The Evolution of Love Part 16

etc.

On one occasion she had a vision of an angel whom she describes as follows: "He was not tall but small, very beautiful, his face so radiant that he seemed to be one of the highest angels, who are, I believe, all fire ... in his hand he held a golden spear, at the point of which was a little flame; he appeared to thrust this spear into my heart again and again; it penetrated my entrails, and as he drew it out he seemed to draw them out also, and leave me on fire with a great love of G.o.d. The pain was so intense that I could not but sigh deeply; yet so surpa.s.sing was the sweetness of this pain that it made me wish never to be without it. It is not physical, but spiritual pain, although the body often suffers greatly from it. The caressing love between G.o.d and the soul is so sweet that I implore Him of His mercy to let all those experience it who believe that I am lying."

The treatise _Thoughts of the Love of G.o.d on some Words of the Song of Songs_ is crowded with purely sensuous pa.s.sages. In accordance with the general custom, she interprets this navely sensual Semitic poem allegorically, becomes tremendously excited in meditating on the kiss of the beloved and discusses the question of what the soul should do to "satisfy so sweet a bridegroom."

In the pamphlet _The Fortress of the Soul and its Seven Dwellings_, St.

Teresa describes similar states of mind: "The bridegroom commands the doors of the dwellings to be closed and also the gates of the fortress and its surrounding walls. In freeing the soul from the body, he stops the body's breathing so that, even if the other senses are not quite deadened, speech is impossible. At other times all sensuous perceptions disappear simultaneously; body and hands grow rigid and it seems as if the soul had left the body, which is scarcely breathing. This condition is of short duration. The rigidity pa.s.ses away to some extent, the body slowly regains life, the breath comes and goes, only to die away again and thus endow the soul with greater freedom. But this deep trance does not endure long." She continues to describe her ecstasies and is careful to point out the complete fusion of supreme delight and bodily pain.

Perhaps no hysterical subject has ever described her states of mind so well. Her avowal (made in a letter to Father Rodrigue Alvarez) of her complete unconsciousness of her body is quite in harmony with those states of rapture. She wrote a number of spiritual love-songs which are said to be conspicuous for their ardour and beauty; probably they have never been translated from the original Spanish.

Finally there is the famous Madame Guyon (1648-1717), who--in addition to many other works--wrote a very detailed autobiography. She lived with her husband, whom she treated with coldness, finding her sole joy in her spiritual intercourse with G.o.d. "I desire only the divine love which thrills the soul with inexpressible bliss, the love which seems to melt my whole being." G.o.d burns her with His fire and still trembling with delight, she says to Him: "Oh, Lord! The greatest libertine, if Thou didst make him experience Thy love as Thou didst make me experience it, would forswear carnal pleasure and strive only after Thy divine love."

"I was like a person intoxicated with wine or love, unable to think of anything but my pa.s.sion," etc. The fact that she sought in this love the pleasure of the senses is very apparent.

We are not concerned here with the problem of how far these women may be regarded as pathological cases; all of them were filled with a vague feminine desire for self-surrender, which they projected on a celestial being, either because they did not come into contact with a suitable terrestrial object, or because the impulse was abnormal from the beginning. But their spiritual love never rose above empty sentimentality and hysterical rapture. All of them, and some of them were highly gifted, were thrilled with the love of Jesus, they had visions of the "sweet wounds of the Saviour," and so on; but their emotion did not kindle the smallest spark of creative power. The Queen of Heaven, on the other hand, was a free creation of spiritually loving poets and monks.

The women imitated metaphysical love and distorted it; s.e.xual impulse, arrogantly attempting to reach beyond the earth, reigned in the place of spiritual, deifying love.

I have included these phenomena not for their own sakes, but to indicate my boundary-line, for very frequently these women are cited as genuine mystics. Even Schopenhauer mentions these "saints" in one breath with German mystics and Indian philosophers; he calls Madame Guyon "a great and beautiful soul whose memory I venerate." And yet there can be no doubt that it is not the fict.i.tious object of love which is conclusive, but the emotion of the lover: the sensualist can approach G.o.d and the Virgin with inflamed senses, but to the lover every woman is divine.

The result of this chapter is as far as our investigation is concerned, negative. The deifying love of man has no parallel phenomenon in the emotional life of woman.

