o much discussion as to Emerson's relation to the
mystics that it is well here to turn aside for a moment and consider
the matter by itself. The elusiveness of "mysticism" arises out of the
fact that it is not a creed, but a state of mind. It is formulated into
no dogmas, but, in so far as it is communicable, it is conveyed, or
sought to be conveyed, by symbols. These symbols to a sceptical or an
unsympathetic person will say nothing, but the presumption among those
who are inclined towards the cult is that if these symbols convey
anything at all, that thing is mysticism. The mystics are right. The
familiar phrases, terms, and symbols of mysticism are not meaningless,
and a glance at them shows that they do tend to express and evoke a
somewhat definite psychic condition.

There is a certain mood of mind experienced by most of us in which we
feel the mystery of existence; in which our consciousness seems to
become suddenly separated from our thoughts, and we find ourselves
asking, "Who am I? What are these thoughts?" The mood is very apt to
overtake us while engaged in the commonest acts. In health it is always
momentary, and seems to coincide with the instant of the transition and
shift of our attention from one thing to another. It is probably
connected with the transfer of energy from one set of faculties to
another set, which occurs, for instance, on our waking from sleep, on
our hearing a bell at night, on our observing any common object, a chair
or a pitcher, at a time when our mind is or has just been thoroughly
preoccupied with something else. This displacement of the attention
occurs in its most notable form when we walk from the study into the
open fields. Nature then attacks us on all sides at once, overwhelms,
drowns, and destroys our old thoughts, stimulates vaguely and all at
once a thousand new ideas, dissipates all focus of thought and dissolves
our attention. If we happen to be mentally fatigued, and we take a walk
in the country, a sense of immense relief, of rest and joy, which
nothing else on earth can give, accompanies this distraction of the mind
from its problems. The reaction fills us with a sense of mystery and
expansion. It brings us to the threshold of those spiritual experiences
which are the obscure core and reality of our existence, ever alive
within us, but generally veiled and sub-conscious. It brings us, as it
were, into the ante-chamber of art, poetry, and music. The condition is
one of