Bible, which provides them with a constant
stream of suggestive imagery; and generally, beyond this, have a
considerable literary ancestry, which careful study has more and more
unveiled to us. They cannot be isolated. Boehme receives food from
the earlier German mystics and the hermetic literature of the
Renaissance period; Blake, from Swedenborg and the Quietists; Fox,
from the innumerable experimenters who had preceded him.
All this seems at first sight very disconcerting. We are tempted to
explain every apparent experience in terms of the working out of
tradition and environment. Yet, on the other hand, we must remember
that originally somebody wrote those dear books. Somehow and
somewhere, these vivid accounts of spiritual experience did begin:
they entered human history through a human consciousnessthe only
way, of course, in which revelation still remains open; then we must
believe that the authoritative news of God which did come once can
still come to
 Page 122
us through those channels; and our problem becomes the problem of
deciding on the marks by which we should recognize it.
Two such marks are surely of signal importance; (1) Consensus of
witness; (2) life-giving power. That is, our view of the authority
attaching to mystical experience cannot be arrived at without
considering (a) the comparison of any one message with the general
religious sense of the Church: (b) the whole of the life into which that
message came. On a lower level, the authority of every individual
experience can be measured by the same rules:
I
We cannot accept as authoritative any experience which isolates the
experient; cuts him out of his social or historical background. The
truth must come to fulfill and not to destroy. This really amounts to
the same thing as the classic test proposed by Richard of St. Victor in
the well-known saying: "I will not believe I see Christ transfigured,
unless Moses and Elias (that is to say, the moral law and the
traditional revelation) are with him." This at once rules out the
eccentric and illuminist, and brings us into the presence of the sober
realism of the saints; with their interest in conduct, their perpetual
demand for purification, their willing use of traditional formulae. It
reminds us how one and all of them have acknowledged tests to be
necessary, how deeply they felt the uniformity of the action of the
Spirit of God, how much they distrusted and disliked the bizarre and
sensational: as in their constant warning against psychophysical
phenomena being confused with spiritual experiences, or the blunt
reminder of St. John of the Cross that many persons say God has
spoken to them, when they have only been talking to themselves. We
see, too, how all supposed experience which the general good sense of
Christendom does not endorse has failed in the past to be influential.
Montanism, founded on the unbridled claim to a personal ecstatic
experience, soon died away. The special revelation of the Abbot
Joachim failed in the end to find acceptance. The undisciplined
illuminism of the Brothers of the Free Spirit merely led to degeneracy,
and in the end even to immorality. The cause in all these cases seems
to have been a lack of sobriety, an absence of the true
 Page 123
historical sense: Moses and Elias do not run to meet any of these
supposed transfigured souls. Individual experience, then, only
becomes authoritative when emerging from and backed up by the
corporate experience. It must form one strand in the whole rich life of
the religious body. Any effort at undue simplification of this life, at
creating an opposition between the religion of authority and the
religion of the spirit, becomes in the end destructive of both.
As a matter of fact, the consensus of witness which does exist
amongst all the most solid of the mystics and contemplatives is
remarkable. As we become intimate with them, the conviction
deepens that they do all experience in different ways and degrees one
and the same reality. We need not even limit this statement to
Christians. All experimental theists have something in common. Their
experiences may differ, but do not rule each other out. Though many
of them may, and indeed often do, rebel against religious formalism
they are seldom hostile to the great outlines of religious doctrine.
Even the very greatest contemplativessuch as Ruysbroeck, who
seemed to carry human apprehension far beyond the horizons of the
common mindyet begin with the simplest essentials, the ordinary
ways both of morality and belief: and they carry these up with them in
their flights, they do not leave them behind.
II
In addition to this, genuine spiritual experience transforms those who
receive it; and it cannot be regarded as authoritative unless it does
this. In theological language, it is a sanctifying grace. It is guaranteed
by its life-giving power: and if found to possess this life-giving power,
however much in it may seem due to tradition or fostered by
environment, we may and ought to acknowledge its genuineness and
authority. Thus St. Augustine's use of Plotinian language does not
discredit his experience. He used it because it best expressed that
which he was trying to say. Under the influence of the experience
which he tries to describe to us he became, like St. Francis at his
conversion, another man; and the mere result of suggestion and
imagination does not so transform. Here Augustine is particularly
valuable to us: because
 Page 124
we seem to have in him both the result of traditional suggestion and
the result of genuine experience traditionally expressed. Thus he tells
us that when he was trying to find Divine Reality through the study of
the Platonic books, his state was that of one who looks for a wooded
height at the land of peace, but does not see the road thereto. He says
of his achievement of the Platonic ecstasy: "With the flash of hurried
glance I attained ... but I could not sustain my gaze": for this
experience was directly induced by books. It did not do for him; it had
not authority for life. I think to a limited extent, we may even say the
same of the celebrated experience at Ostia, where he sits with St.
Monica by the window, and their thoughts for a moment touch the
Eternal Truth. That is a very beautiful, but surely, with its direct
dependence on Plotinus, a very literary scene. But the profound and
penetrating consciousness of God to which he had come after nine
years of full and costly Christian life, in which moral and intellectual
tensions were completely maintained, was of a very different kind.
When he exclaims: "I tossed upon the wave, and Thou didst steer. ...
What can I say, my God, my holy joy? What can any man say when
he speaks of Thee?" That is not borrowed from books; nor was the
exacting and selfless life Augustine was living at this time supported
by a book-fed spirituality. So, too, with St. Paul. Not his Rabinnical
knowledge, not his ecstatic revelations and visionary experience, but
the consciousness of a Power in which he could do all things, and the
fact that he actually did the things, guarantee the first-hand character
and authority of his experience.
Again, consider the First Isaiah; from whom we have what is perhaps
one of the most marvellous accounts of a human soul's direct contact
with transcendent reality. His experience is guaranteed by the fact that
it did not merely give him private information, but made him an actual
source of authority for those to whom he prophesied. More than this,
his personal record added something new to the whole Jewish-
Christian tradition.
Even in the brief account which we possess of it, we can distinguish
certain characteristics. In the first place the experience, though
absolutely individual and soul-piercing was not dissociated from the
historical and institutional environment into which Isaiah was born.
The place of his enlightenment was the
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seat of his national cultus. The time was connected with national
events. It was "the year in which King Uzziah died." The symbols
under which an imageless Reality was mediated to him were of a
familiar kind: the "glory of the Lord" and attendant seraphim. But
transfusing all this, and not to be evokedthough doubtless it is to be
interpretedby the suggestions inherent in traditional material, are the
unmeasured awe and adoration of the seraphim, the profound
abasement of the human creature brought within the radius of perfect
Holiness and Power. The authority of Isaiah's experience, for himself
and also for those capable of feeling its quality, centres upon this
recognition of a supernatural atmosphere, and is further guaranteed by
its results. Those results were practical, and decisive for Isaiah's life.
"Whom shall we send?," and the immediate answer, "Send me!"
Now the experience of God which has true authority is, I believe, in
the long run always a vocational experience. It always impels to some
sort of service: always awakens an energetic love. It never leaves the
self where it found it. It forces the experient to try and do hard things.
It says to St. Augustine, "Take and read," and presently compels the
apparent sacrifice of his whole worldly career. It says to Suso, "Be a
man," and leads him to the Upper School of Resignation. It asks of
Pascal "a total yet a sweet renunciation." The language, the tradition,
and the symbol through which such a dynamic experience comes have
little importance. They are media. The point is that the effects are
vital. Had the lady who first set this problem for us felt compelled to
reduce the hours which she spent in that soft white bed; better still,
had she been hauled out of it to kneel on the hard floor; then, we
might have felt more certitude about the authority of her visions of the
Absolute.
So we come to this. The person whose experience we may consider
authoritative is one for whom vision and surrender are one thing, and
a dynamic thingthe person who is forced to exclaim, "Send me!"
Those to whom this happens never doubt the reality of the sanctions
under which they are acting. They are sure that a real coal off a real
altar has touched their lips. The modern French contemplative, Lucie
Christine, says of her own first plunge into direct mystical experience,
"My soul opened and drank in God, and He was to me a light, an
attraction, and a
 Page 126
power." That is to say, a source of more vision, more love, and more
energy. Vision without love-impelled action should always be held
suspect. Sudden and fleeting glimpses may well be imaginary; we
have at least no test by which to decide whether they are or not. But
we are bound to feel more respect for those solid certitudes which are
crowned by a life of sacrifice. The real words of God, said another
modern saint, always do what they say. They must leave the soul other
than that which they found it. Thus the guarantee that Isaiah's
experience was not compounded of unsteady nerves and a vivid
imagination is the subsequent career of Isaiah himself. The guarantee
that the Voice which said to St. Francis, "Repair My Church," had its
origin beyond the saint's subconscious mindthough this doubtless
provided the formulais again the heroic and life-giving life of Francis
himself. So, too, the first mystical experiences of Angela of Foligno
forced her to a long penance and education; and it was through this
that she reached that level of experience and truth, that vivid certitude,
which turned a middle-aged widow living in seclusion in a small
Italian town into a powerful spiritual personality, a mother of saints.
This ultimate state of creativeness and not the strangeness of her
visions is the guarantee of Angela's experience.
All the mighty figures of our religious history possess in a certain
degree this definite creative quality, a winning and yet awe-inspiring
authority of their own; and, traced back, we find this always originates
in a personal and first-hand experience of spiritual realities, a genuine
contact with and surrender to a supernatural and more living world.
These people bring into human life something which neither virtuous
living nor tradition nor philosophy alone can produce; something
other than the natural or the rational, something which is entirely
given, yet in being received involves the experient in costly
obligations. They alone can truly assure us of spiritual realities,
because they are themselves living the life of the spirit. Theirs is the
authority of experience; andwhatever their level of apprehension or
expression may beit is in essence the same as the authority of the
mystics and the saints. And this authority of the saints, living and
dead, is an authority not of information but of personality. They may
not know more than other men, but they are more than other men.
Few people are so unfortunate as to pass through life without
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once coming into touch with sanctity; and sanctity is unequalled in its
power of making all who meet it sure about the spiritual world. There
we touch the real authority of personal experience. The saints
themselves possess a certitude past argument. It may be one they are
wholly unable to express adequately; yet they can often convey it
under the crudest, and even apparently most absurd, forms. When we
meet it, it compels our assent; for the reaction of the soul to sanctity is
an all-or-none reaction. We may want to heckle theologians; but we
never want to heckle saints. Moreover, the testimony of the saints
invariably obeys the rule of Richard of St. Victor, in that it does
corroborate the Scriptures; and it does this just because the New
Testament is so largely the record of personal experience of God,
which has been repeated again and again. It is impossible to draw a
line at the end of the Apocalypse and say, here direct revelation
through personality comes to an end. As a matter of fact the saints not
only say, but show, that St. Paul's loftiest declarations describe things
that will always happen if the conditions are right. Thus there really is
a sense in which it is true to say that there exists an inner church of
prophecy and vision, often ministering in very odd places, and
through extremely odd men; and this is the Church that possesses the
direct authority of experience.
Turn now from the authority wielded by the personal experience of
the real saint or the mystic, to the authority which we ought to
attribute to the limited experiences of ordinary menthe general
participation in the inner light claimed by the Quakers, for instance,
and regarded by them as authoritative. We cannot dissociate these
claims; for both the claim of the specialist and the claim of the
ordinary man must rest on a certain identity existing between them. If
the spiritual landscape of the mystic were wholly other than our own,
if he had a supernatural life and we had none at all, then he would
have no value and meaning for us. We could not understand his
declarations: they could not thrill us as they do with admiration and
desire, if our small vague experience were not, so far as it goes, a bit
of the one Reality, and due, as Von Hugel insists, to a "real presence
and operation of the Infinite and of God in all men." If our limited
apprehension be not endorsed by the declarations of those great
explorers, then we are left without a clue, and are placed outside the
Communion of
 Page 128
Saints. But if the mystics' contemplation of God represents the full
expansion of a power latent in all, if it is just the higher term of the
normal experiences of recollective prayer, then the whole inquiry into
the mystical faculty and its authority becomes highly significant for
us.
As a matter of fact, is not this what happens? As men progress in the
inner life so, bit by bit, do they not find that the declarations of the
saints in respect of it do answer to experience, and do work out right?
And on this account they become more and more willing to accept
those declarations about truths still beyond the horizon of the natural
mind. Most people, and in the beginning all people, accept the
supernatural, if they accept it at all, simply on authority. But they do
this because of the prevenient authority of the Spirit within
themselves; only because of a dim sense of the supernatural existing
within us, can we ever recognize the accent of the supernatural in the
seer or the saint. In all rich and full religious lives, and even in those
which make the most use of tradition, this primary personal
experience must have a place. Those who are quite spiritually
insensitive do not really accept the authority based on experience at
all. In consequence of this, they do not get all that the authority of
institution and tradition should be able to give them; for they do not
detect any inside to it. But any man or woman who has genuine
experience of the inner life, and sufficient humility to realize the very
low place most of us occupy on the great ladder of prayer, will, when
they have found their place on that ladder, find that the advice of the
mystics in respect of it always works. Those mystics are the true seat
of authority for the conduct of the inner life, though not necessarily
for anything else; for we must always be careful to distinguish their
accounts of spiritual experience from the explanations which they
offer about it.
Having reached this point, we have got a touchstone for the worth and
authority of our own mystical impressions, if we ever have them.
These impressions just agree in a general sense with the mind of the
Church as to conduct and beliefMoses and Eliasand, so far as they go,
must also agree in a general sense with the drift of the teaching of the
mystics, and must impel to something equivalent to their dispositions
of soul: loving, humble, awed. They must produce, or tend towards, a
genuine
 Page 129
spiritualization of the self. They must give a wish to work and endure;
and never a feeling that the experient knows more about Reality than
other people. A fretful disgust with tradition or an impatience with
current institutions is always suspicious. It belongs more often to the
shallows than the deeps of the spiritual life; and leads to an impossible
demand for simplification, an extreme individualism, a disregard for
social values, which starve the soul.
To sum up. Man receives authoritative news of the spiritual world
through more than one channel, and must react to that world in more
than one way if he is not to cramp his soul. We are social and solitary,
historical and eternal creatures. There is no single seat of authority in
religion; we climb to reality by a rope of many strands, each giving
strength to the rest. Christianity, at once so historical, so institutional,
and so mystical, emphasizes this. All these media of God's
communication to man possess authority; and each must be checked
by the rest. Moreover, uncriticized personal experience, governed as it
is by apperception, gives us certitude rather than fact. We find an
implicit recognition of this in the greatest contemplative saints; and
neglect of it leads to heresy and fanaticism. Under analysis even the
purest personal experience of God turns out to be a compoundthe
mind which goes to His encounter is not, and cannot be, a blank sheet.
Therefore the fact that the experience is presented in traditional terms
does limit, but does not discredit it: it must have some conceptual
clothes. It is better to accept this human necessity than to demand a
wholly impossible escape from our own minds. Yet, accepting, we
should still remember the distinction between the dim yet vivid
contact of the soul with spiritual reality, and the more or less symbolic
formula under which it is apprehended: for this formula may be
modified, or even lose all value for us, as time goes onyet its
departure may leave the supernatural content unimpaired. This
contentthe finding and feeling of the Infiniteis unmistakable when it
happens, and has authority for life; and it is here that the consensus of
the mystics is most impressive. They compel us to admit that they
touch profound mysteries we cannot guess at, yet they do this most
often by way of a deeper entrance into, a more profound interpretation
of, the raw material of the corporate religious life; which supports and
transfuses
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them, and which they take with them in their ascent to God. But the
greater the soul, the less this subjective aspect of its experience should
disturb us; for into this, too, the supernatural, which is everywhere
present, will necessarily enter more and more. We rightfully attribute
authority to any source of information about God which tells us real
news about Him, or evokes our generally dormant spiritual sense. If it
does this He is in itfor only the Infinite can evoke the soul's thirst for
the Infinite''Thou art the Love wherewith the soul loves Thee."
Pondering this, we reach a point where the distinction between the
form and the content of spiritual experience almost seems to
ceasewhen the soul, as an old mystic boldly expressed it, "sees neither
God nor herself, nor she knows but Him, nor she loves but Him, nor
she praises but Him, for there is but He." Such a level of divination
has seldom been achieved by human consciousness; and in its
absolute perfection only once. We sometimes forget that it is on the
authority of our Lord's experience of the Father that the whole
Christian Church is built; that this experience included not only
intuitions, but also events; and that in the culmination of His threefold
promise of prayer the authority of individual experience is guaranteed.
Knock, and it shall be opened. This is revelation. In it God goes
beyond our groping experiences, and fills up the creature's capacity
for the Infinite to the brim. The authority of such revelation is always
found overwhelming by those who are touched by it; and their
response is awe as well as delight.
Last, we must hold, as against all Quietism, that the authoritative
experience of God, individual or corporate, is ever the experience of
an Energy which both stimulates and attracts, and which evokes in us
a lesser energy and response. The authority of the mystics, of the
Church, or of tradition, is always found to be the authority of a person
or a group which has experienced this; which has tasted and been
quickened by Eternal Life. All, under an immense variety of symbolic
expression, witness to one thing; the universal presence of this
supernal energy and love. When our personal and interior experience
heightens our appreciation of this corporate experiencesacramental or
otherteaches us to discern more and more of the inward in the
outwardconvinces us of God: then, whether the mode be what we,
with our limited
 Page 131
outlook, choose to call normal or abnormal, does not, I think, matter
very much. If it weaves us into the whole, if it convicts of sin and
compels to disinterested action; then we may regard it as the genuine
and authoritative development of that dim instinct for Reality which is
latent in every soul.
 Page 133
"Prayer," a small pamphlet published by the Y.W.C.A. in 1926,
explored in a simple, homey way Underhill's understanding of prayer.
Ultimately prayer is a way of life, lived in adoration and adherence to
God.
 Page 135

Prayer
I
It is the object of this booklet to suggest a few thoughts on the great
subject of prayer; thoughts which, if we take them into our lives, may
eventually deepen our sense of its wonder and greatness.
Of course all Christians pray, some more, and some less; yet hardly
any of us come near the level that Christian prayer ought to reach, and
a great many go through life without even suspecting all that it is and
can be, and what it ought to achieve. In the rush of our daily life, we
don't perhaps have very much time for it; and forgetting that this is a
reason for learning to spend that time as well as we possibly can, we
slip into a routine, which soon becomes mechanical and unreal. Yet
we should never dream of wasting in this way our opportunities of
intercourse with anyone for whom we really care; and whatever else it
may be or become, our time of prayer is at least our great opportunity
of intercourse with Godconversing with Him, as a great saint once
said, "as one friend with another."
For prayer of every sort and kind is communion with God: the
intercourse of our tiny souls with the Spirit of Love and Power Who
fills the universe. We know and believe that there is no place where
God is not: prayer means the full realisation of this, the opening up of
our souls towards Him, our response to His attraction and love. If we
realise all that this implies, and compare it with our usual vague and
formal efforts, most of us have cause to feel ashamed; for neglecting
or misusing those spiritual opportunities given in prayer means losing
our chance of a friendship and life full of variety and growtha life, that
is, of close, real
 Page 136
personal contact with God, and of increasing richness and power as
our immature souls slowly expand under His influence. Hence all
attempts to narrow down prayer to this or that particular kind of
worship, to say that its purpose is "simply" this or that, spoil our
understanding of that richness and variety; a richness which is indeed
so great that no one person can hope to explore, apprehend, still less
to practise, all of it. We shall impoverish our own prayers if, forgetting
this whole, we allow ourselves to think only of that which we are able
to doas we lose the full sense of the beauty of the world if we forget
the Alps, because we must dwell in the lowlands, forget the great
plains and forests when we are on the sea.
The life of prayer represents our whole life towards heaven. Is it likely
that this shall be less in contrast and intricate beauty than the shadow-
life here which trains us for it? Christ's three promises about prayer
represent it as access to an inexhaustible treasure-house, from which
each of gets what we really desire, and more. We shall receive what
we ask for, find what we seek for, shall be received into the Kingdom
of Heaven if we choose to knock at the door. These are three
promises, you see, which leave to us the whole responsibility of
praying well; but which assure us that our real and active desires will
always be met and answered by God's desire to give. We give up all
these mighty possibilities when we merely content ourselves with
what is called "saying our prayers."
"Saying our prayers" means just taking the path of least resistance;
making no effort to discover all that prayer can mean to us, or train
our own spiritual powers. For some training, and indeed education,
are needed by all of us if we are even to begin to learn its real secrets.
Real prayer is a great and difficult art, in which even the most
experienced have something still to learn, and those who know most
are readiest to acknowledge that they are "little children" still. We
ought to take it at least as seriously as we take any other art we want
to practise; and give to the training and development of our souls the
same attention that we give so willingly to the training and
development of our bodies and minds. As we do not even use our
times of recreation well, if we leave them wholly to chance and never
give ourselves the trouble of developing some art or interest, or at
least learning
 Page 137
some game; so we shall not use our time of prayer well, if we do not
make some preparation for it, give some sort of education to our souls.
This is why I think it is worth while for all of us to consider very
carefully some of the ways in which we can improve our capacity for
communion with God.
II
In the first place, we know that if our bodies are to be healthy and
efficient, they must have proper food, fresh air, sufficient exercise;
and that it is our business to get these things if we can. Exactly the
same thing is true of our souls. If our spiritual lives are starved and
stuffy, if we keep the window shut, eat poor and indigestible food, and
never take proper exercise, we need not expect to be able to "prevail
in prayer." Prayer is a life, the life of the soul; and the soul, like the
body, only works properly if treated in a reasonable way. Spiritual
power is not the result of leaving things to chance; but depends, in the
first instance, very largely on our spiritual common sense and good
will. If we want it, we must take the trouble to feed our souls regularly
and carefully on the truest, most humbling, most nourishing thoughts
about God that we can find; not on religious sweetmeats, but on that
which has been called "the bread of life, without too much butter on
it." We must give them the chance of breathing the atmosphere of
Eternity, which is their native air. We must take regular and suitable
spiritual exercise, whether we feel inclined for it or not. Then, and
only then, have we fulfilled our part of those conditions that make for
the real growth and health of the soul, and can reasonably expect to
live a vigorous and joyful life towards God.
Now how are we going to do these things? First, we can get spiritual
food through our reading and meditation; to which every one who
wants to pray well must give a little time everyday. We may read
either the Bible, especially the New Testament and Psalms, or one of
those great masterpieces of Christian literaturesuch as the Imitation of
Christwhich tell us real news about God; increasing our sense of His
wonder, richness, pity, and intimate closeness to our souls. Such
reading will nourish and stimulate us, and prevent our prayers from
becoming monotonous and thin. We must read slowly and broodingly,
extracting all the food
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that we can. By doing this, we learn from those who know more of
God than we do; and they share their discoveries with us. And as we
think over their sayings, we begin to realise how great are the
possibilities of the life of prayer; how small are our own little efforts,
and how elementary is our knowledge of it. Thus reading and
meditation of this kind tend not only to teach and feed us, but also to
make us humble; and without humility no one, of course, can hope to
pray at all.
Next, fresh air. How horribly stuffy and exhausted, how full of the
dust and smells of earth, our religious atmosphere gets sometimes:
how utterly we forget that we live and move and have our being in a
God Who fills the whole universe, and is the Source of all life, light,
beauty, joy! The poetry of the Bible is full of invitations to us to
remember the greatness and splendour, as well as the gentleness of
God: to get away from our own little needs and worries and lose
ourselves in "wonder, love, and praise."
When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers,
The moon and the stars, which thou hast ordined;
What is man, that thou art mindful of him?
And the son of man, that thou visitest him?

