 Lecture 8. The divided self and the process of its unification. The last lecture was a painful one, dealing as it did with evil as a pervasive element of the world we live in. At the close of it, we were brought into full view with the contrast between the two ways of looking at life which are characteristic, respectively of what we called the healthy-minded, who need to be born only once, and of the six souls who must be twice-born in order to be happy. The result is two different conceptions of the universe of our experience. In the religion of the once-born, the world is a sort of rectilinear, or one-storied affair, whose accounts are kept in one denomination, whose parts have just the values which naturally they appear to have, and of which a simple algebraic sum of pluses and minuses will give the total worth. Happiness and religious peace consist in living on the plus side of the account. In the religion of the twice-born, on the other hand, the world is a double-storied mystery. Peace cannot be reached by the simple addition of pluses and elimination of minuses from life. Natural good is not simply insufficient in amount and transient, there lurks a falsity in its very being. Cancelled as it all is by death if not by earlier enemies, it gives no final balance and can never be the thing intended for our lasting worship. It keeps us from our real good, rather, and renunciation and despair of it are our first step in the direction of the truth. There are two lives, the natural and the spiritual, and we must lose the one before we can participate in the other. In their extreme forms of pure naturalism and pure salvationism, the two types are violently contrasted, though here, as in most other current classifications, the radical extremes are somewhat ideal abstractions, and the concrete human beings whom we oftenest meet are intermediate varieties and mixtures. Practically, however, you all recognize the difference. You understand, for example, the disdain of the Methodist convert for the mere sky-blue healthy-minded moralist, and you likewise enter into the aversion of the latter to what seems to him the diseased subjectivism of the Methodist, dying to live, as he calls it, and making a paradox of the inversion of natural appearances the essence of God's truth. Footnote, example given, quote, Our young people are diseased with the theological problems of original sin, origin of evil, predestination, and the like. These never presented a practical difficulty to any man, never darkened across any man's road who did not go out of his way to seek them. These are the soul's mumps and measles and whooping coves, close quote, end footnote. The psychological basis of the twice-born character seems to be a certain discordancy or heterogeneity in the native temperament of the subject, an incompletely unified moral and intellectual constitution. Alphonse Daldet writes, Homo duplex, Homo duplex. The first time that I perceived that I was two was at the death of my brother Henry when my father cried out so dramatically, he is dead, he is dead. While my first self wept, my second self thought, how truly given was that cry, how fine it would be at the theater. I was then fourteen years old. This horrible duality has often given me matter for reflection. Oh, this terrible second to me, always seated whilst the other is on foot, acting, living, suffering, besturing itself. This second to me that I have never been able to intoxicate, to make shed tears or put to sleep, and how it sees into things and how it mocks. Close quote. Recent works on the psychology of character have had much to say upon this point. Some persons are born with an inner constitution which is harmonious and well balanced from the outset. Their impulses are consistent with one another. Their will follows without trouble the guidance of their intellect. Their passions are not excessive, and their lives are little haunted by regrets. Others are oppositely constituted, and are so in degrees which may vary from something so slight as to result in a merely odd or whimsical inconsistency, to a discordancy of which the consequences may be inconvenient in the extreme. Of the more innocent kinds of heterogeneity, I find a good example in Mrs. Annie Bessant's autobiography. Quote. I have ever been the queerest mixture of weakness and strength, and have paid heavily for the weakness. As a child I used to suffer tortures of shyness, and if my shoelace was untied would feel shame-facedly that every eye was fixed on the unlucky string. As a girl I would shirk away from strangers, and think myself unwanted and unliked, so that I was full of eagre gratitude to anyone who noticed me kindly. As the young mistress of a house I was afraid of my servants, and would let the careless work pass rather than bear the pain of reproving the ill-doer. When I have been lecturing and debating with no lack of spirit on the platform, I have preferred to go without what I wanted at the hotel rather than to ring and make the waiter fetch it. Combative on the platform in defense of any cause I cared for, I shrink from quarrel or disapproval in the house, and am a coward at heart and private while a good fighter in public. How often have I passed unhappy quarters of an hour screwing up my courage to find fault with some subordinate who my duty compelled me to reprove, and how often I have jeered at myself for a fraud as the doty platform combatant, when shrinking from blaming some lad or lass for doing their work badly. An unkind look or word has availed to make me shrink into myself as a snail into its shell, while on the platform opposition makes me speak my best. Close quote. This amount of inconsistency will only count as amiable weakness, but a stronger degree of heterogeneity may make havoc of the subject's life. There are persons whose existence is little more than a series of zigzags, as now one tendency and now another gets the upper hand. Their spirit wars with their flesh. They wish for incompatibles, wayward