lives are rounded with a
sleep;' that we are but atoms in the boundless abysses of space and
time; that the phenomenal world is but a transitory veil, to be valued
only as its contemplation arouses or disciplines our deepest emotions.
Capacity for passing from the finite to the infinite, for interpreting
the high instincts before which our mortal nature

'Doth tremble like a guilty thing surprised,'

is the greatest endowment of the Shakespeares and Dantes. Mysticism
proper is the abuse of this tendency, which prompts to the impossible
feat of soaring altogether beyond the necessary base of concrete
realities. The mystic temperament is balanced in some great men, as in
Shakespeare, by their intense interest in human passion; in others, as
in Wordsworth, by their profound sense of the primary importance of the
moral law; and in others, as in Jeremy Taylor, by their hold upon the
concrete imagery of a traditional theology; whilst to some, the mystic
vision is strangely blended with an acceptance of the epicurean precept,
Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die. Sir Thomas Browne seems to
be held back from abandoning himself to the ecstasies of abstract
meditation, chiefly by his peculiar sense of humour. There is a closer
connection than we are always willing to admit between humour and
profanity. Humour is the faculty which always keeps us in mind of the
absurdity which is the shadow of sublimity. It is naturally allied to
intellectual scepticism, as in Rabelais or Montaigne; and Sir Thomas
shared the tendency sufficiently to be called atheist by some wiseacres.
But his humour was too gentle to suggest scepticism of the aggressive
kind. It is almost too free from cynicism. He cannot adopt any dogma
unreservedly, but neither does any dogma repel him. He revels in the
mental attitude of hopeless perplexity, which is simply unendurable to
the commonplace and matter-of-fact intellects. He likes to be balanced
between opposing difficulties; to play with any symbol of worship
without actually worshipping it; to prostrate himself sincerely at many
shrines, and yet with a half smile on his lips. He cannot be a
rhetorician in the ordinary sense of the word; he would have been
hopelessly out of place on the floor of the senate, stirring men's
patriotism or sense of right; for half his sympathy would always be with
the Opposition. He could not have moved the tears or the devotional
ecstasies of a congregation, for he has to