We, too, must train ourselves to a more deeply awestruck sense of His
penetrating and unchanging presence: in odd moments of the day
opening our souls towards Him, and breathing-in that peaceful and
life-giving air. After a time this attitude, which at first is difficult, will
become habitual to us; and by it we shall find that our spiritual vitality
is increased.
Last, exercise. So long as our communion with God depends merely
on our own often languid inclinations, it will remain feeble and vague.
"Praying when we feel like it," "going to church when we want to,"
will never develop our spiritual muscles and keep them in training,
never bring about the real growth of our souls. Some people actually
make a virtue of this sort of religious laziness and caprice. Yet if in
other departments of life we let our actions depend on our varying
moods and feelings, we should soon come to grief. Christ revealed
His real secrets to His disciplesthat is, those who accepted
discipline,and unless we accept discipline, we shall never learn much
about the life of
 Page 139
prayer. By regular persevering private prayer we keep, as it were,
spiritually fit. Regular corporate prayer, too, has much to do with a
healthy inner life; and those who fancy that there is something
unspiritual and unreal in outward forms and ceremonies are making a
great mistake. We know how much we gain by working and playing
together, and that there is always something unsatisfactory about the
"Cat that walks by herself." So, too, joining with others in public
worship develops the social side of our relation to God, and helps us
to forget ourselves.
Now all these are things which we must do steadily if we are to
benefit by them. "We seldom do well what we only do seldom," said
St. Francis de Sales. This means that we must adopt a simple rule as
regards such things as private prayer, reading, self-examination,
public worship; and having made the rule must stick to it at all costs.
The time set aside for intercourse with God must not be used for
anything else. A habit of this kind is difficult to start; for there will
often come days when our spirits are dim and weary, and the keeping
of our rule needs real effort and brings little apparent reward. But
those who persevere soon come to realise its bracing and educative
effects, and find that the whole of their life is gently transformed by
its influence.
Food, air, and exercise are, then, the three great essentials on which
the health of our spiritual life depends. It is true that they all represent
gifts made to us; but none the less true that it is left to us to take, and
use, these gifts. The taking and using is the foundation of the life of
prayer.
III
We have now seen something of the sort of training we ought to
undertake, if we want to be able to pray well. We see that we must
feed our souls regularly and reasonably on the spiritual food of
Christendom, that we must give them the opportunity of breathing the
atmosphere of God, and that we must oblige them to take suitable and
steady exercise.
But having thus got into training, given rightful attention to the
essentials of our spiritual health, what is to come next? What ought to
be the central character of our prayers? Are they to consist chiefly in
asking for what we want, and giving thanks
 Page 140
for benefits received? Doesn't such a notion of the life of prayer
involve rather a mean, ungenerous, self-interested outlook? An
attitude towards God which we should be ashamed to take up towards
anybody whom we really loved? An old French master of the spiritual
life, Pierre de Berulle, once said that there were only two things which
really mattered in the life of prayer: and he called those two things
"Adoration" and "Adherence." A self-forgetful, outflowing worship of
God in His greatness and beauty; and a close, confident, dependent
clinging to Him, never departing in thought or act from His presence
in our souls. And if we look at what Christ said about prayer, we see
how well this supports such a point of view. How quickly He turned
from mere asking for things or talking about ourselves! It is only in
the great or terrible moments of life, when we are brought face-to-face
with God's power and demands, and our own utter helplessness, that
we can claim His authority for putting our own needs first. Otherwise
His whole attitude was that of an adoring love and trust.
When the disciples asked Him to teach them how to pray, He replied:
"Say: Our Father!" What did this mean? Surely it meant that the
governing factor in all real prayer is the sense of our close personal
relationship with God, and our simple, natural, childlike dependence
on Him. When the disciples asked their question, they knew
somethingthough perhaps not very muchof what the prayer of Christ
was like; and how different it was from their own. They knew about
those solitary nights on the mountain, which gave not merely peace,
but also power to teach, heal, and save. What they said in effect was:
"Teach us how to do that"; and the answer was, that the first step to it
was a complete attitude of loving confidence.
As we go on with the Lord's Prayer, we see how much it says to and
about God, and how little it asks for. "Hallowed be thy namethy
Kingdom comethy will be done." It is like saying to someone whom
we passionately love and admire: "How I long for your perfection to
be realisedyour influence to be increasedyour plans to succeed!" It is
the prayer of a person who has forgotten himself; who minds far more
about God than he does about his own interests or even his own soul.
And the true life of prayer is one in which, if we are faithful, we shall
gradually learn to be more interested in God than in our own separate
interests
 Page 141
and souls; to melt our lives into His, and abandon our own point of
view. If and when this fully happens, when we only exist in and for
Him, as channels of His willthen our prayer will begin to have power.
This is only another way of saying that adoration, and not repentance,
nor petition, nor even intercession, ought to be the governing
characteristic, the attitude towards God in which we approach our
prayer: for this is the attitude which best awakens real penitence, and
best teaches us how to ask and how to intercede.
So we have gone some way towards success, if we enter our prayers
in this adoring temper of soul; and we can all do something to evoke
it, if we form the habit of collecting our thoughts before we
begincalling them in from all the things which usually occupy us, and
remembering what it is that we are going to do. We are going to make
use of the most wonderful privilege that human beings possess: the
privilege of communion with the Almighty, Eternal, Unsearchable
God Who fills the universe. What a thought, isn't it? How
overwhelming, when we consider that holiness, richness, and power
against our tiny souls with their limited outlook, their weakness and
imperfection; and the mercy and gentleness that come into those tiny
souls, and even use them for the purposes of God. Those who learn to
dwell on such thoughts will soon be cured of smallness and
selfishness in prayer.
When Isaiah saw the glory of God in the Temple, he did not ask for
anything. He felt very lowly and abased, and nevertheless offered
himself"Send me!" And the seraphs, those spirits of love and praise
whom he saw in his vision nearest God, asked for nothing. They
veiled their faces and said, "The whole earth is full of His glory!"
Quite full already, if only we could see it. We can add nothing; we can
only adore, and try to serve that which is already there. When we have
so fully learnt this lesson that it controls our whole outlook on life, we
are at least breathing the atmosphere of the world of prayer.
IV
We have been thinking first about the way in which we can best learn
to develop and to live the life of prayer; and then about the attitude of
mind and heart that this life of prayer involves. We
 Page 142
decided that we could not hope for much success in it, unless we tried
to build up the health and efficiency of our souls, giving them the
regular food, air and exercise that they need; and that the right attitude
would be one in which we thought far more about loving and adoring
God, than we did about our own desires.
Now, finally, let us think what sort of people we might hope to
become, what our relation with God might be, if we were able really
to live that life. The old French writer on prayer whom I have quoted
said that the only two things which really mattered in itthe two things
which included everything elsewere ''Adoration and Adherence." And
by that word "adherence" he meant just the sort of life that comes to
be lived by those who have developed and educated their own
capacity for prayer. Such persons "adhere" to God as we "adhere" to
the person or cause we love best; are entirely ready to be used by
Him, are identified with His interests, never entirely forget Him, speak
to Him, or at least turn to Him with a glance of love and confidence,
at every spare moment of the day. Strength and peace flow in from
such companionship; and the watertight compartments which too
many Christians set up between what they call their "prayer life" and
their "practical life" gradually fade away. They begin to realise what
Brother Lawrence meant when he talked of "the practice of the
presence of God"; a practice, he said, which brought God as near to
him when he was busy cookinga duty that he very much dislikedas
when he was in church.
This means a life in which even the smallest and simplest actions have
about them something of the quality of worship; in which, like the old
scholar in the story, whether absorbed in work or absorbed in prayer,
we are "still on the same old terms." It means a love which is loyal
and devoted rather than effusive: the love of the sheep-dog for the
Shepherd: what has been called "industrious and courageous love." It
means a life which fulfills the demand of St. Teresa, that our prayer
should teach us how "to love, to suffer, and to work." For if we think
of these three words for a moment, we realise that they cover
everything that matters most in human existence; all we care for, all
we do, and all we have to bear. Prayerthe life of "Adoration and
Adherence"will fill all these with new zest and meaning, and so with
new joy;
 Page 143
for half our unhappiness comes from the fact that we love so poorly
and narrowly, suffer so unwillingly, and work so grudgingly. But in
the atmosphere of prayer, everything we lovenot persons only, but
nature, beauty, skill, knowledge, goodness, truthis loved in God, and
therefore with a new intensity and unselfish delight. It was because St.
Francis of Assisi never left the atmosphere of prayer, and so never
wanted anything for himself, that he felt all living creatures to be his
brothers, sisters, and friends. By immersion in that same atmosphere,
pain and suffering are redeemed, show us something of their secret
meaning, and bring with them a strange new peace. Work of every
sort, however hard, dull, uncongenial, is transformed, and ceases to be
a drudgery; because it is a bit of the whole work of the world, done for
and in God.
The people who reach this level are those for whom Our Lord's third
promise has been fulfilled. They have knocked and a door has opened;
and they have passed through it into a new country and a new life.
They have now actually entered that world of prayer in which the soul
can live and move and have its being, as literally as our bodies can
live and move and have their being on earth. They are made free of it,
and can explore its unending resources; now absorbed in
contemplation of its beauty, now receiving strength and
understanding, now talking with the simplicity of children, now
resting in silence with God. Then they begin to understand the
purpose of all the training and discipline that went before; the reason
why the condition of growth in prayer is a resolute attending to God.
They have received what they asked for, and have found what they
soughtnot completely, for that is beyond us, but so far as they are able
to bear it.
Then they discover that this achievement, this new strength and joy, is
not for themselves alone, but for others too. The calm, unmeasured,
and unchanging Love which supports them, uses them as its tools and
reaches out through them towards the world. Though they know
themselves to be extremely weak and faulty, more and more they
cease to matter as individuals; and matter only as part of the apparatus
with which God works. Then it is that they begin to find out what
intercession means: not merely asking God to do things, but becoming
His fellow-workers, making their prayer the channel by which His
love and strength reach
 Page 144
other souls.
Such a life as this may seem far beyond us; yet it is certainly the life
to which Christ looked forward, as possible for all His friends. It will
not come in the same way to all of us; for there is room for an infinite
number of different persons and different sorts of work in the world of
prayer. It will not come all at once, nor very easily; for most of us are
untrained and wrapped up in our own little needs and interests, and it
will take time for us to develop our neglected spiritual faculties, and
hard work if we are to learn how to use them well. But in some
degree, and in some way, we may be sure that it will come to all who
really desire it; and desire it enough to make that persevering effort
which is the condition of all success, whether in the natural or in the
spiritual worlds.
 Page 145
While in the former selection Underhill explored prayer as an activity
for ordinary people, in "Possibilities of Prayer" published in
Theology in 1927, she discussed the by-products of prayer, what
results from it. Through prayer the individual is put in touch with the
supernatural and hence the supernatural is brought into the world.
Prayer transforms the individual and hence the world.
 Page 147

The Possibilities of Prayer

This paper is called the "possibilities" of prayer because I want to
consider not how prayer is done, or why it is done; but what it can do.
That sounds somewhat vague, and to some extent it must remain
vague; because here, as everywhere when we touch the region where
human nature fringes on the supernatural, our general, cloudy, and yet
most genuine knowledge so far exceeds the bounds of our exact
science. It is not my intention to discuss startling nor miraculous
possibilities inherent in prayer, or any of the abnormal states described
by mystics: but simply and briefly to consider prayer in a somewhat
wider way than we usually do. To think of our small emergent souls,
face to face with the fact that, directly they attain genuine self-
consciousness, they attain with this some craving, and at least a
potential aptitude for contemplation of God and communion with
God; with supernatural realities. "Thou hast made us for Thyself." It is
amazing; and sometimes we forget how amazing it is and what it
ought to mean in awe and delight. There you are, over against the
mystery of the universe; and you find yourself drawn, perhaps
vaguely, perhaps intensely, to this acknowledgment of, and this
intercourse with, the supreme spiritual fact, so vividly and yet so
imperfectly known by us, to which we give the name of God. Perhaps
a small fragment, perhaps a large extent, of the supernatural
landscape, and apprehension of this supernatural fact, is gradually
revealed to you; perhaps none is revealedyou are, as it were, wrapped
in fogbut still, even in obscurity, this ineradicable tendency or search
for God goes on. Man is a contemplative animal, said St.
 Page 148
Thomas. His life is not complete without prayer. We are pressed by
the law inherent in all life to set up some correspondence with that
living spiritual environment which we see, feel, or divine; and in so
far as we are faithful in obedience to this profound instinct, so do
various types and degrees of this correspondence disclose themselves
as our spiritual life matures. For the life of prayer far exceeds, in its
many leveled richness and variety, the variousness and colour of
mental or physical life.
Perhaps we feel most strongly our dependence on the transcendent,
and our needs; and our prayer is largely an asking. Perhaps we feel the
completeness of our ignorance, over against the surrounding mystery.
We want to know more; and our prayer is largely a seeking. Perhaps
we feel love, and long to show love and come closer to the object of
our love; and our position is that of those who knock at the door. But
in all three cases one fact is concerned. They are all three ways in
which the supernatural pull is felt by the soul: in which the human self
recognizes its latent capacity for God. They are diverse recognitions
of the essential but still unfulfilled relation existing between "man's
nothing perfect and God's all-complete." All acknowledge the
inexhaustible richness and generosity of the Infinite; the overplus,
beyond anything which the limited, half-grown spirit of man has not
yet received or found, or to which his desires can attain. They
represent the opening up of three kinds of unlimited opportunity
before the soul; and induce in us a humble awareness of the infinite
and unrealized possibilities inherent in prayerpossibilities which
depend for their realization on the energy and purity of our desire, the
wide-open, humble receptiveness of our souls. When our Lord uttered
His three promises about prayer, were they not virtual criticisms of the
poverty and thinness of man's spiritual desires, the hesitating character
of his search, the lack of confidence in his habitual approach? Were
they not a reminder of the enormous possibilities, unrealized yet, if
only man will ask, seek, and knock on a loftier level of supernatural
desire; and with a more vivid realization of the relation in which his
childish and dependent spirit stands to its Eternal Source? St.
Bonaventura, in a great and eloquent passage, divided all men of
prayer into three typesthose who ask and intercede, those who seek
into the mysteries of God, and those devoted to loving adoration; the
 Page 149
intercessory, the theological, and the mystical souls. He said that all
three were needed together if all the rich possibilities of communion
with God inherent in the Church were to be expressed; reminding us
again of the wide stretches of that unwalled world to which man has
access, when he stills his restless mind and turns toward God.
Now this humble, confident, and desirous relation of the soul to God,
which is the foundation of all prayer, is, when we get to the bottom of
it, a one-sided relation. All prayer, though it seems and must seem to
us mainly to involve our act, our demands, our self-oblation, is
ultimately and only referable to the action of God Himself. It is the
result, as theology says, of the combined action of will and grace; but
only of the will that grace has inspired and continues to support. So
true is Augustine's great saying: "Thou art the love with which the
heart loves Thee"; so true is Hilton's enlargement of it:
He it is that desireth in thee and He it is that is desired. He is all, and He
doth all If thou might see Him. Thou dost nought, but sufferest Him work
in they soul and assentest to Him with great gladness of heart, that He
vouchsafeth for to do so in thee. Thou art nought else but a reasonable
instrument, wherein that He worketh.

When we see things like this, when we see the whole span of human
prayer from its first naive beginning in childish wants and
dependence, to those Alpine peaks where the saints dwell alone with
God, as part of the supernatural action of God Himself, in and with
His creation; then its possibilities begin to look very different. It is no
longer a case of our little souls standing face to face with the
supernatural landscape external to us, and trying to get in touch with it
by their own efforts; but rather of an ever-greater opening up of those
souls in various ways and degrees to that spiritual reality in which
they are already bathed, and by which they are already sustained and
transfused. So many people's prayer is like St. Augustine's description
of going to the top of a little hill and looking at the Land of Peace: in
entire forgetfulness that the one Master of prayer told us that this
country of peace is within. And the capital possibility opened up to us
in prayer
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taking it now in its most general senseis that we can find this to be
literally true; and that our small derivative spirits, by such humble
willed communion with the very Source of their being and power, can
grow and expand into tools of the Divine Love and Redeeming Power.
Within the atmosphere of prayer, but only within that atmosphere,
they can expand from a narrow selfhood into personalities capable of
being fully used by God on supernatural levels for supernatural work.
That of course is holiness; and holiness, the achievement of a creative
personality capable of furthering the Divine action within life, is, I
take it, the true assigned end, the central possibility of the rightly
ordered and faithfully followed individual life of prayer.
But all this is too big for us to grasp and deal with as a whole. Most of
us are committed, at best, to that which the Abbé Huvelin used to call
"a bit by bit spirituality." We have to look at the possibilities of our
own small and fluctuating prayers in a more departmental and
restricted way; though never in total forgetfulness of the great spiritual
landscape into which they bring usa landscape so rich and great that
no one person can explore, apprehend, still less live in all of it. It is
always good to remember that the spiritual life in its factualness, like
our physical life in its factualness, is not merely what it seems to us to
be: that the true nature and extent of those forces which condition us
must be hiddena drastic process of translation must take place, before
supernatural value can be apprehended by human minds. This truth
should surely keep us in humility as regards our tiny and limited
religious apprehensions; and in delighted confidence, as regards the
unmeasured possibilities opened up to us in prayer. It is at once
bracing and humbling thus to remember the real facts about the source
of that mysterious sunshine of which we sometimes feel a little; that
boundless generous air which we take in as if it were for granted, and
almost unconsciously breathe. There surrounding, bathing, and
transfusing us, but in its reality infinitely transcending us, is that
unmeasured world with its powers, its beneficent influences. Here are
we, virtually capable of a certain communion with it: and that
communion is Prayer. On its side the possibilities are unconditioned;
for the action of God upon the soul is absolutely free. On our side, we
are conditioned; limited by our half-animal status, by the imperfect
freedom of our
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wills, by the peculiarities of a psychic apparatus adapted to the
physical world.
Perhaps we can best think of our own actual possibilitieswhat we with
our limited capacities can do in, through, and with our small measure
of communion with Godunder three heads. There are, first, all the
possibilities of our outward-flowing prayer as towards God Himself.
Secondly, its reflex and creative possibilities, in and as towards our
own souls. Thirdly, its possibilities as towards the world and those in
it. God, the soul, the worldthe three realities of which we know
anything. Within the possibilities of our prayer are an immense
change and enhancement of our relationships as regards all these.
Not only are these three realities and relationships fundamental; but in
the matter of prayer the order in which we regard them is fundamental
too, if we are to realize all the supernatural possibilities inherent in
Christian life. And it is here, I think, that we often begin to go wrong.
The simplest of all ways of regarding these possibilities is to consider
that prayer truly embraces, first, all our possible access to and
communion with the supernatural, with God; next, and because of that
possible access, all our chances of ourselves becoming supernatural
personalities useful to God; last, and because of that, all our capacity
for exerting supernatural action on other souls.
It is obvious, directly we put it like this, that all three groups of
possibilityall the three directions in which man can hope to deepen
and enlarge his supernatural lifehang wholly and utterly upon our
primary relationship with God. We, being at best half-animal
creatures, with a psychic machine mainly adapted to maintaining our
physical status, cannot conceive of that supernatural status and
activity, much less achieve it by ourselves. Until grace has touched us
we do not know what grace is: and unless grace supports us, we
cannot go on knowing what grace is. Therefore attention to God,
adoration of God, is the first and governing term of the life of prayer;
the unique source of all possibilities. In the deepening and
development of our loving, non-utilitarian prayer towards God, in and
for himself, the balance which is maintained in it of docility and of
effort, lies for most of us our hope of achieving a genuine and lasting
religious realism, the peace, joy, delightedness, of perfect certitude.
Even to say this is
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at once to place before our minds a spiritual possibility to which only
a fraction of practicing Christians could probably venture to say that
they had attained.
In discussing the power of attentive and adoring prayer to bring the
soul into a deeper and more concrete consciousness of God, the
parallel between spiritual and aesthetic apprehension is often drawn;
and though I cannot think this parallel to be adequate, it is worth
remembering so long as its limitations are clearly recognized. Now
anyone who has ever practiced landscape painting knows the immense
and unguessed transfiguration of the natural world which comes to the
artist through patient, attentive, and unselfish regard; how the
significance and emphasis of simple objects changes, how an
undreamed beauty and reality is discovered in familiar things through
that deliberate contemplation of his subject, that absorbed, unhurried,
and largely unreflecting gaze in which effort and docility certainly do
combine. That is the way to enter into communion with nature. It is
also one great way of entering into communion with God: a path
along which we may reasonably hope to discover the intense reality,
the mystery, and the beauty of the world to which we turn in prayer,
yet in which we live and move and have our being.
"If we would taste God," says Ruysbroeck, "and feel in ourselves
Eternal Life above all things, we must go forth into God with a faith
that is far above our reason, and there dwell ... and in this emptiness of
spirit we receive the Incomprehensible Light, which enfolds and
penetrates us as air is penetrated by the light of the sun. And that light
is nothing else but a fathomless gazing and seeing."
So we will put first among the possibilities that wait upon adoring
prayerthat simple, quiet, yet ardent looking at and waiting upon Goda
certain most real, if limited, knowledge of Him and Eternal Life. This
sort of prayer, persevered in, does bring us to a progressive discovery
of the vivid reality and richness of those supernatural facts which the
doctrines and practices of formal religion are designed to express.
Theocentric prayer can lift those doctrines, symbols, and practices
from the level of dreary unreality at which we too often leave them;
and can make of them that which they ought to be, the transcendent
art-work of the religious soul. It can inform the simplest, crudest
hymn and most
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solemn service with vitality, and cause each to convey spiritual truth:
because the persons using these forms of expression are accustomed
to look through them towards God, in love and joy. For prayer of this
type, developing as it does our spiritual sensitiveness and releasing us
from the petty falsities of a geocentric point of view, gradually
discloses to us a whole new realm of reality and our own status within
it; and with this a progressive sense, that the best we can ever know or
experience is nothing in respect of that plenitude of being which God
holds within His secret life. Thus this simple and adoring
contemplation, which some have condemned as fostering illusion or
spiritual pride, is as a matter of fact the best and gentlest of all
teachers of humility. And far from leading the soul to despise
''ordinary ways," it brings it to a deeper, meeker, more gentle, intimate
discovery of God revealed through sacramental and incarnational
means. It sets the scene of supernatural life, and helps the little human
self to get its values right, recognize its own lowliness; teaching it the
utter distinction in kind between nature even at its highest, and
supernature in its simplest manifestations, and bringing its little life of
succession into touch with the Eternal Changelessness.
So far, then, as to the great enrichment and expansion in the life of
adoration which is possible to theocentric prayer. Next, what are the
possibilities of prayer as regards our own souls? What are we going to
claim that it can do for the soul's life, which nothing else can do?
What are its possible effects on human personality? What latent
powers can it develop? The claim here is tremendous; and may be
summed up in one word, sanctification. And when we think of what
prayer really is, and of what an unfixed, emergent, half-made thing
human personality is, this can hardly surprise us. Our small and
childish spirits are here being invited and incited by God's prevenient
Spirit to enter into communion with Him. If this communion of the
half-real with the wholly-real is done sincerely, humbly, simply, and
steadily, surely the result must at least be gradually to conform us to
fresh standards, and endow us with fresh power. In these hours, we are
breathing spiritual air, feeding on spiritual food, entering into
awareness of spiritual things. By them our deepest selves are changed,
stimulated, and nourished; and our whole scale of values is inevitably
altered. A tiresome and unrewarded bit of work, a
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so-called legitimate bit of self-indulgence, look quite different
according to whether they are seen inside or outside this atmosphere
of prayer. Inside it, our standards are those of spirits related to God;
outside it, our standards are often those of clever animals playing for
their own hand. At the very least, then, the effect of such prayer on the
soul can hardly fail to be that which St. Teresa demanded as her test of
its efficacy: it must at least teach us to love, suffer, and work on ever
higher levels of reality and self-devotion. I am sure we can all look
round and recognize lives in which such an enhancement as this has
silently but clearly taken place.
And much more than this is possible to those who let this mighty
educative influence play upon them in all its generous, fertilizing
power; training those minds, which philosophy has described as our
means of access to reality, to recognize more and more fully, both
with and without sense symbols, the rich and living fact of God, and
to relate to that living fact the stream of events which constitute our
outward life. To put it in psychological language, the central
possibilities of the life of prayer, as regards the individual soul, are
first a deepening religious sensitiveness, a real cultivation of our latent
capacity for God; and next a complete redirection of desire, a
dedication of those powers of initiative and endurance which every
living creature possesses in a greater or lesser degree, to the single
purposes of God. It is within the atmosphere of prayer, and only
within that atmosphere, that those amazing dramas of the spiritual life
that shine out in the history of religion are carried through.
Psychologists studying conversion sometimes fail to remember this.
They forget that as it is the after-history of the case, and not just the
operation, that matters, so it is the steady life of prayer which the
conversion sets going, and not the startling crisis in which such
conversions begin, which gradually converts the penitent into the
saint; as a real garden is made, not by sticking in plants, but by
unremitting cultivation of the soil. We see this factor clearly in the
story of that immense transformation which turned Augustine from a
sensual and conceited young don into one of the fathers of the Church.
It was such loving, continuous and persevering communion with the
world of spirit which transformed Catherine of Genoa from a
melancholy and disillusioned woman into a great
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mother of souls. The hours she spent in prayer, and the other hours she
spent in doing the things to which she was impelled in her prayer,
were those that really mattered in her life. During her formative years,
St. Catherine prayed for five to six hours a day; thus was produced
that habitual union with God which governed her life. To the same
influence we owe the maturing of such souls as Charles de Foucauld,
Elizabeth Leseur, the Sadhu, and many other modern saints.
Nor does this inner transformation exhaust the possibilities of prayer
in the individual soul. These possibilities include, too, such an
enhancement of physical powers of resistance as we see, for instance,
in Foucauld or Mary Slessor; or as in Madame Leseur, that
sublimation of suffering which turns it from a sterile into a fertile
thing. Moreover, such prayer effects a gentle and indescribable
sensitization of the spirit; gradually bringing in the real man or
woman of prayer into a state in which the spiritual currents active
below the surface of life, those contractions and expansions of the
soul which are a sure guide to our spiritual state and secret impulsions
of God, are actually felt. Isn't it rather a waste, that only a small
proportion of Christians take supernatural prayer seriously enough to
produce these results? For although such results in their fulness may
be the privilege of the saints, we cannot elude our own spiritual
obligations merely by drawing attention to that fact. In our own small
way, something of this should be possible for us all. Everyone reads
and likes Brother Lawrence's little book on The Practice of the
Presence of God. It is considered quite simple, and suitable for
everybody's use. But I sometimes wonder how many of those who
read and enjoy it have any idea at all what it was Brother Lawrence
knew and experienced, and was struggling to make other people see. I
am sure that it was something far deeper and more difficult than is
generally supposed. You remember how he once exclaimed that men
were to be pitied because they content themselves with so little; and
then went on to say:
God's treasure is like an infinite ocean, yet a little wave of feeling, passing
with the moment, contents us. Blind as we are, we hinder God, and stop
the current of His graces. But when He finds a soul permeated with a
living faith, He pours into it
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His graces and His favors plenteously; into the soul they flow, like a
torrent, which, after being forcibly stopped against its ordinary course,
when it has found a passage, spreads with impetuosity its pent-up flood.
There we get in one simple image a description of the individual
soul's possibilities in the life of prayer; and we see that those
possibilities involve access to actual sources of light, love, certitude,
more abundant life. It is the realization of this solid truth that seems to
me so desperately needed in the ordinary run of the Christian life. We
do or we can tap a great power when we direct our undivided interest
and our desire towards the Eternal in prayer; but so many of us are
content with our first tiny achievements and stop short at that. We are
like children who have been given a crystal set, and hurriedly tuning it
in, are pleased and astonished to hear a distant voice that murmurs
"Further outlook, unsettled." But with more patience and devotedness,
more careful, quiet adjustment, that same apparatus might transmit to
us the heavenly melodies, once we had taken the trouble to get the
wave-length right.
Surely in this matter of getting and using spiritual power, our span of
desire is miserably inadequate? We do manage various little things,
and the results of this amount of faith are often considered startling
and impressive. Yet how seldom we realize that even these little
achievements show that we stand on the verge of a great world of
possibilities, and are in touch with powers of which the full span
cannot be conceived by us: powers most truly given by God to the
spirit of man, a world in which creation on spiritual levels can go
forward, a world of which the limitations have not been seen by any
human soul. When we find this out as a realityand finding it out as a
reality is exactly what the New Testament means by the word
"faith"we begin to be able to do things which we could not do before.
We may even begin to acquire some of that strange power of
transcending circumstance so conspicuous in the lives of the saints;
even though perhaps this may only operate over the ordinary ups and
downs of life, conditions of health and sickness, apparently
insuperable obstacles in work or career. History shows us mature
souls, who move securely in this supernatural life, going out
unharmed on danger-
 Page 157
ous journeys as Livingstone did; or living like Mary Slessor, under
conditions of food and surrounding which Europeans cannot normally
survive. But this does not happen to them merely because they believe
that it is possible for it to happen to them. It can and does only happen
to them in so far as they are true persons of prayer; and in so far, too,
as their prayer is controlled by utter confidence and self-oblation, and
not by anxious demand. Such possibilities will never be actualized if
they are once allowed to usurp the central place in the devotional life;
to be its objectives instead of its by-products. They are given; and
their reception depends on the fact that the soul's orientation to the
Giver is steadfastly maintained. All sanctification, all supernatural
growth and effectiveness, depend wholly on the initial movements of
self-oblivious and non-utilitarian worship, opening up the soul to the
supernatural sun, and so convincing it once for all that all the
possibilities of power, light, certitude, and joy, which man can realize
in his prayer, are given and not self-induced. All depends here on that
which Ruysbroeck so wonderfully called "the wide-open gaze, the
simple seeing and staring."
Such simple contemplation has been, beyond all other things, the
supreme formative influence in the making of the saints. It exerts a
power over human character which is unique both in kind and degree.
It may emerge from a type of prayer that is humble and even
mechanical; and may at first be exercised in blind faith, but with little
sense of reality. But as it develops, will and desire are gradually and
inevitably transferred from lower to higher centres of interest; and the
true life of the self is anchored ever more firmly in the eternal world
to which it belongs. Such prayer can simplify and weave together that
mixed life of devotion and action, of faith and works, to which most
Christians are called; bringing all external actions of whatever kind
into direct relationship with God. Christianity has always taught that
work of any kind can be a prayer; but it will not be a prayer unless we
make it so, by doing it within the atmosphere of Eternity. In those who
do this, physical and mental labour, as well as direct spiritual labour,
can become the vehicles of spiritual action. All their odd jobs get
woven into their life of prayer; and they can imitate without
insincerity the holy woman who boiled her potatoes for the intentions
of those for whom she had not time to pray.
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The third class of possibilities inherent in the life of prayerthe powers
it can develop and exert towards other soulsdepends absolutely on the
growth, expansion and simplification of personality which has been
produced in us by the prayer of adoration and of self-discipline. That
which you are here going to transmit will be strictly relative to that
which you are able to receive. That attention to God and self-
mergence in Him which works the transformation of character and
feeds our souls, also conditions our power of attending to and
penetrating other souls in prayer. And if grace and will rise and fall
together; so most assuredly do purity of intention and spiritual
effectiveness rise and fall together. If we thought of the first
possibility of prayer as the ever-greater entrance into, and adoration
of, that which God reveals to loving attentiveness, and compared it
with the results achieved by the self-forgetful gazing of the artist; and
of the second possibility, as a training and a profound changing of us,
enabling us to correspond with, draw upon, and deal with that deeper
vision of realitythe artist's education in his craftthen the third range of
possibilities may represent what he does with that revelation and that
craftsmanship; the creative aspect of prayer.
Once more, this metaphor must never be thought of as adequate to the
theme with which it deals. For it is here, in looking at the possibilities
and achievements of redemptive and intercessory prayer, that we find
most sharply brought home to us the concrete reality of supernatural
action, even though it may avail itself of mental vehicles and means.
The possibilities inherent in what is generally called intercession are
realized in widely different degrees by different souls: for there is
included in this that strange power of one spirit to penetrate,
illuminate, support and rescue other spirits, through which so much of
the spiritual work of the world seems to be done. And if some are
called very specially to develop in contemplative prayer the
possibilities of adoring devotion, others seem no less surely called to
the strange and often painful paths of redemptive prayer. We see this
in the lives of the historic saints, though not only in their lives. And it
is really only by attributing a certain literalness to that which they say
and do in this matter, that we can begin to understand the sufferings to
which they are drawn;
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the sort of engine which God can and does make out of human
material, for the furtherance of His saving work.
St. Catherine of Siena, at the height of her powers, said: "God has sent
me among you to taste and devour souls." A strange thing to say; yet it
was said, not by a person who was in any sense queer religiously, but
by one of the greatest women ever produced by the Church of Christa
woman who did again and again save others, by taking on herself the
burden and suffering of their sins. And the same sort of claim has
been made, the same sort of power exhibited, by equally real and
solid, if less amazing, personalities. "God enabled me to agonize in
prayer," said David Brainerd, the saintly Evangelical leader. "My soul
was drawn out very much for the world. I grasped for a multitude of
souls.'' Does not all this give us a sense of unreached spiritual
possibilities; of deep mysterious energies accessible to those who will
pay the price? Does it not bring home the fact that real intercession is
not a request, but a piece of work; and a piece of work which is not
likely to succeed, unless we come to it with the full intention of doing
our best? That wonderful spirit, Elizabeth Leseur, has in her Journal a
very striking passage, in which she says:
I believe that there circulates among all souls, those here below, those who
are being purified, and those who have achieved a true life, a vast and
ceaseless stream made of the sufferings, the merits, and the love of all
those souls: and that even our smallest pains, our least efforts, can, through
the divine action, reach other souls both dear and distant, and bring to
them light, peace, and holiness.

