inspire others.  Pascal well says:  “It is the consent of yourself to yourself and the unchanging voice of your own reason that ought to make you believe.”  So far only as we repeat for ourselves the discoveries of earlier explorers of Him who is invisible have we any religion of our own.  And this personal experience is the ground of our certainty; “as we have heard, so have we seen in the city of our God.”

Religious experience, and even Christian experience, appears in a great variety of forms; and there is always a danger lest those who are personally familiar with one type should fail to acknowledge others as genuine.  The mystics are apt to disparage the rationalists; hard-headed, conscientious saints look askance at seers of visions; and those whose new life has broken forth with the energy and volume of a geyser hardly recognize the same life when it develops like a spring-born stream from a small trickle, increased by many tributaries, into a stately river.  The value of an experience is to be judged not by its form, but by its results.  Fortunately for Christianity the New Testament contains a variety of types.  With the first disciples the light dawns gradually; on St. Paul it bursts in a flash brighter than noonday.  The emotional heights and depths of the seer on Patmos contrast with the steady level disclosed in the practical temperament of the writer of the Epistle of James.  But underneath the diversity there is an essential unity of experience:  all conform to that which Luther (as Harnack summarizes his position) considered the essence of Christian faith—­“unwavering trust of the heart in God who has given Himself to us in Christ as our Father.”

Religious experience has been defined as man’s response to God; it often appears rather his search for Him.  But that is characteristic only of the beginning of the experience.  The experienced know better than to place the emphasis on their initiative in establishing intercourse with the Divine.  “We love, because He first loved us,” they say.  The Apostle, who speaks of his readers as those who “have come to know God,” stops and corrects himself, “or rather to be known of God.”  Believers discover that God was “long beforehand” with them.  Their very search is but an answer to His seeking; in their every movement towards Him, they are aware of His drawing.  The verse which begins, “My soul followeth hard after Thee,” continues “Thy right hand upholdeth me.”

Religious experience, like all other, is limited by a man’s capacity for it; and some men seem to have very scant capacity for God.  It is not easy to establish a point of contact between a Falstaff or a Becky Sharp and the Father of Jesus Christ.  There is no community of interest or kinship of spirit.  “Faith is assurance of things hoped for;” and where there is no craving for God, He is likely to remain incredible.  Prepossession has almost everything to do with the commencement of belief.