If sound minds may be mystically inclined, if our emotional nature can be reached by mysticism in poetry and art, and if our emotions are acknowledged to be receptive to elevating and pleasing impressions, the pre-Raphaelites could not all have been as degenerate as Nordau would have us believe. They were, no doubt, emotionalists, mystics, and even symbolists, and they frankly claimed the right to be regarded as such. They considered themselves as having a mission, and the fact that a man throws himself heart and soul into his mission is no sign of degeneration. Now, there are walks in life, callings, missions, which involve no risk to those who undertake them; there are others that involve great risks. Some callings expose a man to bodily harm, others to mental harm. Nothing could be more uncharitable and cruel than to revile a man, to attack his reputation, to wound his feelings, and to lower his self-esteem, because he returns maimed and invalided after having fought the good fight. A shopkeeper, a shoemaker, an author of sensational books, runs but little risk of damaging either his body or his mind. The sailor, the miner, the leader of a revolution, exposes himself to great bodily danger. The man who acquires a vast erudition may dull his imagination and his judgment; the man who strains his brain to the utmost, who, perhaps, overstrains it, in the solution of difficult problems, the man whose mission lies in the domain of the emotions, exposes his mind to injury. If there be truth in this, mysticism in poetry and art may cause degeneration in the poet’s or the artist’s mind, especially if it be a weak one; but to conclude from this that mysticism in art springs from diseased minds is to confound cause with effect. If we accept Nordau’s Philistine definition of art and his views as to its mission, mysticism would have no place in art or in poetry. He would certainly exclude it, but in doing so he would contradict himself glaringly. We have already complained that he does not explain his standards, and that he does not give his ideals. But from his work before us, it is evident that the standard by which he would measure poetry is the work of Goethe and Shakespeare, especially the former. Goethe owes his fame largely to his _Faust_—a mystical work if ever there was one. The prologue is religious mysticism, the first part is diabolism, the second part is arch-mysticism, which so far has resisted all attempts at interpretation. In the same manner _Hamlet_, _Macbeth_, and other plays of Shakespeare derive their great charm and their artistic value largely from mysticism.