If this can be done, if those little pains and trifling efforts, present in
every human life, can thus be supernaturalized, made dynamic, this
can only be done in so far as they are transfused by the atmosphere of
prayer: a prayer based on adoration and self-oblation. And it can be
done like that. Look what this means in the way of possibility. It
means removing all the ups and downs, the health and sickness, the
tension and delight, the suffering and love of human life, to the level
of an efficacious sacrament: filling them all with God. It means that
our spiritual action one on anotheror rather, the action of Almighty
God on others
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through usis not limited by the bounds of what are usually called
"religious acts." It means a life in which the successive and the
unchanging, the activities of sense and the deep action of spirit, are
integrated, and serve together the single purpose of Eternal Life. This
is the life of continuous prayer; and this is the possibility which is set
before every Christian soul.
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"Our Two-Fold Relation to Reality" appeared in the Hibbert Journal
in 1925 and with the next selection, "God and Spirit," laid out
Underhill's theological framework. In this article she discussed how
the Divine is apprehended in two ways and how the purpose of life is
to weld this two-fold relationship into one.
 Page 163

Our Two-Fold Relation to Reality

St. John of the Cross, at the end of one of his great mystical poems,
exclaims suddenly: "How delicately Thou teaches love to me!" Did
we realise more fully all that is implied in this utterance of one of the
greatest of the contemplative saintsso wide and deep in his experience
of the reality of the spiritual worldwe should perhaps be less hurried
and less assured in constructing our clumsy diagrams of the delicate
and subtle processes of God. Perhaps this saying might even bring
with it a new vision of God, as a Presence of unchanging love and
beauty, teaching the race through history, and each soul through and
within the faculties evolved from our animal past. It might help a
more direct realisation of His presence in history and development;
and begin to show us how, with the machinery at our disposal and the
limitations imposed by it, we can arouse and nourish our latent
aptitude for reality, achieve a stable and rightly balanced spiritual life.
It is plain that any such genuine life of the spirit, placing us in a true
relation with the eternal Reality of the universe cannot abide merely in
the region of philosophic or pious ideals and beliefs. It must involve
the power of doing something about, and indeed with, the
apprehended Real; the possibility of entering its order, and in some
degree, of bringing it into our order. The "delicate teaching" must not
remain simply an interior comfort or an intellectual enlightenment;
but must exert a modifying or transforming influence upon the whole
of our temporal experience, an influence involving something
analogous to the
 Page 164
profound mystical conception of union with God. It may not give
information or solve problems for us, but it will exhibit these
problems in a new light.
We know very little about ourselves: but what we do know, if we try
to be fair to all its elements, seems best expressed in the statement that
man is a thoroughly natural yet also an implicitly spiritual creature. I
lately heard a lecture by a distinguished biologist, in which man was
simply defined as one of the greater ground-apes. Yet, from the point
of view of religious philosophy, which can produce such evidence in
support of its belief, man is also a creature with a capacity for God.
His relation with reality, then, is an emergent and growing relation; a
forward-moving, energetic push, continuous in some sense with this
origin. Yet in its higher reaches it is a relation for which a biological
process can never account. There is, it is true, no point at which we
can draw a line and say with certainty: here the animal leaves off, and
the human self begins. But it is equally certain that nothing in the
greater ground-ape seems to lead by logical stages to the Second
Isaiah or St. Francis of Assisi.
The same paradoxical character seems to mark that stream of history
in which we find ourselves; of which, indeed, we are a part. This too,
in so far as we can make anything of it, appears as a mixture of
determined nature and free spiritof biological process and over-ruling
purpose and development and novelty. And this stream of history,
though when we try to think of it its richness and intricacy overwhelm
us, is only one tiny strand, perhaps, in the great fabric of a guided
universe. Yet plainly it is the strand, perhaps, in the great fabric of a
guided universe. Yet plainly it is the strand with which we are
connected; and with which, therefore, we must begin.
We are, then, faced by two concepts, both needful if we are to make
any sense of our crude experience; the historical, natural and
contingent; the timeless, supernatural and absolute. They must be
welded together, if we are to provide a frame for all the possibilities of
human life; and that life, whether social or individual, must have both
its historically flowing and its changelessly absolute sides. The
achievement by man of self-consciousnessat first merely utilitarian,
but now developed far past the practical level and its
requirementsseems to be a stage in his further
 Page 165
growth toward consciousness of this double reality.
Such a vivid, warmly realistic consciousness of God in His richness
and generosity, and of the world with all its strife, demands, and
tensions, is put before us in its loveliest, simplest, yet deepest form in
the Synoptic portrait of Christ, and epitomised in His two
commandments. Doubtless, the mass of men, such consciousness is
still in the rudimentary and sporadic stage. Here and there it does
appear among us, though in very unequal degrees. And in so far as we
are aware of these two aspects in ourselves and in the universe, we
have to strike a working balance between them, if we would rightly
harmonise the elements of life and achieve a stable relation with
reality.
If, then, we accept this view, that Divine Reality does indeed reach
and teach us, not by one but by two channelsthen the man who is
God-conscious (using this phrase in its widest, not merely its pietistic
sense) is not called upon to denaturalize in order to spiritualise
himself. This mistake has often enough been made in the past; but it is
an essentially un-Christian solution, and distorts our relation with
Reality. It is indeed the glory of Christianity that alone among the
great world-religions, it fully accepts and utilises this mingling of
spirit and sense. But man is most certainly called upon to actualise
this relation with the eternal order as well as with the world of
successionto be, in the succinct phrase of Aquinas, a Contemplative
Animal; and it is hardly necessary to point out how seldom this
obligation is understood in a literal sense. That inspired realist did not
describe man as a contemplative Spirit. His words link the natural to
the supernatural; and imply that man is called to realize the infinite
purposes of God up to the limit of possibility, in the natural situation
in which he finds himself. "Thou hast made him a little lower than the
angels; but hast crowned him with glory and honour." On the
faithfulness and vividness of our response from within history to that
which transcends history, our spiritual development ultimately
depends.
Coming down to the concrete, it of course follows from this that the
devotee and the practical man alike represent subtractions from the
richness of human life. For the devotee, if he turns utterly away from
the visible and the contingent, is failing to accept those humbling
lessons and homely opportunities, those
 Page 166
strains and tests, in which it abounds for us: whilst the practical man is
still more hopelessly divorced from full experience, for he fails to
look beyond the contingent to that assigned end which alone gives it
meaning and puts us in a position to deal with it properly. He
flagrantly disobeys the first and great commandment of the Gospelthe
charter of the spiritual life.
"Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy Heart and with all thy
soul, and with all thy Mind, and with all thy strength." As a rule we
take this terrific demand rather lightly. But if we translate its terms
from the language of religion into that of philosophy, we shall see that
it requires a complete revolution in our attitude to life. We can hardly
begin to obey it, unless we give the eternal values primacy in our
thought and feeling, and work for them with all our power.
For the individual, this means making a place in our flowing life for a
deliberate self-orientation to the Eternal Order. For the community, it
means providing an environment in which these interests can be
cherished and taught. Religion in its special language calls these two
essentials of full life Prayer and Church. But the values and needs
which they represent are deeply rooted in the facts of human nature,
and stretch far beyond the narrow meaning commonly attached to
them, and the crystallised form they have been allowed to assume.
Clearly if our deepest meaning, and fullest life, do lie beyond the
natural strugglethen total concentration on the natural struggle maims
us. True, it is the theatre within which every soul is placed, and gives
us the raw material of experience. But, in some form or degree, the
sense of an achieved Perfection, dim or vivid, is essential to our real
growth. For this growth has to take place in two dimensions,
involving both a vertical and horizontal expansion of the soul: and
only for that which is felt to be truly therea genuine and present object
of desireshall we make the necessary sacrifice and effort. I am deeply
convinced that our present scattered state, our moral weakness and
impoverishment, our cowardly inability to apply even those truths in
which we do believe to our social and political problemsall this lack
of relation between activity and reality comes from the fact that we
have divorced these two great movements of the self. An unfortunate
misunderstanding of the mediaeval saying that work is prayer
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true indeed for those whose work is done within the atmosphere of
God, but for no one elsehas caused an almost total neglect of the
balancing truth that prayer is truly work.
Consider that view of human psychology which seems gradually to be
gaining acceptance: the view which regards the essence of our psychic
life as an energy, a life force, informed by purpose. This theory is
doubtless tentative; but it does give us a working diagram consistent
with what we know of the spiritual life of man. It allows us to look
upon the soul as an entity capable of progress, of growth in real being,
of those developments which we call character and personality; and
suggests, by analogy with natural levels, that this growth will be
conditioned and stimulated by its correspondences with that which
lies outside itself, that it will move towards its assigned end, the truly
existent object of its interest and desire. Not anxious struggle, but a
self-forgetting enthusiasm and love draw it on, and are the causes of
its great achievements; as we can plainly see in the history of all
creative minds.
Success, for all such minds, is proportionate: First, to the calm
clearness with which the goal is realised and gazed upon. Next, to the
eager, steady trust in its possible attainment. Last, and chiefly, to the
generous and self-giving ardour with which it is desired.
These conditions apply equally, whether the chosen aim be an earthly
or a heavenly ambition or love. That is to say, Faith, Hope, and
Charity really are the interior dispositions by which man transcends
himself: the conditions of his real achievement in every field of
creation and progress, every new increase in his knowledge of reality,
whether he be explorer, scientist, artist, or saint. "What is a man," said
St. Augustine, "but his thoughts and his loves?" This question has not
yet been answered.
How, then, can we hope to actualize our relation with Reality, unless
we make of this relation too our assigned end, the objective of our
will? Unless we genuinely stretch out towards it with our thought and
our lovea deliberate attention and interest, at once awe-struck and
passionate? But to do this is the very essence of that which religion
calls prayer. For prayer is simply and solely attention to, and
communion with, the reality of God; an attention and a communion
which does and should spread
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gradually from its focus in deliberate devotional acts, till it colours all
the activities of life. All the kinds and degrees of prayer and
meditation are simply varieties in the expression and development of
this fundamental aptitude and need of man, emerging in the savage
and flowering in the contemplative saint.
If this great activity is to be given its place in our two-fold human
outlook, this can only be done by the same process as that by which
we establish any other fresh or neglected field of interest within the
circle of consciousnessnamely, by deliberate and repeated acts of
attention. The crude instinct must reach the level of habit and of skill,
if it is going to be much use to us. Here, then, we find support for the
drill of the religious life, often condemned as mechanical and unreal.
In particular, the practice of constant brief aspirations towards Goda
redirection as it were of our vagrant will towards eternal valueswhich
the old masters of prayer recommend, had much to do with the
formation of a solid type of spiritual character. Such habits, though we
may not always appreciate the colour which piety has given them, are
justified by our psychic peculiarities and needs. By their
indiscriminate rejection we gravely impoverish ourselves: for surely
all fully developed mental life, if it is to come anywhere near our full
human capabilities, ought to involve such not infrequent movement of
the self's attention towards the total, the unmeasured Beyond of
experience; the Plotinian Yonder. Psychology, too, assures us of the
need for periodic concentration on our prime interest, whatever it may
be, if this is to have a radiating effect on the whole mass of our life.
Only by some such process can we hope to rectify the straying aims,
the busy uncertainty by which so much of our psychic energy now
runs to waste, and give our lives cohesion and meaning.
It is of course the central function of religion to stimulate and give
precision to such actssuch self-openings in the direction of the
Infiniteto foster and educate the capacity for Eternal Life. The
rightfulness of such a concentration of the soul is in some sense
guaranteed not only by the ever-deepening joy and peace, but also and
chiefly by the power it brings to those who patiently undertake the
education of their neglected spiritual sense. Where this is allowed to
atrophy, human life becomes flat, shallow, uncertain of its own goal.
 Page 169
The realbut usually exaggerateddanger of such a burning-away from
multiplicity is of course that of undue specialisation, and so of losing
touch with our social duty. That a true retreat to, and contemplation
of, abiding realities will only emphasise such duty; and also enhance
the power of performing it. Unless we consent to develop the spiritual
side of our consciousness, and so become aware of our deepest
attachments, we have no key to the problems presented by the
multiplicity of experience. It will seem, as it does seem to many
people, either a rich or a baffling confusion: and although we may be
immensely busy with it, this will mostly be the business of the
inexperienced housemaid, who cleans a room by raising clouds of
dust. Much devoted social service is unfortunately of this kind:
doomed to end in discouragement and exhaustion, because those who
undertook it had failed to develop their power of resort to the abiding
sources of man's life, and maintain their relation with reality.
This relation, and the moulding influence of the living and
unchanging God, can be and often is perceived intuitively, in a greater
or less degree, by the human soul. But since we are men and women,
born of the sense-world and mostly conditioned by it, this perception
is never constantly or fully enjoyed by us. It will be more and more
felt, as we more and more turn to and attend to it: for, like every other
faculty, it needs and is susceptible of education. The trained artist's
power of perceiving in any object a range of reality and beauty to
which the common eye is blind, may perhaps give us an inkling of
those other reaches of reality and beauty which open up before the
inner vision of the trained man or woman of prayer. These facts are
worth emphasizing, for the characteristic vice of the amateur artist or
musician of supposing himself able to appreciate all the truth and
beauty that there is to see and hear, is common enough in amateurs of
the spiritual lifeand surely here reaches its utmost pitch of absurdity.
And, as a matter of fact, the saints to whom we owe our deepest
revelations of eternal things are never untrained amateurs or prodigies.
Such men and women as Paul, Augustine, Catherine, Julian,
Ruysbroeck, are artists of Eternal Life; who have accepted the
teachings of tradition, trained and disciplined their genius.
 Page 170
So it is clearly the duty of any communityand specially any religious
communionwhich believes in the spiritual life as a concrete reality, to
provide and encourage such training as it requires. This is important
for another reason. We allow that the general diffusion of physical and
intellectual education raises the general physical and intellectual level
of the community, and even evokes powers which would otherwise
remain latent; though the degree of culture it is able to confer must
vary widely. So, too, a more general and skillful education of our
spiritual faculties, a taking of them seriously, instead of leaving them
to chance as we mostly doin fact, a real and steady gymnastic of the
soulmust gradually but surely raise the spiritual level of any
community or group adopting it.
The giving of such spiritual education should obviously be a prime
interest of institutional religion: which has as its chief function the
developing of this supernatural outlook among men, and the
maintenance of conditions that support it. Here it is, then, that the
demand covered in general by the idea of Prayer is found to involve in
practice a second demand: the social-spiritual complex covered by the
ideas of Church, with its own special activities and disciplines. First
the development of the spiritual sense in man, his instinct for Reality:
next, the provision of such an environment as shall nourish and train
it. The need for a balanced individual and corporate expression of the
spiritual life seems to be deeply grounded in the reality of things.
Consider for a moment how it is that religious institutions, often on
the surface so painfully deficient in what we regard as spirituality, can
perform this function of training souls for God. Their deepest
attachments, like our own, are with history; they bring, and apply to
our crude spiritual impulse, the hoarded wisdom of the pastall the
contributions of the saints. They alone, with all their ups and downs,
imperfections and degeneracies, represent the continuity of the great
human trend towards Eternal Life. Seen in the large, their whole
apparatus is an instrument for evoking our latent spiritual
consciousness, for mediating to us spiritual fact, teaching us spiritual
activities, giving us a frame within which they can be practiced. We
must have such definite spiritual activities, inadequate as they will
always be to their object: for our instinct for Reality must be given a
genuine place
 Page 171
among our other interests, time must be spent on it, it must be
cherished and thought of, even drudgery must be devoted to it, if it is
to be fully effective for our life. A mere all-overish feeling, however
transcendental, is not a relation with Reality; nor will it help the
redemption of the world. We must give to this interest a place in the
life of sense, and in our social relations, as well as in our solitary and
abstracted hours. ''He who finds the inward in the outward," said Suso,
"is a more spiritual man than he who can only find the inward in the
inward."
We can thereforeand I believe we mustallow the necessity of external
religious practices on these counts: allow, too, their efficacy, without
prejudice to their patent imperfections and variations, and the many
bad guesses made by religious men as to the nature of the power by
which they work. Religious systems and institutions have been built
up, if not as the result of such detailed revelation as is claimed by
them, at least in response to a profound inner need of the race.
Religion, in fact, like the other elements of our life, is necessarily both
natural and supernatural, historical and eternal; it is not the soul's
unconditioned and solitary flight to, and communion with, the Infinite.
It shares with all the other higher elements of life as we know them,
the character of mediating Reality both from within and from beyond
the world: from within the world in virtue of its historical and ritual
attachments, from beyond the world by its peculiar power of
developing the transcendental sense.
It is true that for our spiritual consciousnessor, at least, that which
reaches the level of mystical experienceonly the immediate is
recognised as truly and fully real. No particular can be identified with
God: nevertheless God, Who is present with all things, can be and is
mediated to us by means of particular things. This, the truth on which
all sacramentalism rests, covers indeed all religious practices. It
witnesses to their fruitfulness and necessity; to man's need of a
concrete world in which his instinct for the Transcendent can assert
itself, and, by attaching itself to symbols, achieve expression.
In Gerard Hauptmann's play of Hannele, we are shown a little child
dying alone in a garret, visited and consoled by angelswhich appear to
her like the brightly coloured figures of a German Christmas cardand
at last received by Christ, Whose
 Page 172
face is the face of the one person who had ever shown her some
compassion and love. Yet, nonetheless, the poet makes us realise that
Hannele's experience is a true experience; and that Christ and the
angels are with her in the garret in this quaint disguise. There is
necessarily something of Hannele in all our apprehensions of Reality.
We are bound by our situation to interpret our relations with it in
human, approximate, and historical ways, if we are indeed to feed our
life on That which transcends yet permeates all life. "Pure thought,"
"pure conation," ''pure communion"all these abstract and largely
imaginary purities must find some expression, in the end, in
particulars; because it is for the apprehension of particulars that our
finite minds are framed. This embodiment, it is true, will spoil their
"pureness," but it will give them actuality, link them with our life.
Only in some such humbling limitation of the soul's freedom, such an
impingement on things, can we hope to bring Reality into concrete
action. Thus it is that the charge brought by psychology against
religious persons, of constructing and externalising their own objects
of devotion, is, in a certain sense, very often true. Examples of this
abound: one known to us all is the ideal figure of the Madonna, which
has been and is the focus of so much intense religious feeling, yet
certainly is not a realistic or historical presentation of Our Lord's
Mother, the Galilean carpenter's wife. Christian feeling has built up
this figure: but this does not mean that through it no objective spiritual
fact is reached. It only means that when the mind is dealing with such
difficult realities, it is driven to use to the utmost its image-making
power: and that supernatural Reality, which is not far from any one of
us, is accessible to the most childish faith.
Does not all this mean that man's relation with the infinite and living
Reality is rich and many-stranded, at once ineffable and homely, not
the aridly transcendental achievement of some impossible unity: and
that this relation is to be expressed by us in both personal and
corporate ways? Such a relation involves the deepening and
illumination of the whole of life, not a retreat from it. It means both
multitude and solitude: and a life that moves easily between these
poles of experience. It means a willingness to feed our souls both on
the fruits of history and on the direct gifts of intuition. Not abstraction,
then, from experience, but rather
 Page 173
the permeating of the largest possible variety of experiences, both in
the self and in society, with an aim beyond themselves, will bring
human life into closer contact with Reality: since through and in the
natural, the supernatural can everywhere reach and mould us.
Thus is our apparently aimless life of succession redeemed by relating
it with eternal facts; and, as in Herbert's poem, the swept room and the
action of the sweeper are both alike "made fine." Were this understood
as the true aim of all human education, of personal and of social
efforthow marvellous and yet how gentle would be the resulting
transformation of the social scene! Then each might be happy in their
own situation; because that situation, small, painful, inadequate
perhaps if seen only in relation to the temporal series, takes on both
joy and dignity, when through and in it we touch that eternal life
which is not a series, but an abiding fact. How intense would then be
our repudiation of aims and actions in which we now acquiesce, either
for want of real belief that we can have something better, or because
we have no incentive sufficiently strong to transform the effort of
opposing them from a labour to a joy.
But, being the creatures we are, subject to rhythm and alternation, if
we are to do all this fully we must, as it were, retreat in order to
return. We are called upon to find in adoration the key to action; and
we can only fully attend to one of these things at a time. True, as we
go on, more and more of our active and successive life will be
permeated by the atmosphere of Reality; but this only in so far as we
ourselves are becoming real. Our plastic psychic life can take almost
any impression we desire it to take: but only if the desire is
sufficiently strong, the faith in achievements sufficiently firm, to be
expressed in concentrated effort. In the concise language of the writer
of Hebrews: "He that cometh to God must believe He is, and a
rewarder of them that diligently seek Him"a perfect example of the
psychological doctrine of the assigned end, applied to our relation
with ultimate Reality.
The other side of this solid truth has been well expressed by Professor
McDougall: "Our belief in things of all kinds, in continuously existing
self-identical realities, is founded on our experience of effortof putting
forth power and energy in pursuit of our goals." We do not need to be
assured of the truth of this as
 Page 174
regards human art and science; it is surely none the less true of all
man's spiritual achievements. Here too we must do, in order that we
may know. Nevertheless the existence of the goal comes first, and this
must be given to us. It is true that all we receive is a hint of a
Perfection far beyond us; and being such creatures as we are, even this
is almost enough to overwhelm those to whom it comes. But, being
thus given, our apprehension of it, interest in itin fact our love for
itwill evoke and condition all the adjustments and all the striving in
and through which we grow up, expand, and at last begin truly to Be.
Such striving and adjustment is not to be limited to some special
territory, marked out as the domain of "religious" or of "inner" life. It
will take place, as our living takes place, within history and on the
plane of sense; no less than beyond history and on the plane of spirit.
It will be felt in the perfect performance of all mental or manual work,
no less than in the times of solitary communion which support that
work. Nothing less than this complete integration in man of the
natural and the transcendental can, it seems to me, make Reality
homely to us, whilst fully safeguarding this distinctness and
perfection.
This means that lovely balance of attachment and detachment, that
easy swinging of the soul between the Unseen and the Seen, which in
one form or another is the crown of a fully harmonised life. Think of
Catena's picture of "St. Jerome in his Study." The patient scholar,
utterly lost in his work and therefore happy in it, yet with an outlook
on a wide and lovely landscape. On the edge of his desk stands a
crucifix, so placed that when he raised his eyes to the landscape, he
must look at the Crucified too. Concentrated as he is on the study of
God's supreme revelation, yet his humanely protective loving
influence seems to radiate to all his smaller or untamed relations; the
quail walking about the floor in perfect security and confidence,
almost within snapping distance of the peacefully snoozing lion. We
feel St. Jerome is in full and willing contact with all the levels and
contingencies of life; yet permeated by such an atmosphere, such a
quietude of the spirit, as transmutes these contingencies into
sacraments of the Real. Then balance that pictureas we must, if we are
to understand itwith those other pictures of "St. Jerome in the Desert,"
which show us the times of stress and
 Page 175
solitude when he turned from the contingent, and faced the bare
actualities of God and his own soul. There he is, in penitencethat is to
say, deeply conscious of his natural imperfectionand measuring that
imperfection against his vision and his love. His creative work, his
kindly civilising influence, his peaceful acceptance of life, all have
their origin there.
Thus St. Jerome represents a human relation with Reality maintained
from within history, feeding from both the great sources of the soul's
knowledge and experience. He moves between the retreat from, and
the return to, active life. This does not seem to set an impossible
standard, either for the individual or for the race. It appears to be
something all might do, with the helps which our environment
provides, and in the circumstances of our time and place. Surely our
relation with that Realityspaceless and yet personalwhich can be
known by us as an unchanging Perfection, and yet is so deeply present
in and with us, revealing itself in the accidents of sense, demands such
a double movement from us.
If we ask ourselves, how it may be that such an opening up of our
sympathies, in prayer and in action, can really bring us into a deeper
and more actual contact with the Infinite reality of Godperhaps the
answer may be found in the wonderful human fact of interpenetration
of spiritus; of which indeed we already know something, though we
are still very far from guessing the degree in which it affects all our
lives. This truth on one side guarantees the social value of each
individual growth into a greater Reality; and is perhaps destined to
show us how great an asset is the saint to the society which produces
himrepresenting, as he does, man's utmost stretch to the Transcendent
and utmost appropriation of Eternal Lifeand how real is the
penetrative and redeeming force of his love and care for the souls. But
it has also another and more sacred aspect. It suggests that, we being
personal spirits in the making, only the completely Personal can
penetrate, call forth, and develop a Real Self. This relation may, and
doubtless does, take many forms and many grades of intensity. But the
fullest, deepest, most vividly personal experience of such a Real Other
which has yet entered human historythough doubtless fragmentary
enough in comparison with the Wholeis that which is shown to us by
those who have dedicated
 Page 176
their changeful lives without reserve to that aspect of the Unchanging
God which they have known; and so brought into intimate and living
union the successive and the eternal aspects of truth.
 Page 177
In "God and Spirit" published in Theology in 1930, Underhill again
explored the relationship between human life and Divine life, that is,
created spirit and Absolute Spirit. The paradoxical relationship
between these two involves a tension between vigorous personal
initiative and abandonment to Absolute Spirit on the part of each
individual.
 Page 179