(_b_) s.e.xUAL MYSTICS.

s.e.xual mysticism is a contradiction in itself, because true mysticism has nothing whatever to do with s.e.xuality. But frequently suppressed s.e.xuality, secretly luxuriating, takes possession of the whole soul, and a religious construction is put on the results. The s.e.xually excited subject attributes religious motives to his ecstasy. I have no hesitation in a.s.serting that the majority of these ecstasies--especially in the case of women--are rooted in s.e.xuality, and that this so-called mysticism is nothing but a deviation or wrong interpretation of the s.e.xual impulse. The same thing applies to the flagellants of the declining Middle Ages, and some Protestant sects of modernity. The raptures of St. Teresa and Madame Guyon, also, belong to this category, however much the fact may be concealed by pseudo-religious conceptions.

I have no doubt that Eastern mysticism, too, grew up on a s.e.xual foundation, but (as I have done all along) I will limit my subject to the civilisation of Europe.

This counterfeit mysticism, fed from dubious sources and calling itself love of G.o.d, taints the pure intuitions of some of the genuine mystics and metaphysical erotics; they were not always able to steer clear of spurious outgrowths. (Here, too, the psychological navete of mediaeval times must to some extent be held responsible.) Conspicuous amongst these is St. Bernard of Clairvaux, who in his _Sermones in Cantic.u.m_ took the "Song of Songs" as a base for mystically-s.e.xual imaginings.

There is nothing really new in this direction. But I will cite a few stanzas written by St. Bernard which might equally well have come from one of the amorous nuns:

TO THE SIDE-WOUND OF CHRIST.

Lord, with my mouth I touch and wors.h.i.+p Thee, With all the strength I have I cling to Thee, With all my love I plunge my heart in Thee, My very life blood would I draw from Thee, Oh, Jesus! Jesus! Draw me unto Thee!

How sweet Thy savour is! Who tastes of Thee, Oh, Jesus Christ, can relish naught but Thee!

Who tastes Thy living sweetness lives by Thee; All else is void; the soul must die for Thee, So faints my heart--so would I die for Thee!

(_Transl. by_ EMILY MARY SHAPCOTE.)

The greatest religious poet of all times after St. Bernard was Jacopone da Todi, who also, though rarely, revelled in fervid utterances. The Latin hymn, _Stabat Mater Speciosa_, ascribed to him, is spurious. I quote a translation taken from the Rosary of the B.V.M.

Other Virgins far transcending, Virgin, be not thou unbending, To thy humble suppliant's suit.

Grant me then, to thee united, By the love of Christ excited, Here to sing my jubilee.

But he is undoubtedly the author of the following stanzas:

Soaring upwards love-enkindled, Does the soul rejoice, afire In her glad triumphant flight.

Earthly cares to naught have dwindled, Love's sweet footfall's drawing nigh her To espouse his heart's delight.

All transformed and naked quite, Laughing low, with joy imbued, Pure, and like a snake renewed, Love divine will ever tend her.

But poems like the following undoubtedly originated in a truly religious and pure sentiment:

Enwrapt in love thine arms Him fast enfolding, So closely clasp Him that they loose Him never; And in thy heart His sacred image holding, Far from the path of sin thou'lt journey ever.

His death in twain shall blast thy callous heart As once the solid rock He rent apart.

The most distinguished among the fervid lovers of G.o.d of later times were the saints Jean de la Croix, Alfonso da Liguori, and Francois de Sales. The _Tract of the Love of G.o.d_, written by Francois de Sales, surpa.s.ses everything ever achieved in this direction.

I will not dilate further on this barren aspect of emotionalism so easily traceable through the later centuries in many a Catholic and Protestant sentimentalist, but will conclude this chapter with a brief discussion of Novalis. If I mention this poet in this connexion it is not because I desire to depreciate his genius, but because, possessing as he did, in a rare degree, depth of feeling and power of expression, he is an important witness of an unusual type. True, here and there his poems are reminiscent of Jacopone, but he is not sufficiently ingenuous, and is altogether too morbid to be cla.s.sed with that ardent fanatic. He shares with Jacopone and other poets the yearning to grasp transcendental things with the senses, to approach the Deity with a love which cannot be called anything but sensuous. Novalis' _Hymns to the Night_ are the most magnificent example of this perfect interpenetration of sensuous and transcendental love, and at the same time represent a complete fusion of the love he bore to his fiancee, who died young, and the wors.h.i.+p of Mary. Night has opened _infinite eyes_ in us, and we behold the secret of love unfolding itself in the heart of this poet, at once unique and pathetic, lofty and morbid. The whole universe he conceives as a female being for whose embrace he is longing. It is a new emotion: neither the chaste wors.h.i.+p of the Madonna, nor the s.e.xually-mystic striving to embrace with the soul. The night gives birth to a foreboding which excites and soothes all vague desires. The lover thus soliloquises of the night:

In infinite s.p.a.ce.

Thou'dst dissolve, If it held thee not, If it bound thee not, And thrilled thee, That afire Thou begettest the world.

Verily before thou art I was, With my s.e.x The mother sent me To live in thy world, And to hallow it With love.

Here the ancient, mystical longing to become one with G.o.d is conceived under the symbol of the night. (A symbol which we shall meet again, magnified, in Wagner's _Tristan_.)

Lo! Love has burst its prison.

No parting now shall be, And life's full tide has risen Like to a boundless sea.

One night of love supernal, Only one golden song, And the face of the Eternal To light our path along.

In addition, Novalis was a perfect woman-wors.h.i.+pper. He loved the Middle Ages and Catholicism. "The reformation killed Christianity; henceforth Christianity has ceased to exist." "Catholicism preached nothing but love for the holy, beautiful Lady of Christianity, who, endowed with divine virtue, was able to deliver all loyal hearts from the most terrible dangers." He wrote hymns to Mary in the style of the pietists, emphasising more especially the principle of motherliness:

Oh, Mary! At thy altar A thousand hearts lie p.r.o.ne, In this drear life of shadows They yearn for thee alone.

All hoping to recover From life's distress and smart, If thou, oh holy Mother, Wilt take them to thy heart.

He idolised his fiancee, who died young. "Her memory shall be my better self, a sacred image in my heart before which a sanctuary lamp is ever burning, and which will save me from the temptations of the Evil One."

And through the mouth of Heinrich of Ofterdingen he proclaims: "My beloved is the abbreviation of the universe; the universe is the elongation of my beloved." "Heaven has given you to me to wors.h.i.+p. I adore you, you are a saint, you are divine glory, you are eternal life!"

This sentimental wors.h.i.+p of woman, combined with an all-transcending insatiable sensuousness, produced the peculiar s.e.xually-mystic world-feeling which is so characteristic of him. Night deeply moves his soul, longing, the memory of the beloved woman, adoration for the Virgin, his fantastic conception of an incarnated universe are fused into one great emotion:

Praise to the Queen of the World!

The lofty herald Of the sacred world.

The patroness Of rapturous love!

Thou art coming, beloved-- Night has descended-- My soul is ravished-- Over is this earthly journey And thou art mine again.

I gaze into thy dark, deep eyes, And see naught but love and happiness.

We sink down on the altar of the night, The soft couch-- The veil falls, And kindled by the rapturous embrace, Glows the pure fire Of the sweet sacrifice.

The climax and unique example of sensuousness, unsurpa.s.sed for its symbols of the physical embrace, is the hymn: "Few know the Secret of Love." It is too long to give in full. The following are a few stanzas:

Would that the ocean Blushed!

And in fragrant flesh Melted the rock!

Infinite is the sweet repast, Never satisfied is love; Nor close, nor fast enough Can it hold the beloved.

By ever more tender lips Transformed, the past ecstasy Grows closer, more intimate.

Rapturous love Thrills the soul; Hungrier and thirstier Grows the heart.

And thus the transports of love Endure for ever.

Here the remotest limit has been reached--sensuousness seems to flow into eternity, voluptuousness would shatter the world to pieces and create a new relations.h.i.+p of things. Before this poem all ecstasies of sensuousness masquerading as cosmic emotion are dull and timid. The transcendent symbols of Catholicism are used to guide the insatiable sensuous imagination to metaphysics. "Who can say that he understands the nature of blood?" Novalis may ask this question. It is truly blood, human blood, longing to gush forth and pulsate through the body of the universe.

In time to come all will be body One body; In celestial blood, Float the enraptured twain.