God and Spirit

A very earnest but rather nebulous lady once defined her creed to me
in these words: "I feel there is a spiritual something somewhere." And
I suppose everyone but a stark materialistif such a person still
existswould be able to subscribe to that. The difficulty begins when
we are asked to be more precise; for the truth is that the word "spirit"
represents an unfixed concept, which suggests much but tells littlean
attempt to crystallize a profound intuition, not define something to
which we have attained by logical thought. At one end of the scale it
refers to the nature of Absolute Being, in so far as Absolute Being is
apprehended by us; and at the other end to a quality or potentiality in
ourselves, which constitutes our kinship with Absolute Beingor, to put
it in more genial terms, our Divine worship.
The New Testament gives us two apparently distinct but really
complementary definitions of God, the ultimate Reality, which are
specially relevant here, and may help us to clarify our thoughts. I put
first the words attributed to Our Lord by the fourth evangelist"God is
Spirit." Next, the term which certainly was commonly used by Him,
and constantly repeated by the Synoptists"Our Heavenly Father." If
the first lifts us far beyond the world of space and time as it is
normally present to our consciousness, the second assures us of an
intimate, a filial relationship between the human creature anchored to
this planet and that Fount and Origin of things Who transcends the
world of space and time. If the first opens the door alike to mystical
and sacramental religionfor only the most spiritual, most awestruck
 Page 180
and unearthly conception of God can face the humbling truth of His
self-giving through thingsthe second finds a place for the
unexhaustible deep and mysterious doctrines of Providence and
Divine Love, those dearest treasures of the religious soul. Realistically
understood, they complete each other; and set the scene for a full,
rich, and dynamic spiritual experience, alike in the individual and in
the Church.
Neither of these expressions, of course, is peculiar to Christianity. All
that they mean is already implied in the Psalms and the Prophets. But
each achieves in Christianity a new expansion and richness of content;
and were their implications fully understood by us, we should be in
possession of a far deeper and fuller conception than we generally
reach of the three primary data or religionGod, Man, and the relation
between God and Man. First: "God is Spirit." We may gloss this with
the definition of St. Thomas: "The Holy Spirit is God, as He is
everywhere and at all times." You remember how St. Teresa said that
it marked an epoch in her spiritual life when she learned that God is
present in and with us in Himself; and not, as she had been told,
merely by His grace. And the trend of modern theology is towards
abolishing the verbal distinction between the Spirit and grace.
Secondly; this everywhere-present God is our Heavenly Father.
Beyond succession, in the eternal world, our small created spirits
somehow originated with Him, owe their being to Him, and depend
utterly on Him. All these statements lie, as it were, on the surface of
our subject; but before we can really get to grips with them, we still
have to face that fundamental question which met us at the
beginningWhat is spirit?and the more we look at it, the more we
realize it is a question we cannot answer. Yet surely the wonderful
thing about human nature is that we can ask it. Those words, "spirit"
and "spiritual," stand for something veritably experienced by us,
"dimly yet vividly,'' as von Hugel says; something not truly clear to
the logical levels of the mind, which are quite unable to think
Absolutes, something which is known on the whole more richly by
intuition than by thoughtyet something which is certainly real and
fundamental to our human world. Some hint of what these
conceptions can mean to a fully expanded religious sense is given us,
I think, by two passages from von Hugel; which contain in themselves
the very essence of the theology of the Spirit. First this:
 Page 181
The central conviction and doctrine of Christianity is the real prevenience
and condescension of the real Godthe penetration of spirit into sense, of
the spaceless into space, of the Eternal into time, of God into man.
That links, you see, the Incarnation, Pentecost, Sanctity, the Church,
as parts of one Divine method and act.
Then this:
Spirit and spirit, God and the creature, are not two material bodies, of
which one can only be where the other is not; but, on the contrary, as
regards our own spirit, God's spirit ever works in closest penetration and
stimulation of our own; just as, in return, we cannot find God's spirit
simply separate from our own spirit within ourselves. Our spirit clothes
and expresses His; His Spirit first creates and then sustains and stimulates
our own.
There we have again the three data of religion: the absolute Spirit of
God, the derived spirit Man, and the relation between His Spirit and
our own. And we can best deal with the subject under those three
heads. "God's Spirit ever works in closest penetration and stimulation
of our own." To realise that, delight in it, rest on it, suffer for itthis is
the perfection of a spiritual life.
This doctrine of God's penetration of the soul is not to be suspected as
a disguised pantheism. No theologian of the modern world has been
more consistent and emphatic than von Hugel in his warnings
concerning the impoverishment and perversion of the religious sense
which comes from opening the door to any kind of pantheistic
monism. These words are the words of a teacher intensely concerned
to safeguard those twin truths of the distinctness of God and the
derivative being of man, without which we can never hope to
construct a sane and realistic, because humble and creaturely,
theology of the spirit. The pendulum swing of religious experience
and religious thought has tended sometimes to overstress one, and
sometimes the other, of these twin truths. Sometimes it is God's utter
distinctness which is overwhelmingly felt; and the result is virtual or
actual Deism. Sometimes it is His immanence in, and total possession
of, the soul; and this, unbalanced by its completing opposite, prepares
 Page 182
the way for that pantheism which ever lies in wait for the exclusive
mystic. Christian theology ought to safeguard us against both these
extremes. The solemn awe with which we abase ourselves before the
numen, and the humble and loving response of human nature in its
totality to the Divine Nature incarnate in Christ, is completed by the
veritable experience of a Spirit of Love and Will which, says the
Creed, proceeds both from the unmanifest and the manifest Godhead,
the Father and the Sona source of energy, and also a personal
influence. When we speak of Spirit in this sense, we speak of a free
and active Reality which transcends and yet penetrates our world, our
activity, and our consciousness; not merely as something which is in
the making, the soul of an evolving universe, but as something which
is there first, and which draws its transforming power from the fact
that it is already perfect and holy. Here, then, by the Spirit we mean
God Himself in His reality and love, His intimately cherishing care for
His whole creation. Not part of the striving evolutionary process, but
distinct; and therefore able to intervene, able to pour out veritable
dowers of life and light, and reveal actual but unguessed levels of
realness, beyond the level which we call the natural world.
Thus the genuine Christian doctrine of God as Spirit can never be
translated into terms of emergent evolution or other process; because
it is of the very essence of Christian philosophy to hold that spirit in
its absolute perfection and living plenitude is there first, that the
Creative Principle infinitely exceeds, while it informs, the createdand
this not merely in degree, but also in kind. "With thee is the well of
life"the prime originating causeand "in thy light we see light." Hence,
while Christianity can accept and spiritualize the evolutionary
process, it cannot accept as complete the evolutionary account of
cause. Beyond and within the natural it requires the supernatural, if all
that has been revealed to it is to be expressed. ''The world is charged
with the grandeur of God," said Gerard Hopkins.
 There lives the dearest freshness deep down things
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods, with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

The warm breast, fount of creative and cherishing life, turned

earthwards; the bright wings, spread out upon another, a tran-
 Page 183
scendent, free and perfect order of existence, and reflecting the
radiance of eternitysurely a wonderful image of the Divine double
action and the Divine double love. It contains within itself much of
what we mean, or should mean, by Spirit. So we see that though it is
quick, easy and very popular to say that the doctrine of the Holy Spirit
is simply a doctrine of the immanence of God, unless we are careful in
our discriminations this may mean slurring some of the most
significant and necessary outlines drawn by religion. The full and
genuine Christian doctrine means the immanence of an Absolute
Spirit who yet remains utterly transcendentthe Wholly Other, inspiring
and supporting His creature in every detail and at every point. That
aspect of our relationship to God is wonderfully given by Plotinus, in
a passage where his religious intuition seems to intervene and cut
decisively across his more rigid and doctrinaire diagram of reality, to
anticipate the experiences of the saints.
"We must not," he says, "think of ourselves as cut off from the Source
of life; rather we breathe and consist in It, for It does not give Itself to
us and then withdraw Itself, but ever lifts and bears us." Thus the fact
that our awareness of Spirit is so limited, fluctuating and sporadic is
seen to be comparatively unimportant. The emphasis lies on God, the
Fact of all Facts, and His action; not on the partial experiences of our
uneven, tentative and many-levelled consciousness, still so uncertain
in its grasp of all that lies beyond the world of sense. For the doctrine
of the Holy Spirit means that we acknowledge and adore the
everywhere present pressure of God; not as a peculiar religious
experience, not as a grace or influence sent out from another world or
order, but as a personal holy Presence and Energy, in this world and
yet distinct from it, penetrating all, yet other than all, the decisive
factor in every situation; operating at various levels, and most deeply
and freely in that world of souls where His creation shows a certain
kinship with Himself. That is the Christian landscape. That is the
situation within which the Christian soul is required to grow in love
and power, be purified, and become at last itself a creative spirit, an
instrument of that God who is Pure Act. So man's progress in
spirituality, his growth into correspondence with God, will be felt at
its deepest far more as a response to that Spirit's incitement, an
increasing surrender to the subtle pressure of that
 Page 184
love "Which ever lifts and bears us" than as a self-actualized
adventure, a pilgrim's progress from this world to that which is to
come. It will mean such a self-abandonment to the Spirit that we
become its unresisting agents, and can receive from moment to
moment the needed impulsions and lights. This is what the spiritual
life has always seemed to the greatest, humblest, most enlightened
souls; whatever symbols they may use in their effort to communicate
it. It is God who worketh in usthat is the overruling truth which should
colour and harmonize all the various strands of our religious life.
Now turn from these thoughts of God, the Absolute Spirit in whom
we live and move and have our being, to man the created spirit; for
spirit is a word that we can and must apply to human personality. It is
a platitude that man is amphibious, a creature of the borderland. He
cannot be explained in physical terms alone, or spiritual terms alone;
but partakes of both worlds. But, like many other so-called platitudes,
this one conveys a stupendous truth which is seldom fully realized by
us: the truth of our unique status, our capacity for God. Man's relation
to the animal world needs no demonstration. A stroll around the Zoo
reveals plenty of disconcerting family likenesses. A very little
introspection discovers animal instincts, politely disguised, in control
of our normal behaviour. Yet a certitude, an experience of another
world and level of life, in contact with our deepest selves, and a
craving to actualize that other world and other life, grows with our
growth, our increase in spiritual sensitiveness. No psychology which
leaves this out can cover the ground of human action and human
desire. We can and do habitually sink very much lower than the
angels; yet we are crowned with glory and honour in our brothers and
sisters the saints.
Certainly our conscious hold on this spiritual heritage is still far less
clear and certain than our hold on our physical heritage. Our powers
have been developed in close contact with the sense, and by the
pressure of the physical world. Clear correspondence with the other
order must be the prerogative of a minority of souls. So here again
religion is justified in her insistence that what matters supremely is the
hold which the spiritual order has on us, and the power which flows
from it through surrendered and self-oblivious personalities; in other
words, that the initiative ever
 Page 185
lies with God and His Spirit. All that is asked from man's small
emerging spirit is that devotedness, confidence and faithful response
which makes him a channel of the inpouring supernatural energy;
strong in the Lord and the power of His might.
Nevertheless, as we get accustomed to our own psychology, we also
get accustomed to the facthowever we express itthat our being has its
metaphysical aspect. We are not all of a piece. Those statements
which are so frequent in spiritual literature, concerning the contrast
between our higher and lower nature, or about the soul's ground or
apex, that deep core of our being where God dwells and speaksall
these have a genuine meaning and refer to a profound truth, in spite of
their manifestly symbolic form.
All year long upon the stage
I dance and tumble and do rage,
So furiously I scarcely see
The inner and eternal Me.

The inner and eternal Mespirit, the metaphysical self, that most hidden
and intimate seat of our being, where already we live in a measure
eternal life; the height or depth at which we taste God, the real seat of
the religious instinct. There His Spirit works in intimate union with
our spirit; there are felt the moulding effects of His pressure, as it
comes to us through circumstance. And the surrender which all deep
and real religion requires of us is needed, in order that we may
become perfect and unresisting tools and channels of that abundant
Divine life.
Now let us take another point. The term Spirit represents our
awareness of a level of Reality, and also a level of the soul's life, at
which the all-penetrating God makes Himself known to His creature.
Not only this, but it tells us something, too, about our own personality.
We are created spirits; that is the most real thing about us. As the
mystics say, when we ascend to the summit of our being, then we are
spirit. "Though the soul," says St. Teresa, "is known to be undivided,
interior effects show for certain that there is a positive difference
between the soul and the spirit, even though they are one with each
other."
 Page 186
Two world immense
Of spirit and of sense
Wed
In this narrow bed.
And you will remember how von Hugel says, in one of the passages I
quoted.
"We cannot find God's Spirit simply separate from our own spirit
within ourselves. Our spirit clothes and expresses His; His Spirit first
creates and then sustains and stimulates our own."
Our spirit, so tenuous, unstable, half-real, is yet intended for this
incredible officeto clothe and express within the space-time world the
Absolute Spirit creates the universe of dependent spirits; and then
sustains and stimulates them. Sustains, and stimulates. Notice the
words. They are not chosen haphazardly; they represent two distinct
groups of experiences, in which we recognize the direct action of God
on souls. First that steady support which, as Plotinus says, "ever bears
us," whether we notice it or not: as true an operation of the Holy Spirit
as any abnormal manifestation, or "charismatic" gifts. Next That
insistent pressure, reaching us sometimes through outward events,
sometimes by interior ways, which urges us forward on the spiritual
path, incites us to those particular efforts, struggles and sacrifices,
through which we grow up in the supernatural life. This double action
of God's infinite Spirit on man's finite spirit is reflected in our
characteristic religious practices; on one hand the solid objective
support, and on other the stimulus to costly action, which we seek and
should find through the life of prayer and sacraments. Here we come
up against the fundamental paradox of the spiritual lifethe fact that it
requires from us an utter self-vigorous personal initiative; and that this
balance, this tension, in which our human action becomes part of the
deep action of God, can only be understood by us as we enter more
and more into our spiritual inheritance. Pentecost is the great historic
manifestation of this twin truth. There we see on one hand the utter
dependence of the small creature-spirits on the Infinite Life. On the
other hand, the self-obvious courage and initiative, the unlimited
confidence and hope of those same creatures, called to incarnate
something of that Infinite Spirit's life; and able to do so, because in
their
 Page 187
measure they partake of the life of spirit as well as the life of sense.
As we watch life, we realize how deeply this paradox does enter into
all great action; and not only that which we recognize as religious. We
are simultaneously conscious of a genuine costly personal effort and
risk, and of a mighty enveloping power. This double strain is present
in all history; though perhaps specially clear in the religious history of
man. The Saints are not examples of limp surrender; but of dynamic
personality using all its capacities, and acting with a freedom,
originality and success which result from an utter humility, complete
self-loss in the Divine life. In them supremely, will and grace rise and
fall together; the action of the Spirit stimulates as well as sustains,
requiring of them vigorous and often heroic action, and carrying them
through apparently impossible tasks. No man was ever more fully and
consciously mastered by the Spirit than St. Paul; and we know what
St. Paul's life was like. The same is true of St. Francis, St. Catherine
of Siena, St. Vincent de Paul. "The human will," says Dr. Temple, "is
a more adequate instrument of the Divine will than any natural force."
Even more truly we might say that the human spirit is the most
adequate instrument known to us of the Holy Spirit of Godthe active
energy of the Divine Love operating in time.
So we have slid into the third division of our subject: the relation
between the human spirit and God's Spirita relation so wonderfully
expressed by St. Thomas when he says, "the Holy Spirit not only
brings God into our soul, but places us in God." These examples and
declarations show us that the true working of that Holy Spirit on
human personality should never be identified with abnormal
phenomena or cataclysmic conversions. We have no reason to suppose
that the supernatural world is less steady, less dependable than the
natural world. The gifts which theology attributes to the action of the
Holy Spirit on the human psyche are all steady, quiet things; a
deepening and enrichment marked, not by any emotional reaction, but
by an increase of awe, wisdom, knowledge, insight, strength.
Anything abrupt or sensational in our realization of Spirit is rather to
be attributed to our weakness and instability, our sense-conditioned
psychic life, than to the deep and quiet operation of the Power of God.
In Acts we have the double record of those moments when the Spirit
was felt as an
 Page 188
invading and transfiguring power, in sharp contrast with the ordinary
levels of experience, and the continuous action and growth of
individuals and groups indwelt by Him. And so with us. There may be
italicized periods of either joy or abasement, when the reality and
claim of God are suddenly and violently felt, and the Spirit seizes the
field of consciousness; and throughout the whole spiritual course, for
some temperaments, moments of communion when His presence is
vividly experienced, and His direct guidance is somehow recognized.
But what matters far more is the continuous normal action, the steady
sober growth which the Spirit evokes, and cherishes if we are faithful:
the whole life of correspondence between man the creature and the
Absolute Will.
So what we call the "coming of the Holy Spirit" does not mean any
change in the attitude and capacity of men. "Your opening and His
entering," said Meister Eckhart, "are one moment." The New
Testament shows us men's experience of Christ as opening a door for
the further experience of the energizing Spirit of God, "as He is
everywhere and at all times"; and ordinary human beings moving out
to the very frontiers on human experience, to become channels of that
Spirit's action in space and time. Since we are part of the society to
which this happened and can happen still, our own responsibility as
agents of Spirit is both individual and corporate; and each reacts on
the other. Church and soul are both temples of the living Reality of
God. Prayer is the responsive moving out of soul and of Church, to
the Spirit whose first movement has initiated this marvellous
intercourse between the finite and infinite life.
So we arrive at this position: If the substantial reality of the human
soul abides in that quality or ens we call Spirit, and if here, at its spire-
point as Peter Sterry said, it finds God dwelling and its own real
abiding-place in Himtwo sides of one truththen, the winning of men
for God, the establishment of His Kingdom, consists in introducing
them into this life of Spirit. It means the realized dwelling of
imperfect man in God the Perfect, with all its attendant possibilities,
obligations and joys. This is what evangelization really is. It is giving
the little human creature the good news of its real situation; not
merely asking it to accept certain extraneous beliefs. If we look first at
the highest apprehension of God's Being reached by the human soul,
and then at existence as
 Page 189
understood by the average sense-conditioned mind, the distance
between these points is the sphere open to evangelization. For
evangelization means showing every man what his possibilities in
God really are: showing him that he can incarnate that Spirit which is
eternal life, can become its tool and channeland that he has not risen
to the height of his own nature, is not fully alive, until he does this.
Every human being, said Péguy, represents a hope of Godin less
poetic terms, every human being is a potential spiritual personality.
The job of the Christian teacher is to help it to become an actual
spiritual personality, by the enlargement of its capacity for God. The
Church is a society of souls; either doing this work, or on whom this
work is being done; and who form together, in a special place, an
embodiment for the Holy Eternal Spirit in space and timeCorpus
Christi.
Nevertheless, it is inherent in the plasticity of life, our limited
freedom, that our own side of this august correspondence is really left
to us. We can enter more fully into the Order of God, here and now, or
we can more and more decline from it: and the promotion of the
Kingdom means, above all, the surrender of the individual souls to
His individual impulsions, that He may act. Where this surrender is
absolute, the mighty creative energy evokes, develops and uses to the
last drop the creature's energy. It is knit up into the great Divine
action, and the result is such an amazing transcendency, such
converting and creating power as we see in the saints; whose spirit, as
von Hugel said, "clothes and expresses" the Spirit of God. It is within
this supernatural economy that our little activities, religious and other,
go forward; and it is this solemn consciousness of Spirit, in its fulness
always remaining inexpressible, which is the mark of the really
religious man.
We know the mysterious power of influence between man and man;
know it so well that we seldom pause to think of its strangeness and
significancehow decisively it witnesses against any theory of the soul
as an independent monad. Yet this interpenetration of human spirits is
a mere shadow of the deep and actual penetration and influence of
God on souls. That fact is the ground and sanction of all personal
religion. Were it disproved, personal religion would go too. And
though news of this steadfast creative action, this supporting and
stimulating presence of God
 Page 190
mustlike all our other newsenter the field of consciousness through the
senses or the intellect, translating intuition into concepts and sensible
signs, these only partly reveal and certify that deep ineffable action of
Spirit upon and within our spirits, which is literally the life of our life.
Beyond all that we can see, feel, think, or bear, beyond succession,
beyond change, is God, the Fact of all Facts. And this abiding Fact of
all Facts is in His nature Spirit, perfect and complete. And the human
soul, subject to succession, not perfect, not complete, finds its true life
and full power only in an ever-growing surrender to that rich and
living Reality.
"The Divine action," said De Caussade, "floods the whole Universe; it
bathes and penetrates all created things. Wherever they are, it is. It
goes before them, it accompanies them, it follows them. We need but
let ourselves be borne upon its waves."
 Page 191
"Father Wainwright" is one of the essays that Underhill contributed to
the Spectator. This one appeared in 1932 and revealed Underhill's
understanding of the nature of holiness as lived out in ordinary
circumstances in London's Dockland.
 Page 193

Father Wainright, 18481929

In 1873 a dapper young clergyman, very correctly dressed, with well-
brushed hat and black kid gloves, arrived at the clergy-house of St.
Peter's London Docks. Fifty-five years later, on a bed as poor and
comfortless as any ascetic could desire, a little old man lay dead in his
bare and carpetless room; and, in the words of one of his children,
''Dockland was washed with tears," because this tiny but indomitable
figure, toothless, shabby, untiring, spendthrift of love, would not serve
them on earth any more. There are two ruling factors in all the varied
types of Christian holiness. One is the great stream of tradition which
rises in the New Testament, and in which all these lives are bathed. To
that tradition each adds something: and from it each takes inspiration,
formation, power. The other factor is the social life within which the
saint emerges; with its special incitements to heroic virtue, its special
demands and needs. Thus the world of the sixth century asked for just
that which St. Benedict gave it; it was to the intellectual turmoil of the
thirteenth that St. Thomas sacrificed his career; the world of the
Counter-Reformation gave St. Ignatius his peculiar call. But the
demand and the response may also be found in their perfection within
a narrower sphere. St. Vincent de Paul is nowhere closer to his Pattern
than in the slums of Paris; hunting the rubbish heaps for abandoned
babies, and serving poverty in its most repulsive disguises with
reverent love. The Curé d'Ars fulfils his vocation in an obscure French
village, and among the simplest souls. Perhaps it was the inspiring
force of these two lives, with their self-spending passion for the sinful
and
 Page 194
the abject, whichmore than any other factordetermined Father
Wainright's particular place in the communion of saints. For in them
he saw radiant charity triumphing in an environment very like his
own. Nineteenth-century Dockland was not conspicuously above the
standards of seventeenth-century Paris; nor were its inhabitants much
more promising material than the peasants of Ars. It was for this very
reason that they made their overwhelming appeal. He served them for
over half a century, almost without holidays and always in a poverty
of life very near their own; for he had the saint's peculiar inability to
keep anything for himself. The blankets from his bed had a way of
disappearing; and at least once he gave away the shirt he was wearing,
and walked home without it through a bitter winter night, paying by
an attack of pneumonia for this share in St. Martin's joy. Yet his life
was not so much deliberately, as inevitably, austere. Like St. Francis,
he hardly noticed what he ate or wore. Coarse and ill-cooked food
meant nothing to him. He had no midday meal; and supper was
frequently postponed till nearly midnight, because he had no time for
it before. His only passions were for strong tea, and for quantities of
red pepper: and this he always denied himself in Lent.
Every day developed naturally from its invariable beginning; a long
period of rapt devotion before the Altar, which nothing but an urgent
summons to the dying was allowed to interrupt. The morning was
usually absorbed by letters, and interviews with the growing crowd
who brought him their difficulties and sorrows. The afternoon was
given to the visiting of the sick, always one of his chief cares. He went
with the untiring zest from house to house and hospital to hospital
often to those in distant parts of London which had patients from
among his flock; and slept in the train between his visits, to make up
for the shortness of his nights. It was said of him that "if you want to
know the Father well, you must be either a sick man or a drunkard."
He had, and often used, the privilege of entry into the London
Hospital at all times of the night: constantly appearing by the beds of
the dying in the small hours to comfort or persuade, and too much
loved to be resisted even by the most disciplinarian members of the
staff. So great was local confidence in his protective presence that he
became to his people a human Viaticum; "The Father came to see
 Page 195
'im, and so it's all right," was Dockland's particular judgment on its
most delinquent dead.
It will be seen from all this, that Father Wainright's conception of his
office came a good deal nearer to the ideals of St. Luke than to those
of the efficient head of a well-organized modern parish. The sick, the
destitute, the outcasts and the sinful had always the first claim on his
time and his love: and direct personal contact with individuals,
unlimited self-spending in their interests, was the only pastoral
method he really understood. He was always ready to leave the
ninety-nine good church-goers and start single-handed to rescue the
one lost sheep. Indeed, he cared comparatively little for "good" people
and regular attendants at church; was not much interested in the size
of his congregation; and firmly refused to organize missions, guilds,
"special" services, or any kind of religious "stunt." There was much
that was mediaeval in his outlook and the realistic temper of his
religious life; and he would have been completely at home among
those English mystics who wore printed above their hearts the Holy
Name. But a sweet little smile and gentle manner hid an iron will
where the essentials of his faith and practice were concerned: for he
remained loyal at every point to the strict Tractarian tradition within
which his vocation had developed, and made few concessions to
modern ideas. Organized social work, in the modern sense, did not
appeal much to him. Though he was for years a member of the
Stepney Borough Council, where it was felt that he held a watching
brief for the poor and unfortunate, he seldom intervened in the
discussion of practical measures. Yet, by a curious paradox, his
character and his presence did more for the true social salvation of
Dockland than all the forces of law and order and social reform. He
found it an ill-lit, unsanitary, largely lawless area; where policement
went in couples and no one's property was safe. With the entire
fearlessness of a person whose life is not his own, he went at all hours
through its worst alleys, intervened in street rows, fraternized with the
roughest inhabitants, and attracted the children who formed his
constant body-guard. At first he was ridiculed, then tolerated, then
liked; at last, universally loved and revered.
And this was achieved by a person without striking qualities of
intellect or manner, and with none of the "extraordinary" gifts
 Page 196
so commonly attributed to the saints. He was an indifferentand in later
years an inarticulatepreacher; people came to his sermons, not so
much to listen as to look at his face, and be in his atmosphere. In
practical matters his judgment, from a worldly point of view, was not
always sound. But a compassion that was more than human seemed to
reach out through his spirit from beyond the world, and move among
derelict men as one that serveth. For there is a kind of sanctity in
which human love and pity are transfused and transmuted into the
channel of the Celestial Charity itself: and it was Father Wainright's
entire self-giving to that holy Energy, which sent him out as its agent
to the hospital and the slum. In his old age it was said of that fiery
little soldier, St. Ignatius that "he seemed to have become all love."
The power which operates that transformation is still at work within
the world of men.
 Page 197
"Meditation on Peace," published in 1939 by the Fellowship of
Reconciliation, is one of Underhill's earliest statements on pacifism.
In it she discusses the tension between the peace of God and bearing
and absorbing human sin and suffering.
 Page 199

A Meditation On Peace
It is clear that when St. Paul made his great list of the fruits of the
Spirit, he did not arrange them in any casual order. They represent a
progressive series of states or graces, which develop in the soul from
the single budding-point of Love: that pure, undemanding love of God
in Himself, and of His creatures, good and bad, congenial and
uncongenial, for His sake, which is the raw material of our
blessedness. Such love means a certain share in the Divine generosity,
tolerance and patience towards every manifestation of life: "Whoso
dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him." Whoever then
achieves this state of charity and spreads it, in however small a way,
has already made a true contribution to the peace of the world. We can
understand this, even though most of us must spend our lives in
learning to practice it. But next, St. Paul ascends to the very summit of
the spiritual life and says, not that this Spirit of Love will bring forth
such suitable fruits as helpfulness, self-denial, good social and
religious habits; but that the twin signs of its living presence are Joy
and Peace. Joy, the spirit of selfless delight, and Peace, the spirit of
tranquil acceptance, are the first-fruits of the Eternal Charity received
into the soul of man.
It is well to think of this, for during the last months, joy and peace
have seemed to retreat further and further from us, and especially
from those who care most deeply and work most eagerly for peace.
The world grows madder, more frightened, more full of hatred and
violence. All that we read or hear is charged with malicious
suggestion, ungenerous suspicion, fear, pessimism,
 Page 200
animosity, all steadily and secretly pushing civilisation towards hell;
and those most conscious of this tempest of insanity and lovelessness
in which we live, are more and more tempted to despair and rage. The
commonest sins of those who work for peace, are the tendency to take
a gloomy and embittered view, and to advocate their principles in a
controversial way. In so far as pacifists yield to these sins they defeat
themselves; for peace cannot grow apart from joy and love. An
embittered pacifist is like a poisoned chalice; he injures the human
and defames the Divine. The "peace which is from above" means a
tranquil and selfless delight in God's splendour, a share in His widely
tolerant attitude, and trust in His ultimate triumph, which kills
depression and fuss. Every soul in whom these dispositions are alive,
who stands firm for charity, joy and gentleness in every situation, is a
check on the world's descent towards destruction and thus an agent of
the Divine saving power.
Christians are bound to the belief that all creation is dear to the
Creator, and is the object of His cherishing care. The violent as well as
the peaceful, the dictators as well as their victims, the Blimps as well
as the pacifists, the Government as well as the Opposition, the sinners
as well as the saints. All are children of the Eternal Perfect. Some
inhabitants of this crowded nursery are naughty, some stupid, some
wayward, some are beginning to get good. All are immersed in the
single tide of creative love, which pours out from the heart of the
universe and through the souls of self-abandoned men. God loves, not
merely tolerates, these wayward violent half-grown spirits; and seeks
without ceasing to draw them into His love. We, then, are called to
renounce hostile attitudes and hostile thoughts towards even our most
disconcerting fellow sinners; to feel as great a pity for those who go
wrong as for their victims, to show an equal generosity to the just and
the unjust. This is the only peace-propaganda which has creative
quality, and is therefore sure of ultimate success. All else is a
scratching on the surface, more likely to irritate than to heal.
Peace and Joy are permanent characters of a realistic Christianity; the
inseparable signs of the Spirit's presence in the soul. They are not
achieved at the end of our growth; but are present from the beginning,
hidden in the deeps, long before the restless surface mind is able to
receive them. One of the German
 Page 201
confessional pastors imprisoned for his faith wrote home saying,
"though on the surface it may be rough weather, twenty fathoms down
it is quite calm." That's it. There, beyond succession, where the soul's
ground touches essential Being, is the inexhaustible fount of peace.
There it must be nourished, by contemplation, not by negotiation; and
thence it must radiate in slowly spreading circles, at last to conquer
the unpeaceful world.
Such creative peace, if it is indeed brought forth by the Spirit, will
mean an entire and tranquil acquiescence in the action or non-action
of God; not merely as regards our own lives but, what is far more
difficult, as regards the sufferings, sins and conflicts of the world. A
peace and joy which endures in and through the compassion,
indignation, helplessness and puzzle of mind with which we see the
cruelty and injustice of life, the violence of the strong, the anguish of
the weak and the oppressed. Even this pain and evil, and the world's
dark future, we are to realise as enfolded in a deeper, imperishable
life; and it is when we see it thus, from God's side, that we deal with
its problems best.
Peace is a word which echoes through the New Testament. It was one
of the chief gifts offered by Christ to those who followed Him; a
peace which came from the Transcendent, which was based on a deep
confidence in God and a complete acceptance of the action or non-
action of God. "My peace I give unto you, not as the world giveth. ...
let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid,. ... He stood
among them, and said Peace." If we replace these texts in their New
Testament setting, we see that it was when He drew near to the crisis
and agony of the Passion, and the tension of His life was great, that
Christ more and more emphasised Peace. Peace, not as the world
giveth: the inward tranquility of a mind that looks beyond anxiety and
conflict; is ready for anything, even destruction itself, believing all,
hoping all, trusting all. A peace which never quite loses the objective
unearthly joy in God's action and the privilege of being caught up into
that action, whatever the cost may be. That sounds all right, and there
are moments when we seem to draw near to it. But the test comes
when this peace must be matched against the world's contradictions
and cruelties, troubles, evils and assaults: when we must be peaceful,
not in contrast to the warlike but with the warlike, showing to their
victims a compassion which is without
 Page 202
anger and bitterness, and bearing in tranquility the awful weight of the
world's bewilderment, suffering and sin. Then we discover whether
our peace is a natural feeling or a supernatural fact. For the peace of
God does not mean indifference to those sins and sufferings. It can co-
exist with the sharpest pain, utmost agony of compassion. We see this
clearly in the Saints, who bore the burden of redemptive suffering
with tranquil joy. "O Lamb of God, that takest away the sin of the
world, grant us Thy peace." That is a tremendous prayer to take upon
our lips: the prayer of heroic love. It means Peace bought at a great
price; the peace of the Cross, of absolute acceptance, utter
abandonment to God, a peace inseparable from sacrifice. The true
pacifist is a redeemer, and must accept with joy the redeemer's lot. He
too is self-ordered, without conditions, for the peace of the world.
 Page 203
"Postscript" appeared as the endpiece in Introduction into the Way of
Peace, edited by Percy Harell in 1940. In this chapter she claimed that
pacifists are like strangers in a foreign land and precursors of a world
transfigured by love.
 Page 205

Postscript
Pacifism has been considered from many points of view in these
pages, and its implications in many departments of life discussed.
Now at the end it is perhaps worthwhile to dwell for a moment on the
one thing about it which matters supremely: its relation to the total
Christian revelation of God's nature as absolute love. For pacifism is
only on safe ground where it is based on and embodies these eternal
principles: and is seen, not in isolation as an attitude towards the
particular problem of war, but as part of the great task committed to
humanitythe bringing forth of eternal life in the midst of time, or the
setting up of the Kingdom of God. The doctrine of nonresistance is
after all merely a special application of the great doctrine of universal
charity; and it is of the utmost importance that pacifists should escape
from their own little paddock and realise this. The fact that so many
pacifists felt obliged to abandon the absolute position when the
present war increased in intensity and disclosed to us the full
possibilities and results of military defeat, shows how few had really
based their convictions on these eternal principles, how much
expediency was still mingled with their faith. Many were found
willing when it came to the point to cast out Satan by Satan, rather
than accept the awful risk inherent in the unlimited application to life
of the doctrine on Christian lovethat national or personal crucifixion
which may be the reward of absolute trust in the power of the Divine
Charity, and absolute surrender to its claims.
Since all Christians are now agreed on the wrongfulness and
wastefulness of war, even though they may in particular instances
 Page 206
believe themselves compelled to wage it, acquiescence in this
supposed necessity can only mean capitulation to expediency and
defective confidence in God. True pacifism is one expression among
many of this complete confidence, of that belief in the power and
priority of the supernatural order which is the backbone of religion;
and without such belief, it cannot long endure. It is a courageous
affirmation of Love, Joy and Peace as ultimate characters of the real
world of spirit; a refusal to capitulate to the world's sin and acquiesce
in the standards of a fallen race. Therefore in a fallen, or rather a
falling worldfor the Fall is something which is happening all the time,
man is always slipping away from his right relation to God, and from
sacrifice to self-centrednessabsolute pacifism, which means an
uncompromising obedience to the utmost demands of charity, is
impossible except as an effect of grace. The pacifist is one who has
crossed over to God's side and stands by the Cross, which is at once
the supreme expression of that charity and the pattern of an
unblemished trust in the Unseen. Thence, with eyes cleansed by
prayer, he sees all life in supernatural regard; and knows that, though
our present social order may crash in the furies of a total war and the
darkness of Calvary may close down on the historic scene, the one
thing that matters is the faithfulness of the creature to its own
fragmentary apprehensions of the law of charity and its ultimate return
to the tranquillity of order, which is a perfect correspondence with the
steadfast Will of God. His pacifism, then, is a judgment on existence.
It is rooted in God and can only maintain itself by that contemplation
which St. Gregory called the ''vision of the principle." It is not a
practical, this-world expedient for getting the best results from our
human situation; though indeed it is true that no other ordering of our
existence can produce the best results.
All this seems remote from the life that now rages around us. Yet
there is a sense in which Christianity, whilst entering so deeply into
our sinful experience, has always stood over against it; proclaiming
other standards, refusing to acquiesce in human methods and aims,
never promising quick results, comfort or this-world success. "In the
world ye shall have tribulation" said Johannine Christ to His
bewildered followers as He moved towards the apparent defeat of the
Cross, "but be of good cheer, I
 Page 207
have overcome the world." Or, in Dr. Temple's version, "I have
conquered the Universe." Here is the true charter of Christian
pacifism, in the declaration of One who has conquered the rebel
universe at its heart by letting violence do its worst, triumphing over
principalities and powers by the costly application of sacrificial love
(Col. ii. 15): and now, for the final competition of that victory in His
"outlying provinces", requires the selfless cooperation of men.
So once more true pacifism discloses itself as a supernatural vocation,
a bringing of ultimate truth into the world of time, demanding of those
who embrace it unlimited faith, unshakable hope, inexhaustible
charity. For it means complete and confident self-giving to the
methods and purposes of God; a break with human prudence and the
gospel of safety first. It is a positive and creative direction for living,
poised on the unseen future; and involves much more than the mere
repudiation of war. War is sin worked out to its inevitable conclusion
in violence, hatred, greed and mutual mistrust: part of a deeper
disharmony, a split between the whole created order and the Divine
Charity, an orientation of life towards self-satisfaction, national or
personal, and away from God. Thus even the most just of wars implies
a movement away from Christ, from His spirit, method and aims; but
peace is one point in the Church's great effort to "restore all things in
Him." Wars and fighting, says St. James, are always suspect in origin.
They arise from "your pleasures that war against your members. Ye
lust and have not: ye kill and covet and cannot obtain. Ye fight and
war. Ye have not because ye ask not. Ye ask and receive not because
ye ask amiss, that ye may spend it in your pleasures" (James iv. 13).
War, then, is the material expression of spiritual sin, the deflection of
the great powers of initiative, the great control of our physical
resources, which have been entrusted to us from serving God's
purpose to accomplishing our own. Its causes are rooted in
possessiveness, in inordinate desirethe frenzied clutch on what we
have, the desperate grab at what we have not. But Christianity,
considered as a clue to life's meaning, has no more interest in the
clutch than in the grab. From first to last it urges detachment from
possessions, and will only impart its deepest secrets to those who are
willing to leave all. It does not merely regulate possessiveness,
 Page 208
but it transcends it. Its response to greed is generosity. "If any would
take away thy coat let him have thy cloak also" (Matt. v. 40). Don't
stand on your rights, or defend your ownall is God's.
In the unseen fastnesses of the spiritual world, the devil and his
angelsspirits separated from Godfight for their own; and the reflection
of that hidden struggle is war and conflict on earth. It is a losing fight,
for they struggle against the slow inexorable process of God's
triumph, the setting up of His Kingdom; and in that Kingdom, "the I,
the Me, the Mine" has no meaning. "All is ours, and we are Christ's
and Christ is God's." "Who made me a judge and divider over you?''
said Our Lord to the heir concerned to get his just rights. "A man's life
consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth"
(Luke xii. 14, 15). It consists in the fullness and purity of his relation
with God, the source of all life: and here that which is true of the
single soul is also true of the group. Christianity as such, therefore, is
not concerned to enforce social or national justice, or that pure liberty
of the glory of the Children of God (Rom. viii. 21) which dissolves all
disharmonies in Charity. Only in a world where the whole of this vast
programme is accepted can we hope that peace will be maintained.
This means that pacifism, which is a particular expression of Christian
love in action, looks inwards to the very source of life and out towards
its future. It works for the future, but cannot expect its triumphs now.
Nevertheless it is of crucial importance that those to whom its truth
has already been revealed, and who have learned to say, without
conditions "Ours" instead of "Mine," and should not be disobedient to
the heavenly vision; however great the present cost of obedience may
be. "God," says the Abbé de Tourville, "shows in the world, at every
epoch, precursors who assume or know, at least inwardly, things that
are to come. We should bless God if we happen to be forerunners;
even though, living a century or two too soon, we may find ourselves
strangers in a foreign land. ... Rejoice then in the light that you have
been given, and do not be surprised that it is so difficult to pass it on
to others. It really is making its waynot so much through you or me, as
through force of circumstance" (De Tourville, Pensées Diversées, p.
29).
 Page 209
Pacifists, I am sure, should take these words to themselves, and be
content to count themselves in this sense as precursors. Born into a
European world so concluded in sin, so infected by suspicion,
variance and greed, that as yet the temper of peace is impossible to it,
they must await with patience the gradual triumph of God's Will;
never forgetting that the vision of peace, of which we now begin
perhaps to see the first faint glimmer, is simply one aspect of the total
Christian vision of the world transfigured in Christ, irradiated by
charity, for which "the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain
together till now" (Rom. viii. 22). The true significance of the
repudiation of war can only be understood when seen in this larger
context of the conquest of sin and the bringing in of the Kingdom of
God.
That rich harmonious life, of which peace is one vital character among
many, exists in its wholeness at a level where the natural man cannot
as yet maintain himself. Indeed there is no reason why natural man
should adjure conflict, unless he is potentially spiritual man and
therefore subject to the law of charity. The pacifist then, must be
content to begin where he is; not by large general denunciations of
war, convincing "proofs" of its folly and sin, but rather by quietly
accepting his own place in a sinful order and there creating around
himself a little pool of harmony and love. The home, the street, the
workplace, the city should be his first, perhaps his only sphere. The
establishment of cells of tranquillity in a world at war should be a
primary pacifist aim and is one of the best ways of promoting the
temper of peace. "The servant of the Lord must not strive." The
pacifist who stoops to controversy is by that very act setting up a new
centre of conflict, and decreasing the peacefulness of the world. But to
live in quietness with those whose opinions or actions we detest is a
manifest victory for the tranquil Spirit of God, and a sovereign means
of bringing His Kingdom in. Nor need we too hurriedly assume that
those with whose convictions we disagree most completely have
nothing to contribute to His hidden purpose; that there will not in the
end be a welcome for the lion as well as for the lamb. It is as well to
realize that some who cannot share our particular outlook, whose
minds are closed to our little bit of truth, may yet be open to other
realities no less essential to the establishment of
 Page 210
that total Kingdom in which love, joy and peace are three aspects of a
single beatitude. "God," said the great Nicolas of Cusa, dwells
"beyond the living peace which passes understanding, the Christian
warrior and the Christian pacifist may find themselves at one."
 Page 211
"The Church and War" was published in 1940 by the Anglican Pacifist
Fellowship. In this article she called on all Christians to reject war as
incompatible with their religious commitment and she pointed to the
mission of the church, to challenge believers to bring in the kingdom
of love.
 Page 213

The Church and War

We are movingperhaps more rapidly than we realizetowards a moment
in which the Church, if she is to preserve her integrity and her
spiritual influence, will be compelled to define her attitude towards
war; to clear her own mind as to the true reason why her members, by
the mere fact of their membership, are bound to repudiate war, not
only in principle but also in fact. The reason, for there is only one, is
simple and conclusive. The Christian Church is the Body of Christ.
Her mission on earth is to spread the Spirit of Christ, which is the
creative spirit of wisdom and love; and in so doing, bring in the
Kingdom of God. Therefore she can never support or approve any
human action, individual or collective, which is hostile to wisdom and
love.
This is the first and last reason, why, if she remains true to her
supernatural call, the Church cannot acquiesce in war. For war,
however camouflaged or excused, must always mean the effort of one
group of men to achieve their purposeget something which they want,
or prevent something happening which they do not wantby inflicting
destruction and death on another group of men. When we trace war to
its origin, that origin is always either mortal sinPride, Anger, Envy,
Greedor else that spirit of self-regarding Fear, which is a worse
infidelity to God than any mortal sin. The Christian cannot serve these
masters, even though they are wearing national dress. His attitude to
the use of violence, "justifiable" or "unjustifiable," was settled once
and for all in Gethsemane. Our Lord's rebuke to St. Peter condemns
all
 Page 214
"rightous" wars, all resort to arms, even in the defense of the just and
the holy. No cause indeed could have been more just and holy than
that of the disciples who sought to defend the Redeemer from His
enemies; from their point of view, they would have been fighting for
the Kingdom of God, and the highest claims of patriotism must fade
before this. Yet it was not by any resort to arms that the world was to
be saved; but by the suffering, patience, and sacrificial love of the
Cross.
To defeat the power of evil by the health-giving power of love and
thus open a channel for the inflow of the creative grace of God is
therefore the only struggle in which the realistic Christian can take
part. No retaliation. No revenge, national or personal. No "defensive
wars"i.e. destroying our brother to prevent him from destroying us.
"Fear not him that can kill the body" says the Churchor so at least the
Church ought to say. Yet armament factories working full time
announce to the world that we do fear him very much indeed; and are
determined, if it comes to the point, to kill his body before he can kill
ours. This attitude is one with which the Christian Church must never
come to terms; for questions of expediency, practicality, national
prestige and national safety do not as such concern her. All these
derive from human egotism and human fear. Her single business is to
apply everywhere and at all times the law of charity; and so bring the
will of man, whether national or individual, into harmony with the
Will of God. Charity means a loving and selfless co-operation
between men. In this the Church has a constructive programme far
more complete, definite, and truly practicaland also far more
exactingthan that of any political reformer: for she looks towards a
transfigured world, in which the energies now wasted on conflict shall
be turned to the purposes of life, and calls upon every one of her
members to work for this transfigured world. But she will not make
her message effective, until she shows the courage of her convictions
and makes her own life, individual and corporate, entirely consistent
with the mandate she has received. She cannot minister with one hand
the Chalice of Salvation, whilst with the other she blesses the
instruments of death.
Certainly she can, and perhaps must under present conditions, approve
the use of such discipline as is needed to check the turbulent, protect
the helpless, and keep order between man and
 Page 215
man and between group and group. But such a use of force is never by
intention destructive, and works for the ultimate good of those to
whom it is applied. It is often difficult to define the boundary which
divides this legitimate police action from military action: nevertheless,
Christians must try to find that boundary, and having found it must
observe it. Christianity is not anarchy; and the right ordering of
society for the good of all is a part of her creative task. But on the
question of war between man and man she cannot compromise; for
this is in direct conflict with her law of brotherly love. Nor can the
Church put this question aside as "none of her business"; and create
for herself a devotional bombproof shelter, in which to take refuge
and meditate upon God, whilst those to whom she is sent violate His
laws.
The Church is in the world to save the world. The whole of human life
is her province, because Christianity is not a religion of escape but a
religion of incarnation; not standing alongside human life, but
working in and through it. So, she is bound to make a choice and
declare herself on the great issues of that life, and carry through her
choice into action: however great the cost. War means men pressing
their own claims and demands, or resisting another's claims and
demands, to the point of destruction. At best this is atavism, at worst it
is devilry. The individual sacrifices for which it calls are sacrifices
indeed; but they are not made at the only altar which Christians can
acknowledgethe altar of the Divine Love. Therefore the Church
cannot acquiesce in war; nor can any communicant who is true to the
costly realities of faith take part in it. Christianity stands for absolute
values, and the Church falls from grace every time she compromises
about them; for she is a supernatural society, consisting of persons
who have crossed over from the world's side to God's side and have
accepted service under the august standard of the Cross, with all that
service of the Cross implies. Necessarily then, though in the world,
the Church can never be of it. For the world detests absolute values;
they are so inconvenient. "Marvel not, my brethren, if the world hate
you."
It is true that in this realistic sense the Church is a small body and
Christians are a small party; but the Holy Spirit "works through
minorities," and it may be that He is in this present hour giving the
Church one of the greatest opportunities she has been
 Page 216
offered in the course of her career. That stirring of men's minds to a
desire for peace which is the most striking fact of our present situation
is a manifest working of the Spirit of God. The first business of the
Church is surely to give unlimited support to this movement wherever
it appears, invest it with the fire, the passion, the beauty proper to
humanity's greatest aspirations, invite all whom it has touched to a
share in her sources of power, and offer them constructive work that
they can do. Here each communicant has a direct obligation; for the
decisive factor in the establishment of a peace-loving community is
such a disciplining of the individual heart and mind, as shall enable
every circumstance of daily life to be received in a spirit of peaceful
love, and made an occasion for the deepening of charity. The Church
is, or should be, the rallying point for all those who believe in the
creative and redeeming power of this tranquil and generous love; for
those who trust God, and are sure that those hidden, spiritual forces
which condition and support our life can and will intervenenot to save
us from suffering or material loss, not in the interests of personal or
national selfishness, but to secure in the teeth of opposition the
ultimate triumph of God's will.
Now as never before men's consciences are moved and their fear is
roused by the awful spectacle of war allied with science and allowed
to work out unchecked the consequences of this dread partnershipthe
mind of man, and the will of man, wreaking destruction on God's
world. Only Christianity can say why these things are evil, and offer a
method whereby this evil can be dealt with at the source; namely, in
the hearts of men. Christianity alone holds the solution of humanity's
most terrible and most pressing problem. She alone has something
really practical to say, for to her has been confided the Word of God
for men. It is the Church's hour; and she will not face it, because like
the hour of birth it means risk, travail, inevitable pain. We are forced
to the bitter conclusion that the members of the Visible Church as a
body are not good enough, not brave enough to risk everything for
that which they know to be the Will of God and the teaching of Christ.
For it does mean risking everything; freedom, reputation, friendship,
securitylife itself. It is the folly of the Cross, in the particular form in
which our generation is asked to accept it; that absolute choice which
the Rich Young Man could not make.
 Page 217
"If I were still pleasing men, I should not be the slave of Christ" said
St. Paul to the Galatians. The Church is still very busy pleasing men.
She has yet to accept with all its penalties the fact of being in the
world and not of it; of having renounced the world's methods and
standards. Because this, her supernatural life is weak and ineffective,
and her influence on the nations is slight. Only when she does make
that crucial act of acceptance will she become in the full sense that
which she is meant to be: the organ on earth of the Divine
transforming power.
Now, when the tragic failure of the world's methods is more apparent
than at any other period of history, the Christian method in its nobility
and costliness remains to be tried. The call to do this can only come
from the Church; or from that nucleus of realistic souls within the
Church who "perceive and know what they ought to do" in respect of
peace and war, and are willing to accept all the penalties of that action
to which they know themselves to be obliged as members of the Body
of Christ. The Anglican Pacifist Fellowship is an attempt to
incorporate all such realistic souls, and create a compact body of
Catholic Christians, pledged to repudiate war, and work for the
increase of peace and goodwill in international, economic and
personal life: a body which should in time embrace all communicants,
and be sufficiently strong to make its influence felt in the counsels of
the Church. We therefore beg every practicing Anglican who is
convinced that his communicant status involves unlimited brotherly
love, and so the total rejection of war, to join us; and thus help
forward a movement which, though it may seem in its beginning to be
small and of no reputation, may yet be disclosed as an instrument of
power in the Hand of God.
 Page 219

Bibliography of Works By and About Evelyn Underhill

Works About Evelyn Underhill
Unpublished
Bechtle, Regina Marie. "The Mystic and the Church in the Writings of
Evelyn Underhill." Ph.D. Diss., Fordham Univ., 1979.
Boyack, Alice Selby. "Evelyn Underhill's Interpretation of the
Spiritual Life." Ph.D. Diss., Univ. of Chicago, 1964.
Brame, Grace Adolphsen. "Divine Grace and Human Will in the
Writings of Evelyn Underhill." Ph.D. Diss., Temple University, 1988.
Brown, Raymon Lamon. "The Doctrine of God in Nineteenth and
Twentieth Century England as Found in Baron Friedrich von Hugel,
Evelyn Underhill, and William Inge." Ph.D. Diss., New Orleans
Baptist Theological Seminary, 1978.
Decker, Michael P. "A Hermeneutic Approach to the Problem of
Mysticism." Ph.D. Diss., Emory Univ., 1978.
Deming, Lynn Helen. "The Religious Quest of Theodore Roethke."
Ph.D. Diss., Univ. of Oklahoma, 1980.
 Page 220
Deutsch, Eliot Sandler. ''Approaches to Mysticism: A Study of the
Interpretations of Rudolf Otto, Evelyn Underhill, Sir Aurobindo."
Ph.D. Diss., Columbia University, 1960.
Kirby, Mary Xavier. "The Writings of Evelyn Underhill: A Critical
Analysis." Ph.D. Diss., Univ. of Pennsylvania, 1965.
Mallon, Anne Mara G. "Mystic Quest in Flannery O'Connor's
Fiction." Ph.D. Diss., Univ. of Notre Dame, 1981.
McTee, James David. "Underhill's Mystic Way and the Initiation
Theme in the Major Fiction of John Steinbeck." Ph.D. Diss., Univ. of
Michigan, 1976.
Menzies, Lucy. Biography of Evelyn Underhill. TS (unfinished).
Underhill Collection. St. Andrews Univ. Archives, St. Andrews,
Scotland.
Milos, Joy. "The Role of the Spiritual Guide in the Life and Writings
of Evelyn Underhill." Ph.D. Diss., Catholic University, 1988.
Norman, Agatha. "Evelyn Underhill and Her Prayer Group." Folder
57. TS. Evelyn Underhill Collection. King's College Archives,
London.
Shafer, Ingrid Hedwig. "The Infinite Circle: The Chiliastic Soul in
Hegel, Jung, and Hesse with Particular Emphasis on Hegelian and
Jungian Elements in Hesse's Glasperlenspiel." Ph.D. Diss., Univ. of
Oklahoma, 1984.
Smalley, Susan. "The Relationship Between Friedrich von Hugel and
Evelyn Underhill." Paper delivered at the London Institute for the
Study of Religion, London, June 1975.
Woods, Robert Gail. "Evelyn Underhill's Concept of Worship." Ph.D.
Diss., Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, 1971.
Published Works
Allchin, A. M. "Evelyn Underhill and the Unity in the Love of God."
Christian 3 (1975-76). 146-55. Reprinted in
 Page 221
Allchin, A. M. and Michael Ramsey, Evelyn Underhill: Two
Centenary Essays. Oxford: S.L.G. Press, 1977.
Anonymous. "Evelyn Underhill, Mystic and Religious Thinker." The
Christian Century, 23 July 1941, 925-26.
Anthony, Susan, "The Spiral and the Synthesis." Spiritual Life 21, No.
2 (1975), 140-46.
Armstrong, Christopher. Evelyn Underhill: An Introduction to Her
Life and Writing. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1975.
Armstrong, Christopher. "Foreword." Evelyn Underhill. In Masters of
Prayer Series. London: Church Information Office, 1986.
Barkway, Lumsden. "Evelyn Underhill." Theology 56, No. 400
(1953), 368-72.
Barkway, Lumsden. "Evelyn Underhill in Her Writings." In Collected
Papers, ed. Lucy Menzies. London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1946,
7-34.
Barkway, Lumsden. "Introduction." In An Anthology of the Love of
God, ed. Lumsden Barkway and Lucy Menzies. London: A. R.
Mowbray and Co., 1946, 7-34.
Belshaw, G. P. "Introduction." Lent With Evelyn Underhill. New York:
Morehouse-Barlow, 1964, 5-7.
Bodgener, Henry. "Evelyn Underhill: A Spiritual Director to Her
Generation." London Quarterly and Holborn Review. Jan. (1958) 45-
50.
Campbell, Fay. "Evelyn Underhill's Pleshey." The Living Church,
March 1, 1987, 11-13.
Cant, Reginald. "Evelyn Underhill." Dictionary of Christian
Spirituality, Gordon Wakefield. London: SCM, 1983, 381-82.
Cropper, Margaret. Evelyn Underhill. London: Longmans, Green and
Co., 1958.
Curtis, Geoffrey C. R. "Evelyn Underhill." The Community of the
Resurrection Chronicle, No. 155, Michaelmas, (1941) 7-14.
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Deen, Edith. "Evelyn Underhill." Great Women of the Christian Faith.
New York: Harper and Row, 1959, 408.
Donohue, John. "Two in Search of the Spirit." America, 7 August
1976, 52-53.
Egan, Harvey. "Mysticism as a Way of Life I: Evelyn Underhill."
What Are They Saying About Mysticism? New York: Paulist Press,
1982. 40-50.
Furse, Margaret Lewis. "Mysticism: Classic Modern Interpretations
and Their Premise of Continuity." Anglican Theological Review 60,
No. 2 (1978), 180-93.
Goetz, Joseph, "Evelyn Underhill." In Mirrors of God. Cincinnati,
OH: St. Anthony Messenger Press, 1984, 62-79.
Greene, Dana. "Evelyn Underhill and Her Response to War." The
Historical Magazine of the Protestant Episcopal Church, June,
(1986), 127-35.
Greene, Dana. "The Message of Evelyn Underhill for Our Times."
Spirituality Today, Spring (1987), 22-38.
Greene, Dana. "Toward an Evaluation of the Thought of Evelyn
Underhill." History of European Ideas. Spring (1987), 549-62.
Joly, Henry. "Evelyn Underhill et le Baron von Hugel: La Découverte
de l'Église par une Anglicane." Vie Spirituelle, 104 Jan. (1961), 16-31.
Kepler, Thomas. Intro. The Evelyn Underhill Reader. Nashville,
Tenn.: Abingdon Press, 1962, 13-28.
Menzies, Lucy. "Evelyn Underhill, Memoir." In Light of Christ.
London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1944, 9-22.
Molnar, Geza von. "Mysticism and a Romantic Concept of Art: Some
Comments on Evelyn Underhill's Practical Mysticism and Novalis'
Heinrich von Ofterdingen." Studia Mystica 6, No. 2 (1983), 66-75.
Murphy, Carol. "Evelyn Underhill." In Four Women, Four Windows
in Light. Wallingford, PA,: Pendle Hill Publications, 1981, 8-15.
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Ramsey, Michael. "Evelyn Underhill." Religious Studies 12, No. 3,
Sept. (1976), 273-79. Reprinted in Evelyn Underhill: Two Centenary
Essays.
Smith, Clara. "Evelyn Underhill." Time and Tide, 21 June 1941, 517.
Steere, Douglas. Intro. Spiritual Counsel and Letters of Baron
Friedrich von Hugel. New York: Harper and Row, 1961, 13-34.
Steere, Douglas. Intro. The Very Thought of Thee. Arr. and ed. by D.
Steere and H. Minton Batten. Nashville, TN: The Upper Room, 1953,
61-65.
Steere, Douglas. "Underhill, Evelyn (Mrs. Stuart Moore)." The
Twentieth Century Encyclopedia of Religious Knowledge, Lefferts A.
Loetscher (A Supplement of the New Schaff-Herzog Encyclopedia of
Religious Knowledge, ed. Samuel Macauley Jackson). Grand Rapids,
Mich.: Baker Book House, 1955, II, 1130.
Steere, Douglas. "Underhill, Evelyn." Twentieth Century Authors: A
Biographical Dictionary of Modern Literature. ed. Stanley J. Kunitz
and Howard Haycroft. New York: H. W. Wilson Co., 1950, 1431.
Steere, Douglas. "Underhill, Evelyn (Mrs. Stuart Moore)." Who Was
Who. London: Adam and Charles Black, 1952, 4 (1941-1951), 1175.
Strunk, Orlo. "The Religious Verses of Evelyn Underhill." Wesleyan
Studies in Religion, 1965-66, 58, 5-11.
Underhill, Evelyn. Obituary. Times Literary Supplement, 28 June
1941, 308.
Vernon, Marjorie. "Evelyn Underhill." Dictionary of National
Biography, 1941-1950, 897-98.
Watkin, E. I. "Evelyn Underhill." The Month, 22 July 1959, 45-50.
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Charles Williams. London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1943, 7-45.
 Page 224
Woods, Robert Gail. "The Future We Shan't See." Christian Century,
16 May 1979, 553-55.
Wright, Eliot. "Evelyn Underhill." In Holy Company: Christian
Heroes and Heroines. New York: MacMillan, 1980, 192-95.
Wyon, Olive. "Evelyn Underhill." In Desire For God: A Study of
Three Spiritual Classics. London: Fontana Books, 1966, 81-116.
Works By Evelyn Underhill
Unpublished Works
Evelyn Underhill Collection. King's College Archives, London.
Contains sixty-two items including typescript addresses: manuscript
notebook; letters to and from Ethel Ross Barker, H. Stuart Moore, R.
Tagore, Lucy Menzies; sketches, account statements; and press
clippings.
Letters, 1907-1922. MS. Fourteen letters to May Sinclair. May
Sinclair Collection, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, PA.
Letters, 1921-1923. T.S. Three letters to Baron von Hugel. Collection
also contains eleven letters from von Hugel to Underhill.
Letter. 4 February 1933. To Mrs. Roberts. MS. Fawcett Library, City
of London Polytechnic, London.
Underhill-von Hugel Collection. St. Andrews University Archives, St.
Andrews, Scotland. Includes letters, 1904-1917. MS. Fifty-three
letters to Margaret Robinson.
Published Works
1902
A Bar Lamb's Ballad Book. London: Kegan, Paul, Trench, Trubner,
and Co.
 Page 225
1904
"The Death of a Saint." Horlicks Magazine, 2, 173-77.
"The Green Mass." Horlicks Magazine, 2, 445-48.
The Grey World. London: William Heinemann.
"The Ivory Tower." Horlicks Magazine, 2, 207-11.
"The Mountain Image." Horlicks Magazine, 2, 357-80.
"Our Lady of the Gate." Horlicks Magazine, 2, 243-47.
1905
The Miracles of Our Lady Saint Mary Brought Out of Divers Tongues
and Newly Set Forth. By Evelyn Underhill. London: William
Heinemann.
"Two Miracles of Our Lady." Fortnightly Review, Sept, 496-506.
1907
"A Defence of Magic." Fortnightly Review, Nov., 754-65, and
Putnam's 3, Nov., 177-85.
The Lost Word. London: Heinemann.
1908
"The Cant of Unconventionality--A Rejoinder to Lady Robert Cecil."
National Review, No. 299, Jan., 751-60 and Living Age, No. 256, 8
Feb., 323-29.
1909
Column of Dust. London: Methuen and Co.
1910
"Another Note on Mysticism." Quest, 2, Nov., 135-47.
"The Fountain of Life: An Iconographical Study." Burlington
Magazine, No. 86, April, 99-109.
 Page 226
Intro. The Mirror of Simple Souls [Extracts]. The Porch [Series], 1,
No. 8, 2-4.
"A Note on Mysticism." Quest, 1, July, 742-52.
1911
"The Cloud of Unknowing." Seeker, 6, No. 24, Feb., 215-24.
"Discussions: Theology and the Subconscious." Hibbert Journal, 9,
No. 8, April, 644-46.
"The Message of Ruysbroeck, Part I." Seeker, 7, No. 26, Aug., 65-82.
"The Message of Ruysbroeck, Part II." Seeker, 7, No. 27, Nov., 137-
53.
"The Mirror of the Simple Souls." Fortnightly Review, No. 78, Feb.,
345-54. Reprinted in Essentials of Mysticism.
Mysticism. A Study of the Nature and Development of Man's Spiritual
Consciousness. London: Methuen and Co.
The Path of Eternal Wisdom. A Mystical Commentary on the Way of
the Cross. By John Cordelier [Evelyn Underhill]. London: J. M.
Watkins.
"St. Paul and the Mystic Way." Contemporary Review, 99, June, 694-
706.
1912
"Bergson and the Mystics." English Review, 10, Feb., 511-22, and in
the Living Age 272, 16 March, 668-75.
Intro. Cloud of Unknowing. Ed. Evelyn Underhill. London: J. M.
Watkins, 5-37.
"A Franciscan Mystic of the Twentieth Century: The Blessed Angela
of Foligno." In Franciscan Studies. By Paul Sabatier and Others.
Aberdeen: The University Press, 88-107. Reprinted in Essentials of
Mysticism.
Immanence. A Book of Verses. London: Dent and Sons.
 Page 227
"An Indian Mystic." Rev. of Gitanjali, by Rabindranath Tagore. The
Nation, 12, Nov., 320-22.
The Spiral Way. Being Meditations Upon the Fifteen Mysteries of the
Soul's Ascent. By John Cordelier [Evelyn Underhill]. London: J. M.
Watkins.
1913
"The Circle and the Centre." Rev. of Sadhana: The Realization of Life
and The Crescent Moon, both by Rabindranath Tagore. The Nation, 13
Dec., 499-500.
"The Mystic as Creative Artist." Quest, 4, July 629-52. Reprinted in
Essentials of Mysticism.
The Mystic Way: A Psychological Study in Christian Origins. London:
J. M. Dent and Sons.
"Place of Will, Intellect and Feeling in Prayer." The Interpreter, 9, No.
3, April, 241-56. Reprinted in Essentials of Mysticism.
1914
Intro. The Autobiography of Maharishi Devendranath Tagore.
London: Macmillan and Co., xi-xliii.
Intro. The Fire of Love or the Power of Love. Trans. Richard Misyn
from the Incendium Amoris of Richard Rolle, ed. Frances M. M.
Comper. London: Methuen and Co., vii-xxv.
Intro. One Hundred Poems of Kabir. Trans. by Rabindranath Tagore.
Assisted by Evelyn Underhill. London: The India Society. Reissued as
Songs of Kabir. London: Macmillan and Co., pp. 1-18.
"Kabir the Weaver Mystic." Contemporary Review, No. 598, Feb.,
193-200.
"Mysticism and the Doctrine of Atonement." Interpreter, 10, No. 4,
Jan., 131-48. Reprinted in Essentials of Mysticism.
 Page 228
Practical Mysticism. London: J. M. Dent and Sons.
1915
"Charles Péguy: In Memoriam." Contemporary Review, No. 592,
April, 472-78. Reprinted in Essentials of Mysticism.
"Letter." Challenge, 3, No. 59, 11 June, 124.
"The Mystic and the Corporate Life." Interpreter, 11, No. 2, Jan., 143-
60. Reprinted in Essentials of Mysticism.
Mysticism and War. London: John Watkins.
"The Prayer of Silence." Challenge. 3, No. 39, 11 June, 126.
"Problems of Conflict." Hibbert Journal, 13, No. 3, April, 497-510.
Ruysbroeck. London: G. Bell.
1916
"Education of the Spirit." The Parent's Review, 28, No. 10, Oct., 753-
61. Reprinted in Essentials of Mysticism.
Intro. John Ruysbroeck: The Adornment of the Spiritual Marriage.
The Book of Supreme Truth. Trans. from Flemish by C. A.
Wynschenck Dom. Ed. Evelyn Underhill. London: J. M. Dent and
Sons, xi-xxxii.
Rev. of Mysticism and Modern Life, by J. W. Buckham and Mysticism
and the Creed, by W. F. Cobbs. The Harvard Theological Review, 9,
No. 2, April, 234-38.
"A Note on the Fight for Right Movement." In The Training of the
Combatant. By Caroline F. E. Spurgeon. London: J. M. Dent and
Sons, 21-28.
"Plotinus." Rev. of The Philosophy of Plotinus: The Gifford Lectures,
by W. R. Inge. Saturday Westminster Gazette, 18 Jan., 11-12.
 Page 229
Theophanies: A Book of Verses. London: J. M. Dent and Sons.
1917
"A Foster-Father of the Church." Rev. of Plotinus: The Ethical
Treatises. Saturday Westminster Gazette, 1 Sept., 9-10.
1918
"The Consecration of England." In For the Right: Essays and
Addresses by Members of the Fight For Right Movement. New York:
G.P. Putnam's Sons, 232-42.
"The Future of Mysticism." Everyman, 12, No. 301, 20 July, 335-36.
"The Mysticism of Plotinus." Rev. of The Philosophy of Plotinus by
W. R. Inge. Quarterly Review, 231, No. 459, April, 479-97. Reprinted
in Essentials of Mysticism.
1919
Jacopone da Todi: Poet and Mystic, 1228-1306. A Spiritual
Biography. With a selection by Mrs. Theodore Beck. London: J. M.
Dent and Sons.
"A New Reformer." Rev. of Christ, St. Francis and Today, by G. G.
Coulton. Saturday Westminister Review, 17 May, 15-16.
"A Pilgrim's Progress." Rev. of The Pilgrimage of Etheria, by M. L.
McClure. Saturday Westminster Review, 16 Aug., 13-14.
"The Platonic Realist." Rev. of Outspoken Essays, by W. R. Inge.
Saturday Westminster Review, 16 Aug., 18-19.
1920
Intro. Confessions of Jacob Boehme. Ed. W. Scott Palmer. London:
Methuen and Co., xi-xxv.
"The Essentials of Mysticism." Quest, 2, No. 2, Jan., 145-66.
Reprinted in Essentials of Mysticism.
The Essentials of Mysticism and Other Essays. London: J. M. Dent
and Sons.
 Page 230
''Eternal Loveliness." Rev. of The Philosophy of Fine Art, by G. W. F.
Hegel, and The Way of Beauty, by Sister Agnes Mason. Saturday
Westminster Gazette, 3 April, 12.
"The Indwelling Christ." Challenge, 14, No. 341, 5 Nov., 4-5.
"Julian of Norwich." St. Martin-in-the Fields Monthly Review, No. 35,
May, 10-15. Reprinted in Essentials of Mysticism.
"A Modern Saint." [St. Teresa of Lisieux] Fortnightly Review, N.S.
No. 644, Aug., 279-89. Reprinted in Essentials of Mysticism.
"Mr. Carpenter's Blind Spot." Rev. of Pagan and Christian Creeds:
Their Origin and Meaning, by Edward Carpenter. Daily News, 27
Feb., 5.
"Mr. De La Mare's Poems." Rev. of Poems: 1901-1918, by Walter de
la Mare. Saturday Westminster Gazette, 9 Oct., 15-16.
"Péguy: The Poet of St. Joan." Saturday Westminster Gazette, 22 May,
14-15.
"The Real Thing." Rev. of Poems New and Old, by John Freeman,
Saturday Westminster Gazette, 3 July, 13.
"St. Augustine." Rev. of Letters of St. Augustine, by W. J. Sparrow-
Simpson. Daily News, 5 Jan., 5.
"The Secret of Eleusis." Rev. of The Eleusenian Maysteries and Rites,
by Dudley Wright. Daily News, 12 Feb., 5.
"The Spirit of Prophecy." Rev. of The Hill of Vision: A Forecast of the
Great War, by Frederick Bligh Bond. Daily News, 21 Jan., 5.
"Why Be Virtuous?" Rev. of A Short History of Morals, by J. M.
Robertson. Daily News, 15 May, 8.
"The Young Person." Rev. of Sir Hobbard de Hay The Religious
Education of the Adolescent, by E. F. Bradley. Daily News, 6 Feb., 5.
1921
"A Living Mystic." Rev. of The Sadhu: A Study in Mysticism and
Practical Religion, by B. H. Streeter and A. J. Appasamy. Saturday
Westminster Gazette, 7 May, 18.
 Page 231
"The Sources of Power in Human Life." Hibbert Journal, 19, No. 3,
April, 385-400.
"William Blake." Rev. of The Poems of William Blake, ed. John
Sampson. Saturday Westminster Review, 24 Dec., 16-17.
1922
"The Degrees of Prayer." In God in Relation to the Material World:
Papers Read at the Guild of Health Conference, Girton College,
Cambridge. London: Guild of Health, 36-46. Reprinted in Collected
Papers.
"A Human Document." Rev. of The Tragic Sense of Life in Men and
in Peoples, by Miguel de Unamuno. Weekly Westminster Gazette, 15
April, 17-18.
Life of the Spirit and Life of To-Day. London: Methuen. Upton
Lectures delivered at Oxford Univ. in 1921.
"Plotinus." Rev. of Plotinus: Psychic and Physical Treatises:
Comprising the Second and Third Enneads, trans., by Stephan
Mackenna. Weekly Westminster Gazette. 18 Mar., 17-18.
"Sane Psychology." Rev. of An Outline of Psychology, by William
McDougall. Weekly Westminster Gazette, 14 July, 17-18.
"Society of Friends." Rev. of A Short History of Quakerism, by
Elizabeth Braithwaite Emmott. Weekly Westminster Gazette, 4 Aug.,
17-18.
"A Spiritual Realist." Rev. of The Mystical Element of Religion, by F.
V. Hugel. Weekly Westminster Gazette, 15 Dec., 224.
"Suggestion and Religious Experience." Fortnightly Review, 117,
March, 410-21.
"Two Apologists." Rev. of On What Authority? A Review of the
Foundations of Christian Faith, by E. A. Knox and Liberalism,
Modernism, and Tradition, by O. C. Quick. Weekly Westminster
Gazette, 3 Feb., 17-18.
1923
"Address to Leaders of Girls' Clubs." Girls Club News, 23 Jan.
 Page 232
Intro. The Scale of Perfection. By Walter Hilton. London: John M.
Watkins, v-xliii.
"Some Implicits of Christian Social Reform." Pilgrim, 3, No. 2, Jan.,
141-57. Reprinted in Mixed Pasture.
1924
"Christian Fellowship: Past and Present." Interpreter, 20, No. 3, July,
171-81.
"The Will of the Voice." Pilgrim, 4, No. 4., July, 373-81. Reprinted in
Mixed Pasture and in Homilectic Review, 105, No. 2, 143-46 as "The
Nature of God."
1925
"The Authority of the Personal Religious Experience." Theology, Jan.,
8-18.
"Baron von Hugel as Spiritual Teacher." Guardian, 6 Feb., 133.
Reprinted in Mixed Pastures.
Mystics of the Church. London: James Clarke.
"Our Twofold Relation to Reality." Hibbert Journal, 23, No. 2, Jan.,
218-30.
1926
"Aspects of Reality." Rev. of Religion in the Making, by A. N.
Whitehead and Reality: A New Correlation of Science and Religion,
by B. H. Streeter. Spectator, 18 Dec., 1118-19.
"Baron Friedrich von Hugel." Rev. of Essays and Addresses on the
Philosophy of Religion. Spectator, 18 Nov., 862.
"Cardinal Mercier." Rev. of Cardinal Mercier, by Georges Goyau.
Spectator, 4 Dec., 1034.
Concerning the Inner Life. London: Methuen and Co.
"A Franciscan Poet-Jacopone da todi." Transactions of The Royal
Society of Literature, NS. 6, 43-75.
 Page 233
"The Founder of the Society of Jesus." Rev. of Ignatius of Loyola, by
Paul van Dyke. Spectator, 30 Oct., 762.
Intro. The House of Three Windows, by Eva Gore-Booth. London:
Longmans, Green, and Co., 5-11.
"Liberal and Conservative." Rev. of Modernism in the English
Church, by Percy Gardner and The Anglo-Catholic Tradition, by T. A.
Lacy. Spectator, 11 Dec., 1073.
"Mystical Phenomena." Rev. of Mystical Phenomena, by Albert
Farges. Review of the Churches, 3, No. 3, July, 381-85.
Intro. Mysticism and the Eastern Church. By Nicholas Arseniew.
London: Student Christian Movement, 13-15. Reprint. Crestwood, N.
Y.: St. Vladimir's Seminary Press, 1979.
"Plato." Rev. of Plato: The Man and His Work, by A. E. Taylor.
Spectator, 27, Nov., 971-72.
Prayer. London: YWCA.
1927
"The Alchemy of Poetry." Rev. of The Road to Xanadu: A Study in the
Ways of Imagination, by John Livingston Lowes. Spectator, 27 Aug.,
321.
"Baron von Hugel's Essays." Rev. of Essays and Addresses on the
Philosophy of Religion, by Baron Friedrich von Hugel. Theology, 14
Feb., 102-06.
"Cujas Filius Est?" Rev. of The Life of Jesus, by J. Middleton Murry
and The Historical Life of Christ, by J. Warschauer. Spectator, 29
Jan., 155.
"The Essentials of a Prayer Book." In The New Prayer Book, H.
Maurice Relton. London: George Allen and Unwin, 47-61.
"Gerard Distilled." Rev. of Gerard's Herball: or General Historie of
Plantes. Spectator, 12 Nov., 827.
"Hill of the Lord." Spectator, 19 Nov., 869-70.
 Page 234
"Human Personality." Rev. of Mind and Personality, by William
Brown. Spectator, 15 Jan., 83.
"The Interior Life." Rev. of The Nature of Religious Truth: Sermons
Preached in Balliol College Chapel: New Studies in Mystical
Religion, by Rufus Jones: The Life of Prayer, by F. von Hugel.
Spectator, 3 Dec., 987.
"The Johannine Problem." Rev. of The Johannine Writings: A Study of
the Apocalypse and the Fourth Gospel, by J. Estlin Carpenter and
Christians as Bhakti Marga: A Study in The Mysticism of the
Johannine Writings, by A. J. Appasamy. Spectator, 5 March, 382.
Man and the Supernatural. Lectures given at the Univ. of St.
Andrews, King's College, and Church Congress of 1926. London:
Methuen and Co.
"Man and the Supernatural." Letter, Spectator, 15 Oct., p. 606.
"The Mystic Monist and the Religious Dualist." Spectator, 8, Oct,
572, 575.
"New Light on Christian Origins." Rev. of Jesus Christ and His
Revelation, by Vacher Burch. Spectator, 2 April, 603-04.
"Outward and Inward." Rev. of The Christian Sacraments, by Oliver
C. Quick; Studies in Psychology of the Mystics, by Joseph Maréchal.
Spectator, 19 Nov., 889-90.
"The Possibilities of Prayer." Theology, 14 April, 193-204.
"A Reading of Reality." Rev. of The Creator Spirit: A Survey of
Christian Doctrine in the Light of Biology, Psychology, and
Mysticism, by Charles Raven. Spectator, 16 July, 99.
"Sacraments and Mysticism." In Report of the Anglo-Catholic
Congress: London, 1927. London: Society of St. Peter and Paul, 43-
50.
"St. Bernard." Rev. of Studies in St. Bernard of Clairvaux, by Watkin
W. Williams. Spectator, 29 Oct., 732-33.
"The Scholar Saint." Rev. of Selected Letters, by Baron von Hugel.
Spectator, 30 April, 766.
 Page 235
"Some Books on Blake." Rev. of The Life of William Blake, by Mona
Wilson; The Centenary Edition of Blake's Poetry and Prose, ed.
Geoffrey Keynes; The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, note by Max
Plowman. Spectator, 20 Aug., 287.
"Spanish Mysticism." Rev. of Studies of the Spanish Mystics, by
Allison Peers. Spectator, 5 Feb., 194.
"Theism: Theoretical and Practical." Rev. of The Nature of Deity, by
J. E. Turner; Western Mysticism, by Dom Cuthbert Butler; The
Divinity of Man, by John W. Graham. Spectator, 26 March, 564.
"Trench Warfare." Rev. of In Defence of the Faith, by Charles
Gardner. Spectator, 22 Jan., 119.
"Two Franciscan Books." Rev. of Brother John: A Tale of the First
Franciscans, by Vida D. Scudder; The Lord's Minstrel: The Story of
Francis of Assissi, by C. M. Duncan Jones. Spectator, 17 Dec., 1093-
94.
"Ut Sint Unum." Rev. of Irenikon: Bulletin Mensuel des Moines de
l'Union des Églises. Avril-Dec., 1926, Spectator, 19 Feb., 292.
1928
"Appearance and Meaning." Rev. of Symbolism: Its Meaning and
Effect, by A. N. Whitehead. Spectator, 18 Feb., 234.
"The Background of Theology." Rev. of Philosophical Theology, by
F. R. Tennant, Spectator, 28 July, 140.
"Beati Paupers." Rev. of Forerunners of St. Francis and Other
Studies, by Ellen Scott Davison. Spectator. 3 Mar., 327-28.
"The Beauty of Holiness." Rev. of Mirrors of the Holy: Ten Studies in
Sanctity, by Lucy Menzies. Spectator, 10 Nov., 703.
"Christianity and the Claims of Other Religions." In Essays Catholic
and Missionary, ed. Edmund Robert Morgan. London: MacMillan, 3-
22.
"Copenhagen-Assisi-Rome." Rev. of Jorgensen: An Autobiography,
by Johannes Jorgensen. Spectator, 21 April, 607.
 Page 236
"The Deeps and the Shallows." Rev. of Essays on the Trinity and the
Incarnation, ed. A. E. J. Rawlinson; The General Epistles of Matthew,
by T. H. Robinson; The General Epistles, by James Moffat. Spectator,
9 June, 876-77.
"East and West." Rev. of Rabi'a The Mystic and Her Fellow-Saints in
Islam, by Margaret Smith; The Life of Richard Rolle, by Frances M.
M. Comper. Spectator, 29 Dec., 995-96.
"The Essence of von Hugle." Rev. of Letters From Baron von Hugel
to a Niece, ed. Gwendolyn Greene; Readings From Friedrich von
Hugel, ed. Algar Thorold. Spectator, 1 Dec., 822-23.
"First Things First." Spectator, 3 Nov., Sup. 27-28.
"A Franciscan Hermitage." Spectator, 11 Feb., 183-84.
"Le Grand Sympathique." Rev. of The Life of Cardinal Mercier, by
Henry Dubly. Spectator, 5 May, 685-86.
"A Historian of the Soul." Rev. of Literary History of Religious
Thought in France, by Henri Brémond; Devout Humanism, trans. K.
J. Montgomery. Spectator, 22 Dec., 963.
"The Human Francis." Rev. of The Life of St. Francis of Assisi, by
Luigi Salvatorelli. Spectator, 19 May. 771-72.
Life as Prayer. Edinburgh: United Free Church of Scotland
Publications Dept. Reprinted in Collected Papers.
"Literature and Dogma." Rev. of Things to Come, by John Middleton
Murry. Spectator, 23 June, 943.
"Monsieur de Genève." Rev. of S. François de Sales, 1567-1633, by
E. K. Saunders. Spectator, 21 July, 106.
Intro. Nicholas of Cusa: The Vision of God. Trans. Emma Gurney
Salter. London: J. M. Dent, 2-12.
"No Flowers." Rev. of Five Centuries of Religion, Vol. II, by G. G.
Coulton. Spectator, 7 Jan., 19-20.
"Our Holy Places." Rev. of The Pilgrim Shrines of England, by B. C.
Boulter. Spectator, 12 May, 734.
 Page 237
"The Patristic Age." Rev. of Fathers of the Church: A Selection of the
Writings of the Latin Fathers, trans. F. A. Wright. Spectator, 24 Nov.,
790-91.
"Poet and Mystic." Rev. of Prayer and Poetry: A Contribution to
Poetical Theory, by Henry Brémond. Spectator, 21 Jan., 86-87.
"Ricardus Hermita." Dublin Review, No. 367, Oct., 176-87. Reprinted
in Mixed Pasture.
"Richard the Hermit." Rev. of Writings Ascribed to Richard Rolle, by
Hope Emily Allen. Spectator, 7 April, 538-39.
"Scrutamini Scripturas." Rev. of A New Commentary on Holy
Scripture, ed. Charles Gore, H. L. Groudge, and Alfred Guillaume;
The Cambridge Shorter Bible, arr. A. Naître, T. R. Glover and Sir A.
Quiller-Couch. Spectator, 8 Dec., 869.
"The Spectre and the Emanation." Rev. of Blake's Innocence and
Experience: A Study, by Joseph H. Wicksteed; William Blake, by
Philippe Soupault. Spectator, 20 Oct., 531-32.
"A Spirit of Malines." Rev. of The Conversations at Malines, 1921-25
and Notes on Conversations at Malines, 1921-25, by Viscount
Halifax. Spectator, 28 Jan., 121.
The Teacher's Vocation. London: St. Christopher's Press. Reprinted in
Collected Papers.
"Two Forgotten Mystics." Rev. of The Mirror of Simple Souls, ed.
Clara Kirchberger and The Secret Paths of Divine Love, by Father
Constantine Barbarson. Spectator, 10 Mar., 371.
"Types of Sanctity." Rev. of Some Spiritual Guides of the 17th
Century, by Abbé Huvelin: The Curé d'Ars, by Abbé Trochu; The
Vocation of Aloysius Gonzaga, by C. C. Martindale. Spectator, 25
Feb., 270.
"Unchanging Path." Rev. of Prayer and Intelligence, by Jacques and
Raissa Maritain; and Franciscan Mysticism, by Brother Boniface
Maes. Spectator, 18 Aug., 220.
1929
"English Mysticism." Rev. of Minor Works of Walter Hilton, ed.
Dorothy Jones. Spectator, 8 June, 905-06.
 Page 238
"Father Vernon." Rev. of One Lord, One Faith, by Vernon Johnson.
Spectator, 9 Nov., 681-82.
"The Franciscan Reform." Rev. of The Capuchins: A Contribution to
the Counter-Reformation, by Father Cuthbert. Spectator, 19 Jan., 90-
91.
"A Guide-Book to the Gospels." Rev. of Jesus of Nazareth, by Charles
Gore. Spectator, 2 Mar., 339-40.
The House of the Soul. London: Methuen and Co.
"In Defence of the Faith: Witness of the Saints." Spectator, 13 April,
567-68.
"The Inaccessible Light." Rev. of The Inward Vision, by R. H. J.
Steuart. Spectator, 23 Nov., 775.
"An Oblique View." Rev. of The Gospel According to Judas Iscariot,
by Ernest Sutherland Bates. Spectator, 27 April, 660-61.
"The Philosophic Temperament." Rev. of The Psychology of the
Philosophers, by Alexander Herzberg. Spectator, 4 May, 699-701.
"Pilgrim's Progress, Part II." Rev. of Jorgensen: An Autobiography,
Vol. II, by M. Jorgensen. Spectator, 6 July, 23.
"Quo Vadis." Rev. of A Century of Anglo-Catholicism, by Herbert
Stewart. Spectator, 21 Sept., 374-75.
"Restatements." Rev. of The Resurrection of the Dead, by F. S. M.
Bennett; Faith of the Future, by J. H. Tuckwell: The Confusion of
Tongues: A Guide to the Tower of Babel, by C. W. Fergusen.
Spectator, 7 Sept., 309.
"Short but Solid." Rev. of Problems of Providence, by Charles
Shebbeare; Christian Religious Experience, by Arthur Chandler; The
Reformation and the People, by T. A. Lacey. Spectator, 16 Nov., 726-
27.
"Some Books on Religion." Rev. of History and Thought, by W. R.
Matthews; Holiness of Religion, by A. Barratt Brown; Physical
Justification of Religion, by R. S. Hansen. Spectator, 10 Aug., 193.
 Page 239
"Spirit and Life." Rev. of Sciences and Philosophy, by J. S. Haldane.
Spectator, 22 June, 975.
"A Three-Fold Universe." Rev. of Matter, Life and Value, by C. E.
Joad. Spectator, 19 Oct., 547-48.
"Timely Discoveries." Rev. of The Primitive Church, by Burnett
Streeter. Spectator, 27 July, 130.
"Types of Holiness." Rev. of L'Abbé Tempête: Armand de Rance, by
Henri Brémond; The Secret of the Curé d'Ars, by Henri Gheon; John
Wesley, by Arnold Lynn; Pius X, by René Brazin. Spectator, 1 June,
865.
Worship. London: A. R. Mowbray Reprinted in Collected Papers.
1930
"Bunyan in 'Mowbray Street,'" Rev. of Pilgrim's Progress in the
World Today, by Rev. H. F. B. Mackay. Spectator, 5 April, 578.
"The Christian Standard." Rev. of Christian Ethics and Modern
Problems, by W. R. Inge. Spectator, 20 Sept., 386.
"Christina Rossetti." Rev. of The Life of Christina Rossetti, by May
Sanders. Spectator, 18 Oct., 537-38.
"An Early Modernist." Rev. of The Essays and Hymns of Synesius of
Cyrene, by Augustine Fitzgerald. Spectator, 14 June, 980.
"Easter Morning," Rev. of Who Moved the Stone, by Frank Morison.
Spectator, 19 April, 670.
"Followers of St. Francis." Rev. of Among the Franciscan Tertiares,
by Nesta de Robeck; The Heroic Life of Louis of Toulouse and the
Process of Canonization in the Fourteenth Century, by Margaret
Toynbee. Spectator, 22 Feb., 280.
"A Forest Idyll." Rev. of The Christianity of the Forest, by Robert
Michel. Spectator, 12 April, 633.
"French Mystics." Rev. of A Literary History of Religious Thought in
France, by Henri Brémond. Spectator, 4 Oct. 469-70.
 Page 240
''God and Man." Rev. of God in Christian Thought and Experience,
by W. R. Matthews; Psychology and God: A Study of the Implications
of Recent Psychology for Religious Belief and Practice, by Rev. L. W.
Grensted. Spectator, 1 Nov., 636-37.
"God and Spirit." Theology, 21 Sept., 160-70.
"In Caligine." Rev. of The Dark, by Archibald Weir. Spectator, 5 July,
21-22.
"Irreligion." Letter. Spectator, 8 Nov., 668.
"Looking Forward." Rev. of My Hopes and Fears for the Church, ed.
Rev. H. R. H. Shepard. Spectator, 10 May, 788.
"Maritain on Art." Rev. of The Philosophy of Art, by Jacques
Maritain. Spectator, 11 Jan., 62-63.
"Minutes of Malines." Rev. of The Conversations at Malines, 1921-
1925. Spectator, 8 March, 396.
"Mont Blanc and the Matterhorn." Rev. of Thomas Aquinas, by M. C.
D'Arcy; Pascal, by Jacques Chevalier. Spectator, 19 July, 103-04.
"The Moral Law." Rev. of The Philosophy of the Good Life, by
Charles Gore. Spectator, 22 Nov., 794.
"A New Life in Christ." Rev. of The Public Life of Our Lord Jesus
Christ, by Rev. A. Goodier. Spectator, 24 May, 868.
"Newness of Life." Rev. of The Influence of Christianity in the
Ancient World. Spectator, 4 Jan., 27-28.
"Pax Domini." Spectator, 27 Dec., 1003-04.
The Philosophy of Contemplation. Cheltenham: Burrow's Press.
Reprinted in Mixed Pasture.
"A Portrait of St. Paul." Rev. of The Adventure of Paul of Tarsus, by
H. F. B. Mackay. Spectator, 20 Dec., 989.
"Recent Theology." Rev. of The Atonement in History and in Life, ed.
Rev. L. W. Grensted; Essays in Christian Theology, by Leonard
Hodgson; Principles of Theology: An Introduction to the Thirty-Nine
Articles, by W. H. Griffith Thomas. Spectator, 29 March, 533.
 Page 241
"Recent Theology." Rev. of The Fullness of Sacrifice, by F. C. N.
Hicks; The Christian Faith in the Modern World: A Study in Scientific
Theology, by E. O. James; Studies in the Philosophy of Religion, by
Seth Pringle-Pattison; The Grace of God, by N. P. Williams.
Spectator, 27 Sept., 418.
"St. Augustine." Rev. of A Monument to St. Augustine; St. Augustine's
Conversion: An Outline of His Development to the Time of His
Ordination, by W. J. Sparrow-Simpson; St. Augustine: A Study of His
Personal Religion, by Eleanor McDougall. Spectator, 30 Aug., 285.
"Two Books on Dante." Rev. of New Light on the Youth of Dante, by
Gertrude Leigh; and Symbolism in Medieval Thought and its
Consummation in the Divine Comedy, by Helen Flanders Dunbar.
Spectator, 1 Feb., 167-68.
1931
"Beautiful Enemies." Rev. of Science and Religion: A Symposium.
Spectator, 30 May, 869.
"Claudel's Masterpiece." Rev. of The Satin Slipper, by Paul Claudel.
Spectator, 14 Nov., 647.
"Christian Ethics." Rev. of The Problem of Right Conduct, by Peter
Green. Spectator, 14 Mar., 423.
"Churches in the Wilderness." Spectator, 1 Aug., 146-47.
"Dean Inge's Bible." Rev. of Every Man's Bible, by William Inge.
Spectator, 10 Oct., 462.
"De Vera Religione." Rev. of Christian Faith and Life, by William
Temple. Spectator, 23 May, 829.
"Ernst Troeltsch." Rev. of The Social Teaching of the Christian
Churches, by Ernst Troeltsch. Spectator, 5 Dec., 780.
"The Eternal Imperative." Rev. of The Faith of the Moralist, by A. E.
Taylor. Spectator, 21 Feb., 275.
"Giotto and St. Francis." Rev. of Giotto. Spectator, 26 Dec., 874-75.
 Page 242
"Henry Adams." Rev. of Letters of Henry Adams, 1858-1891, by
Worthington Chauncey Ford. Spectator, 17 Jan., 85.
"Human Certitude." Rev. of The Nature of Belief, by M. D'Arcy.
Spectator, 26 Sept., 391.
"The Human Mind." Rev. of Superconscious Mind, by Edith
Lyttleton; Study of Conversion, by Rev. L. Wyatt Lang. Spectator, 15
Aug., 221.
"The Ignatian Tradition." Rev. of Apostles and Eternity, by R. H.
Stewart; Abandonment to Divine Providence, by J. P. de Caussade;
Retreat for Layfolk, by Father Bede Frost. Spectator, 28 Nov., 737-38.
Inside of Life. London: A. R. Mowbray and Co. Reprinted in
Collected Papers.
"Majestic Goodness." Rev. of Elizabeth Fry's Journey on the
Continent, ed. P. Brimley Johnson. Spectator, 16 May, 789-90.
"The Numenous." Rev. of The Holy and The Living God, by M. D. R.
Willink; Religious Essays: A Sequel to the Idea of the Holy, by Rudolf
Otto. Spectator, 19 Dec., 854.
"Otto on Bhakti." Rev. of India's Religion of Grace and Christianity
Compared and Contrasted, by R. Otto. Spectator, 31 Jan., 154.
"Père de Caussade." Rev. of Prayer: Spiritual Instructions in the
Various States of Prayer, by Jean Pierre de Caussade. Spectator, 25
July 133.
"A Poet's Creed." Rev. of The Religion of Man, by Rabindranath
Tagore. Spectator, 9 May, 746.
"Revolt From Naturalism." Rev. of The Things That Are Not Caesar's,
by Jacques Maritain; The Flight From Reason, by Arnold Lun.
Spectator, 10 Jan., 52-53.
"Saints and Sufis." Rev. of Studies in Early Mysticism in the Heart of
the Middle East, by Margaret Smith. Spectator, 17 Oct., 499.
 Page 243
"The Secret of St. Francis." Rev. of The Franciscan Adventure: A
Study of the First 100 Years of the Order of St. Francis, by Vida D.
Scudder. Spectator, 21 Nov., 683.
Intro. A Simple Method of Raising the Soul to Contemplation in the
Form of a Dialogue. By François Malval. London: J. M. Dent and
Sons, 5-20.
"Spanish Spirituality." Rev. of Studies of the Spanish Mystics, by
Allison Peers; Book of Exercises for the Spiritual Life, by Abbot
Garcia. Spectator, 24 Jan., 121-22.
"The Sum of Felicity." Rev. of The Vision of God, by Kenneth Kirk;
The Revelation of Deity, by J. E. Turner. Spectator, 11 July, 60.
"The Supreme Reality." Rev. of The Reality of God and Religion and
Agnosticism, by Baron von Hugel. Spectator,, 20 June, 976.
"The Swiss Prophet." Rev. of The Significance of Karl Barth, by John
Connachie; The Theology of Karl Barth: A Short Introduction, by J.
Arundel; The Christian Life, by Karl Barth; and Christ our Brother,
by Karl Adam. Spectator, 1 Aug., 163.
"Thought on Prayer and the Divine Immanence." Expository Times
42, No. 9, June, 405-09. Reprinted in Collected Papers.
"Veronica?" Rev. of A Life of Jesus, by Basil Mathews; The Historic
Jesus, by James MacKinnon; The Messiah Jesus, by Robert Eisler.
Spectator, 2 May, 708.
"The Way of Mary." Rev. of Prayer and Its Psychology, by Alexander
Hodge; The Art of Mental Prayer, by Bede Frost. Spectator, 4 April,
550.
"What Think Ye?" Rev. of The Riddle of the New Testament, by Sir
Edwyn Hoskyns and Noel Davey. Spectator, 12 Sept., 329-30.
1932
"The Alpine Spirit." Rev. of The Zermatt Dialogues: Constituting the
Outline of a Philosophy of Mysticism, by Douglas Fawcett. Spectator,
16 Jan., 87-88.
 Page 244
"Angelus Silesius." Rev. of Angelus Silesius: Selections from the
Cherubinic Wonder, trans. J. E. Crawford Flitch. Spectator, 4 June,
809.
"The Art of Worship." Rev. of Liturgy and Worship: A Companion to
the Prayer Books of the Anglican Communion, ed. W. K. Lowther
Clarke. Spectator, 16 Dec., 870-71.
"Aspects of Faith." Rev. of The Bow in the Clouds, by E. I. Watkins;
The Ground of Faith and the Choas of Thought, by Oliver C. Quick;
Catholic Apostolic Collected Papers, by the late Cuthbert Hamilton
Turner. Spectator, 9 Jan., 52-53.
"Bishop Gore." Letter. Spectator, 30 Jan., 146-47.
Intro. Christ Crucified: A Passion Play. By Margaret Cropper.
London: Sheldon Press.
"A Christian's Faith." Spectator, 2 Dec., 781-82.
"Courageous Souls." Rev. of Arnald of Brescia, by G. W. Greensway;
St. Francis Xavier, by Margaret Yeo; Nine Martyr Monks: The Lives
of the English Benedictine Martyrs Beatified in 1929, by Dom Bede
Camm. Spectator, 26 March, 452.
"Ecclesia Anglicana." Rev. of The History of the Anglo-Catholic
Revival from 1845, by W. J. Sparrow-Simpson. Spectator, 8 Oct., 449.
"Finite and Infinite: A Study of Friedrich von Hugel." Criterion, 11,
No. 43, Jan., 183-97. Reprinted in Mixed Pasture.
"Fringe of the Real." Catholic World 136, Oct., 92-94. Reprint of part
of Mysticism.
The Golden Sequence: A Fourfold Study of the Spiritual Life. London:
Methuen and Co.
"Jewish Mysticism." Rev. of The Zohar in Moslem and Christian
Spain, by Ariel Bension; The Messiah of Ismir, Sabbatai Zevi, by
Josef Kastein. Spectator, 3 Sept., 291.
"Lux in Tenebris." Rev. of Light: A Philosophy of Consciousness, by
Archibald Weir. Spectator, 16 July, 85.
"Martha and Mary." Spectator, 13 Aug., 198-99.
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"Medieval Mysticism." Cambridge Medieval History 7, 777-812.
"Meeting in the Centre." Rev. of Mysticism East and West, by Rudolf
Otto. Spectator, 2 April, 482-83.
"Need of Retreat." Virgin, Jan. Reprinted in Light of Christ.
"The Old Road." Rev. of Ways of Christian Life: Old Spirituality for
Modern Men, by Dom Cuthbert Bulter. Spectator, 11 June, 838.
"The Oxford Group Movement." Spectator, 27 Aug., 260.
"The Physician of Souls." Rev. of Absolution, by Dr. E. Boyd Barrett.
Spectator, 1 Oct., 412.
"The Poet's Theology." Rev. of God Without Thunder: An Unorthodox
Defence of Orthodoxy, by John Crowe Ransom. Spectator, 15 Oct.,
485-86.
"Recent Theology." Rev. of The Teaching of Jesus: Studies of its Form
and Content, by T. W. Manson: Jesus Christ: His Person, His
Message, His Credentials, Vol. II, by Leonce de Grandmaison; The
Doctrine of Grace, ed. W. J. Whitley. Spectator, 10 Sept., 316-17.
"A Religious Classic." Rev. of Prayer: A Study in the History and
Psychology of Religion, by Friedrich Hester. Spectator, 18 Nov., 707.
"St. Paul." Rev. of St. Paul, by Wilfred Knox; What Are Saints?
Fifteen Chapters on Sanctity, by C. C. Martindale. Spectator, 23 July,
125-26.
"St. Teresa's Teacher." Rev. of Third Spiritual Alphabet, by Fray
Francesco de Osuna. Spectator, 20 Feb., 258.
"The Soul of the Primitive." Rev. of Faith, Hope and Charity in
Primitive Religion, by R. R. Marett. Spectator, 14 May, 704.
"Spiritual Songs." Rev. of Lyra Mystical. ed. C. C. Albertson.
Spectator, 2 July, 20.
"Studies in Sanctity: The Meaning of Sanctity". Spectator, 23 Jan.,
102-03. Reprinted in Mixed Pasture.
 Page 246
"Studies in Sanctity: Father Wainwright: 1849-1929." Spectator, 9
April, 502-03.
"Supernatural Religion." Rev. of The Word and the World, by Emil
Bruner; The Doctrine of the Mystical Body of Christ, by Abbé Anger;
The Natural and the Supernatural, by John Omon. Spectator, 27 Feb.,
292-93.
"Types of Holiness." Rev. of Nicholas of Cusa, by Henri Bett; Philip
Neri and the Roman Society of His Times, by Louis Ponnelle and
Louis Bordet; School of Jesus Christ, by Père Jean Grou. Spectator,
25 June, 903.
"What Thinkest Thou?" Rev. of Youth Looks at Religion, ed. Kenneth
Ingram. Spectator, 9 April, 524.
"With Long Life." Rev. of James Wilson: An Autobiography 1836-
1931. Spectator, 16 April, 564-65.
1933
"Aurelian Wisdom." Rev. of For Today: Modern Thought Secured on
the Frame of Marcus Aurelius, by Archibald Weir. Spectator, 8 Sept.,
137.
"Christian Sacraments." Rev. of The Gospel Sacraments, by J. K.
Mozley. Spectator, 29 Dec, 972.
"The Christian Standard." Rev. of The Christian Life, by Oscar
Hardman. Spectator, 6 Jan., 20.
Rev. of Elements of the Spiritual Life, by F. P. Harton. Criterion, 12,
No. 47, 30 Jan., 282-84.
"Essays in Order." Rev. of The Modern Dilemma, by Christopher
Dawson; The New Psychologies, by Rudolf Allers; The Nature of
Sanctity, by Ida Condonhove. Spectator, 24 Feb., 256.
"Exploratio Evangelica." Rev. of Life of Jesus, by Maurice Gogull;
The Original Jesus, by Otto Borchert; The Life and Teaching of Jesus
Christ, by Charles and Eleanor Raven; Jesus: A New Outline and
Estimate, by A. C. Bonquet; The World of Jesus, by Henry Kendall
Booth. Spectator, 22 Sept. 378.
 Page 247
"The Fulness of Life." Rev. of My Life and Thought: An
Autobiography, by Albert Schweitzer. Spectator, 17 March, 384.
Rev. of God and the Astronomers, by W. R. Inge. Spectator, 29 Sept.,
409.
"The Ideals of the Ministry of Women." Theology, 26, No. 151, Jan.,
37-42. Reprinted in Mixed Pasture.
"Karl Barth." Rev. of The Epistle to the Romans, by Karl Barth: The
Resurrection of the Dead, by Karl Barth; The Barthian Theology, by
J. McConnachie. Spectator, 1 Sept., 288.
Mixed Pasture: Twelve Essays and Addresses. London: Methuen.
Includes the following unpublished lectures: "Spiritual Life"; "The
Christian Basis for Social Action," 1925; "St. Francis and the
Franciscan Spirituality," 1933; "Walter Hilton."
"The Nature of God." Homiletic Review 105, No. 2, 143-46. Reprint
of "Will of the Voice," 1924.
"The Psychology of a Saint." Rev. of St. Augustine, by Rebecca West.
Spectator, 10 Feb., 190.
"Radhakrishnan's Philosophy." Rev. of East and West in Religion, by
Radhakrishnan; Counter Attacks From the East: The Philosophy of
Rahdakrishnan, by C. E. M. Joad. Spectator, 22 Dec., 942.
"Sacrifice." Rev. of Origins of Sacrifice, by E. O. James. Spectator,
31 March, 468.
"The Spiritual Significance of the Oxford Movement." Hibbert
Journal, 31, No. 3, April, 401-12. Reprinted in Mixed Pasture.
"Thomist Dialogues." Rev. of Theonas, by Jacques Maritain.
Spectator, 9 June, 840-41.
"Unfinished Odyssey." Rev. of The Modern Prelude, by Hugh l'Anson
Fausset. Spectator, 17 Nov., 720-22.
"von Hugel's Philosophy." Rev. of The Religious Philosophy of Baron
von Hugel, by L. V. Lester-Garland. Spectator, 12 May, 688-89.
 Page 248
"The Westminster Books." Rev. of Do Dead Men Live Again?, by V.
F. Starr; What is Salvation? by E. S. Waterhouse; Is Sin Our Fault?,
by Stewart McDowell; What Shall We Say of Christianity?, by Sydney
Cave. Spectator, 17 Feb., 218.
"What is Revelation?" Rev. of Religion and Revelation, by A. L.
Lilley. Spectator, 27 Jan., 124.
1934
"Divine Disclosure." Rev. of The Nature of Revelation, by Nathan
Soderblom. Spectator, 6 July, 22.
"St. John of the Cross." Rev. of The Complete Works of St. John of the
Cross, Vol. I., by Allison Peers. Spectator, 22 June, 974.
The School of Charity: Meditations on the Christian Creed. London:
Longmans, Green and Co.
"The Soul of Robespierre." Rev. of Maxmilian Robespierre: A Study
in Deterioration, by Reginald Somerset Ward. Spectator, 2 Nov., 688-
90.
The Spiritual Life of the Teacher. London: Guild of the Epiphany.
Reprinted in Collected Papers.
"A Study of von Hugel." Rev. of Von Hugel and the Supernatural, by
A. Hazard Dakin. Spectator, 26 Oct., 632.
"Theology for Everyman." Rev. of Essays in Construction, by W. R.
Mathews. Spectator, 26 Jan., 128.
1935
"The Core of Christianity." Rev. of The Mediator, by Emil Brunner.
Spectator, 15 Feb., 255-56.
Rev. of La Théologie Mystique de Saint Bernard, by Étienne Gilson.
Criterion, 15, No. 40, Jan., 340-42.
"The Philosophy of Contemplation." Rev. of Philosophy of Form, by
E. I. Watkin. Spectator, 5 April, 574-75.
 Page 249
"St. John of the Cross," Rev. of Complete Works of St. John of the
Cross, Vols., 1 and 2 by Allison Peers. Spectator, 11 Oct., 558.
"A Sober Faith." Rev. of Anglicanism: The Thought and Practice of
the Church of England, ed. Paul Elmer and F. L. Cross. Spectator, 21
June, 1071-72.
Rev. of The Spiritual Letters of Dom Chapman. Criterion, 14, No. 57,
July, 641-44.
Rev. of The Spiritual Letters of Dom Chapman, Fourth Abbott of
Downside, ed. Dan Rodger Hudlestan. Theology, 30, No. 180, June,
371-73.
"Wisdom of the Spirit." Rev. of Shallows and Deeps, by Archibald
Weir. Spectator, 22 Mar., 488-90.
1936
"Amateurs of Eternity." Rev. of The Desert Fathers, by Helen
Waddell. Spectator, 26 June, 1180-81.
"Churches Full and Empty." Letter. Spectator, 22 May, 934.
"Lord Halifax." Rev. of Viscount Halifax, by J. G. Lockhart.
Spectator, 27 Nov., 953-54.
"Margery Kempe." Rev. of The Book of Margery Kempe, by W.
Butler-Bowden. Spectator, 16 Oct., 642.
"The Parish Priest and the Life of Prayer." Theology, 33, No. 198,
Dec., 326-36. Reprinted in Collected Papers.
Rev. of The Prophet Child, by Gwendolyn Plunkett Greene. Criterion,
15, No. 59. Jan., 309-11.
Rev. of Psychologie et Mystique de l'Amour: Études Carmélitaines,
Avril. Criterion, 16, No. 42, Oct., 153-55.
"Sufi Wisdom." Rev. of An Early Mystic of Baghdad: A Study of the
Life and Teachings of Harith B. Asad Al-Muhasibi, by Margaret
Smith. Spectator, 22 Nov., 10.
What is Mysticism? London: A. R. Mowbray. Reprinted in Collected
Papers.
 Page 250
Worship. London: Nisbet.
1937
Rev. of The Beloved Community, by Roger Lloyd. Time and Tide, 14
Aug., 1097-98.
''Christian Re-Statement." Rev. of Great Issues: Studies in
Reconciliation, by Neville S. Talbot. Spectator, 22 Jan., 133-34.
"Christological Studies." Rev. of The Divine Christ, by A. E. Baker;
The Life of Jesus, by François Mauriac. Spectator, 19 March, 544.
Education and the Spirit of Worship. London: Headly Brothers.
Reprinted in Collected Papers.
Rev. of A Literary History of Religious Thought in France, Vol. III, by
Henri Brémond. Time and Tide, 9 Jan.
Rev. of My Way of Faith, by Maude Petre. Time and Tide, 27 Feb.,
276-77.
The Spiritual Life: Four Broadcast Talks. London: Hodder and
Stroughton.
"The Training of People in Prayer." Theology 34, No. 200, Feb., 83-
91. Reprinted in Collected Papers as "The Life of Prayer in the
Parish."
"Untouched Eternity." Rev. of Time and Eternity in Christian
Thought, by F. H. Brabant. Spectator, 5 March, 412.
1938
"Credo." Rev. of Pan, Casesar, and God, by Renée Haymes; And He
Shall Come Again, by Kenneth Ingram; He Came Down From
Heaven, by Charles Williams. Time and Tide, 9 July, 968-69.
"Men and Books." Rev. of Illustrations of the Book of Job, invented
by William Blake. Time and Tide, 8 Jan., 46-47.
 Page 251
"Men and Books." Rev. of The Kingdom of God and the Son of Man:
A Study in the History of Religion, by Rudolf Otto: The Church
Victorious, by Bishop Crotty; Peace and Pacifism, by Humphrey
Beevor; Peace and Progress Through World Fellowship. Time and
Tide, 5 March, 312-13.
"Men and Books." Rev. of Church, Community, and State: The
Christian Understanding of Man; The Kingdom of God and History;
Christian Faith and the Common Life; The Church and Community;
Church, Community, and State in Relation to Education; The
Universal Church and the World of Nations. Time and Tide, 26 March,
424-25.
"Men and Books." Rev. of Further Letters of Gerard Manley Hopkins,
ed. C. C. Abbott. Time and Tide, 21 May, 721-22.
"Men and Books." Rev. of Symbolism and Belief, by Edwyn Bevan.
Time and Tide, 27 Aug., 1202-03.
"Men and Books." Rev. of Ferrar Papers, ed. B. Blackstone. Time
and Tide, 1 Oct., 1351-52.
"Men and Books." Rev. of Dante's Purgatorio. Time and Tide, 29
Oct., 1494.
"Men and Books" Rev. of Prophecy and Divination: A Study of Man's
Intercourse With the Unseen World, by Alfred Guillaume; Fore-
Knowledge, by H. F. Saltmarsh. Time and Tide, 26 Nov., 1664-66.
"Men and Books." Rev. of Selected Mystical Writings of William Law,
ed. Stephen Hobshouse; Journals of Kierkegaard, ed. Alexander Dru.
Time and Tide, 24 Dec., 1853-54.
The Mystery of Sacrifice: A Meditation on the Liturgy. London:
Longmans, Green, and Co.
"Progress and Moderation." Rev. of Insurrection Versus Resurrection,
by Maisie Ward. Time and Tide, 29 Jan., 136.
"The Skeleton of Faith." Rev. of Doctrine of the Creed, by Oliver P.
Quick. Time and Tide, 13 Aug., 1150-51.
 Page 252
"A Thinking Church." Rev. of Doctrine in the Church of England.
Time and Tide, 22 Jan., 100-01.
1939
"The Church and the Future." Rev. of The Church of England, by H.
Hensley Henson; The Gospel and the Church, by Charles E. Raven;
The Framework of Faith, by Leslie Simmonds. Time and Tide, 23
Dec., 1638-39.
Rev. of Cross and Swastika, by Arthur Frey; I Was in Prison: Letters
from German Pastors. Time and Tide, 7 Jan., 24.
Eucharistic Prayers From the Ancient Liturgies. London: Longmans,
Green, and Co.
Introd. "Letters of Directions: Thoughts on the Spiritual Life." Letters
of the Abbé de Tournville. London: Dacre Press, 7-10.
Rev. of Man in Revolt, by Emil Brunner. Time and Tide, 26 Aug.,
1158-60.
"Martin Niemoller." Rev. of From the U-Boat to Concentration Camp,
by M. Niemoller and the Dean of Chichester; Pastor Niemoller and
His Creed. Time and Tide, 18 Feb., 213.
Meditation on Peace. London: Fellowship of Reconciliation.
"Men and Books." Rev. of Amor Dei: A Study of St. Augustine's
Teaching on the Love of God as the Motive of Christian Life, by John
Burnaby; The Knowledge of God and the Service of God, by Karl
Barth. Time and Tide, 25 Jan., 242-43.
"Men and Books." "Sorrowful yet Rejoicing." Rev. of Recusant Poets:
Sir Thomas More-Ben Jonson, by Louise Imogen Guiney. Time and
Tide, 1 April, 424.
"Men and Books." Rev. of Spirit and Reality, by Nicholas Berdyaer;
St. Paul and the Church of the Gentiles, by Wilfred L. Knox. Time
and Tide, 8 April, 448.
"Men and Books." Rev. of The Study of Theology, ed. Kenneth Kirk.
Time and Tide, 15 July, 958-59.
 Page 253
"Poet Prophets." Rev. of The Idea of a Christian Society, by T. S.
Eliot; The Descent of the Dove: A Short History of the Holy Spirit in
the Church, by Charles Williams. Time and Tide, 4 Nov., 1416.
"Points of View." Rev. of Way of Belief, by S. C. Carpenter; The World
to Come, by Rostrevor Hamilton; Saints and Revolutionaries, by Olaf
Stapledon. Time and Tide, 11 Nov., 1440.
"Prayer in Wartime." In G.D.A. Letter, 1 Nov., 2-5.
Rev. of Religious Prospect, by V. A. Deviant; Church and State, by
Karl Barth; National Socialism and the Roman Catholic Church, by
Nathaniel Micklem. Time and Tide, 22 July, 996-97.
A Service of Prayer for Use in Wartime. London: Christian Literature
Assoc.
Spiritual Life in Wartime. London: Christian Literature Assoc.
"That World and This." Rev. of Fear and Trembling: A Dialectic
Lyric, by Johannes de Silentio and Soren Kierkegaard; The Kingdom
of Heaven, by Naomi Mitchison. Time and Tide, 13 May, 622-23.
"Una Sancta." Rev. of Divided Christendom, Time and Tide, 10 June,
762-63.
1940
Abba: Meditations on the Lord's Prayer. London: Longmans, Green
and Co.
The Church and War. London: Anglican Pacifist Fellowship.
"The Great Divide." Rev. of Christianity and Classical Culture: A
Study of Thought and Action from Augustus to Augustine, by Charles
Norris Cochrane. Time and Tide, 24 Aug., 869-70.
"Lenten Fare." Rev. of Readings in St. John's Gospel, by William
Temple; The Love of God: An Essay in Analysis, by Don Aelred
Graham; Christian Discourses, by Soren Kierkegaard. Time and Tide,
10 Feb., 141-43.
 Page 254
Letter. Time and Tide, 20 July, 757.
"Postscript." In Intro. The Way of Peace, ed. Percy Harill. London:
James Clark, 1940, 187-92.
"Religion and Religions." Rev. of Living Religions and a World of
Faith, by William Hocking; Theism and Cosmology, by John Laird;
Holy Images, by Edwyn Bevan. Time and Tide, 18 May, 536-37.
"Sign Posts." Rev. of The God-Man, by E. L. Mascall; The Recreation
of Man, by T. M. Parker; The Church of God, by D. M. MacKinnon;
The Necessity of Worship, by P. McLaughlin. Time and Tide, 21 Sept.,
948.
"Spiritual Song." Rev. of Oxford Book of Christian Verse, ed. Lord
David Cecil. Time and Tide, 29 June, 691-92.
Rev. of The Testament of Immortality, by T. S. Eliot. Time and Tide,
19 Oct., 1028.
"What About the Church?" Rev. of The Betrayal of Christ by the
Churches, by J. Middleton Murry; The Church of England, by Cecilia
Ady; Catholic Design for Living, by G. B. Bentley. Time and Tide, 30
Nov., 1162-64.
1941
"First to the Left." Rev. of Witchcraft, by Charles Williams. Time and
Tide, 31 May, 463-64.
"Keeping Lent." Church Bulletin, Mar., Christ Church, Hampstead.
"Saint Bernard." Rev. of The Steps of Humility, by Bernard, Abbot of
Clairvaux. Time and Tide, 12 April, 312.
 Page 255
"Thomas à Kempis." Time and Tide, 1 Mar., 173.
1942
The Fruits of the Spirit. London: Longmans, Green and Co. Addresses
given at the House of Retreat, Pleshey, 1936, and Letters to and
Proposed Rule for the Prayer Group, 1940-41.
1943
The Letters of Evelyn Underhill. Ed. Charles Williams. London:
Longmans, Green and Co.
1944
Light of Christ: Retreat Addresses of May 1932. London: Longmans,
Green and Co.
1946
Collected Papers of Evelyn Underhill. Ed. Lucy Menzies. London:
Longmans, Green and Co.
1947
"Spiritual Life and the Influence [of Walter Frere]." In Walter Frere,
Bishop of Truro: A Memoir. By C. S. Phillips and Others. London:
Faber and Feber, 175-82.
1948
Meditations and Prayers. Privately Printed by Ronald Harrington
Hutson [1948] and reprinted by Longmans, Green and Co., 1949.
1949
Shrines and Cities of France and Italy. Ed. Lucy Menzies. London:
Longmans, Green and Co.
1953
"The Spiritual and the Secular." In Politics and the Faith, ed. Maurice
B. Reckitt. London: The Church Union. Reprint of "The Christian
Basis of Social Action."
1960
The Mount of Purification. London: Longmans, Green and Co..
 Page 256
Retreat Addresses of 1931 published with Meditations and Prayers
and Miscellaneous Papers (Collected Papers).
Anthologies
Evelyn Underhill. In Benn's Auguston Books of Poetry. London: E.
Benn Ltd., 1932.
The Wisdom of Evelyn Underhill: An Anthology from Her Writings.
Comp. John Stobbart. London: A. R. Mowbray, 1951.
An Anthology of the Love of God From the Writings of Evelyn
Underhill. Ed. Lumsden Barkway and Lucy Menzies. London: A. R.
Mowbray and Co., 1953.
The Evelyn Underhill Reader. Comp. T. S. Kepler. Nashville, TN:
Abingdon Press, 1962.
Lent With Evelyn Underhill. Ed. G. P. Mellick Belshaw. New York:
Morehouse-Barlow, 1964.
 Page 257

Index
A
Ambrose, St., 120
Angela of Foligno, 51, 59, 126
Anglican Pacifist Fellowship, 217
Augustine, St., 51, 59-60, 120, 123, 125, 149, 154, 167, 169
B
Bab movement, 82
Barclay, Robert, 110
Barker, Ethel Ross, 7
Barth, Karl, 22
Baudouin, King, 97
Benedict, St., 112, 193
Bergson, Henri, 3, 6, 77
and the artist, 52, 55
elan vital, 56
and intuition, 52, 54
and the mind, brain and intellect, 51, 53-54, 56
mysticism, 48-60
and psychology, 55
 rest, 57-58
soul, 53
Berulle, Pierre de, 140
Blake, William, 53, 121
Boehme, Jacob, 50, 60, 72, 74, 76-77, 121
Bonaventura, St., 148
Booth, William, 81
Brainard, David, 159
Brunner, Emil, 22
C
Catherine of Genoa, St., 154
Catherine of Siena, St., 159, 187
De Caussade, J. P., 190
Christianity, 208
Christine, Lucie, 125
Church:
and charity, 214
definition of, 189
mission of, 213
work of, 216
Constant, Alphone Louis: See Lévi, Eliphas
Cordelier, John: See Underhill, Evelyn
Cure d'Ars, 193
D
Dionysius the Areopagite, 50
E
Eckhart, Meister, 188
Eliot, T. S., 2
F
Fortnightly Review, 31, 87
Foucauld, Charles, 155
Fox, George, 53, 81, 84, 109, 121
Francis of Assisi, St., 23, 81, 84, 110, 112, 123, 126, 143, 164, 194
Francis de Sales, St., 139
Freud, Sigmund, 77
Fry, Elizabeth, 79
G
God:
definition of, 179-180, 183, 190
as Spirit, 182, 187-188
Golden Dawn, 4
See also Underhill, Evelyn
 Page 258
Gregory, St., 206
H
Hauptmann, Gerard, 171
Heracleitus, 58
Hibbert Journal, 67
Hilton, Walter, 23
Hopkins, Gerard, 182
Horlicks Magazine, 4
human nature, 164-167, 184, 186
contemporary needs of, 169
and God, 187, 189
and prayer, 168
and religion, 168-172
and the spiritual life, 172-176
and the will, 187
new views on, 167
Huvelin, Abbé, 150
I
Ignatius of Loyola, St., 193, 196
Inge, William, 5
J
James, St., 207
James, William, 5
Jefferies, Richard, 50
Jerome, St., 174-175
Jesus Christ, 79-81, 188
Joachim, Abbot, 122
John of the Cross, St., 163
Julian of Norwich, 59, 85, 169
L
Law of Unconscious Teleology, 98
Lawrence, Brother, 142, 155
Leseur, Elizabeth, 155, 159
Lévi, Eliphas:
doctrines of, 41-42, 44-46
life, 34-35, 36, 39
Livingstone, David, 157
Luke, St., 195
M
McDougall, William, 173
magic:
Christianity, 43
defense of, 31-46
 and Gnosticism, 34
and Kabal, 34
and E. Lévi, 37-39
and Roman Catholic Church, 39-40, 45
Malaval, Francois, 50
Manchester College, 67
Martin, St., 194
Mary of St. John, Sr., 15-16
Mechtild of Hackborn, 59
Modernism, 5, 9
Monica, St., 120
Moore, Hubert Stuart, 4, 5, 7
See also Underhill, Evelyn
mysticism:
and art, 65-66, 75
and circumstances of, 20
and churches, 66
definition of, 2, 5-7, 16-17, 63-64, 72, 75
and determinism, 21
evidence of, 11
and faith, 63
future of, 63-66
 and Idealism, 20
importance of, 8
and magic, 33
and prayer, 65
and spiritual life, 63-64
and war, 6-7
See also Bergson
N
Nancy School, 98
Newman, John Henry, 18
Nicolas of Cusa, 210
O
Otto, Rudolf, 22
Oxford Movement, 18
P
pacifism:
and Christianity, 208
nature of, 205-206
pacifists:
and Christianity, 209
nature of, 202, 206-207
sins of, 200
 work of, 209-210
Pascal, Blaise, 125
Paul of Tarsus, St., 73, 77, 80, 127, 169, 187, 199, 217
peace:
meditation on, 199-202
in New Testament, 201
and saints, 202
Penington, Isaac, 109
Peter, St., 123
Plotinus, 53, 58, 120, 124, 183, 186
prayer:
character of, 139-141
consequences of, 142-144, 151-152
definition of, 22, 135-137, 151-153, 167-168
and God, 149-150
and the soul, 153-157
types of, 148-149
and others, 158-160
Q
Quietism, 121, 130
 Page 259

R
religious associations:
character of, 105-107
and group psychology, 113-115
types of 107-112, 114
religious experience:
criterion for judgment of, 122-125
and churches, 91
and environment, 120-121
implications of, 128-129
and Law of Reversed Effect, 100-101
and ordinary people, 127-128
and Quakers, 93
and Roman Catholics, 93
and sanctity, 126-127
and suggestion, 87-102
and vocation, 125-126
Richard of St. Victor, 122, 127
Richard the Hermit, 23
Robinson, Margaret, 24
Ruysbroeck, Jans, 50, 59, 79-80, 123, 169
S
Sadhu, 155
saints, 187, 189
Salvation Army, 82
Slessor, Mary, 155
Society for Psychical Research, 35
soul, 137-139
Spirit:
doctrine of, 183
operations of, 186
and saints, 187
spiritual guide, 1
spiritual life:
and the artist, 73
aspects of, 23
characteristics of, 12-13
and the churches, 82
definition of, 14-15, 21-22
demands of, 78
implications of, 11
and prayer, 78, 83
and retreats, 83
 and social reform, 73-74
and transformation, 64, 163
S. M., Mrs.: See Evelyn Underhill
Stevenson, Marmaduke, 110
suggestion:
and Elizabeth Catez, 99
and Cloud of Unknowing, 97
and Eckhert, 96
and essentials of, 95-98
and Madame Guyon, 96
and Julian of Norwich, 91, 97
kinds of, 90-91
mechanics of, 96
and the psyche, 10-12
and psychology, 89
and prayer, 94
and ritual, 92
and Rysbroeck, 95
and St. Teresa, 95-96
and Thérèse de L'Enfant Jésus, 92, 99
and Thomas a Kempis, 94-95
negative uses of, 99-100
supernatural, 148
Suso, 125
Swendenborg, Emmanuel, 121
T
teacher: role of, 189
Temple, William, 207
Teresa of Avila, St., 142, 154, 180, 185
Thomas Aquinas, St., 57, 148, 165, 193
Tourville, Abbe de, 208
Tyrrell, George, Fr., 64
U
Underhill, Evelyn, 1, 3, 17, 24
and Church of England, 7-8, 17, 24
domestic life, 4
education of, 4, 17
evaluation of work, 18
and gender, 25
and the Golden Dawn, 4
and Neo-Platonism, 10, 21
and Oxford lectures, 8, 17
and pacificism, 16-17
and retreats, 24
and Roman Catholic Church, 5, 7, 15
and Spectator, 15
and Spiritual Entente, 8
works of: "The Authority of Personal Religious Experience", 12
"Bergson and the Mystics", 6
"Christian Fellowship: Past and Present", 11-12
The Church and War, 3
Column of Dust, 4
"Consecration of England", 16
"Defense of Magic", 3-4, 31-46
"Father Wainwright", 15
"Finite and Infinite: A Study of the Philosophy of Baron Friedrich
von Hugel", 10
"The Future of Mysticism", 7
"God and Spirit", 13-14
The Golden Sequence, 14
The Grey World, 4
"Into the Way of Peace", 16
The Life of the Spirit