impulses interrupt their most deliberate plans, and their lives are one long drama of repentance and of effort to repair misdemeanors and mistakes. Heterogeneus personality has been explained as the result of inheritance. The traits of character of incompatible and antagonistic ancestors are supposed to be preserved alongside of each other. This explanation may pass for what it is worth. It certainly needs corroboration. But whatever the cause of heterogeneus personality may be, we find the extreme examples of it in the psychopathic temperament of which I spoke in my first lecture. All writers about this temperament make the inner heterogeneity prominent in their descriptions. Frequently, indeed, it is only this trait that leads us to ascribe that temperament to a man at all. A degener supérieur is simply a man of sensibility in many directions, who finds more difficulty than is common in keeping his spiritual house in order and running his furrow straight, because his feelings and impulses are too keen and too discrepant mutually. In the haunting and insistent ideas, in the irrational impulses, the morbid scruples, dreads, and inhibitions which beset the psychopathic temperament when it is thoroughly pronounced, we have exquisite examples of heterogeneus personality. Bunyan had an obsession of the words, sell Christ for this, sell him for that, sell him, sell him, which would run through his mind a hundred times together, until one day, out of breath, with retorting, I will not, I will not, he impulsively said, let him go if he will. And this loss of the battle kept him in despair for over a year. The lives of the saints are full of such blasphemous obsessions ascribed invariably to the direct agency of Satan. The phenomenon connects itself with the life of the subconscious self, so called, of which we must erelong speak more directly. Now in all of us, however constituted, but to a degree the greater in proportion as we are intense and sensitive and subject to diversified temptations, and to the greatest possible degree if we are decidedly psychopathic, does the normal evolution of character chiefly consist in the straightening out and unifying of the inner self. The higher and the lower feelings, the useful and the airing impulses begin by being a comparative chaos within us. They must end by forming a stable system of functions in right subordination. Unhappiness is apt to characterize the period of order making and struggle. If the individual be of tender conscience and religiously quickened, the unhappiness will take the form of moral remorse and compunction, of feeling inwardly vile and wrong, and of standing in false relations to the author of one's being and a pointer of one's spiritual fate. This is the religious melancholy and conviction of sin that have played so large a part in the history of Protestant Christianity. The man's interior is a battleground for what he feels to be two deadly hostile selves, one actual, the other ideal. As Victor Hugo makes his Mohammed say, Wrong living, impotent aspirations. What I would, that do I not, but what I hate, that do I, as St. Paul says, self-loathing, self-despair, an unintelligible and intolerable burden to which one is mysteriously the heir. Let me quote from some typical cases of discordant personality with melancholy in the form of self-condemnation and sense of sin. St. Augustine's case is a classic example. You all remember his half-pagan, half-Christian bringing up at Carthage, his immigration to Rome and Milan, his adoption of Manichaeism and subsequent skepticism, and his restless search for truth and purity of life, and finally how, distracted by the struggle between the two souls in his breast, and ashamed of his own weakness of will when so many others whom he knew and knew of had thrown off the shackles of sensuality and dedicated themselves to chastity and the higher life, he heard a voice in the garden say, and opening the Bible at random saw the text, not in chambering and wantonness, etc., which seemed directly sent to his address and laid the inner storm to rest forever. Footnote, Louis Groudon has shown by an analysis of Augustine's writings immediately after the date of his conversion, AD 386, that the account he gives in the confessions is premature. The crisis in the garden marked a definitive conversion from his former self, but it was to the neoplatonic spiritualism and only a halfway stage towards Christianity. The later he appears not fully and radically to have embraced until four years more had passed. And footnote, Augustine's psychological genius has given an account of the trouble of having a divided self which has never been surpassed. Quote, The new will which I began to have was not yet strong enough to overcome that other will, strengthened by long indulgence. So these two wills, one old, one new, one carnal, the other spiritual, contended with each other and disturbed my soul. I understood by my own experience what I had read, flesh lusteth against spirit and spirit against flesh. It was myself indeed in both the wills, yet more myself in that which I approved in myself than in that which I disapproved in myself. Yet it was through myself that habit had attained so fierce a mastery over me because I had willingly come wither I willed not. Still bound to earth I refused, O God, to fight on thy side, as much afraid to be freed from all bonds as I opt to have feared being trampled by them. Thus the thoughts by which I meditated upon thee were like the efforts of one who would awake, but being overpowered with sleepiness is soon asleep again. Often does a man, when heavy sleepiness is on his limbs, defer to shake it off, and though not approving it, encourage it. Even so I was sure it was better to surrender to thy love than to yield to my own lusts. Yet, though the former course convinced me, the latter pleased and held me bound. There was not in me to answer thy call, awake thou sleeper, but only drawing drowsy words presently. Yes, presently, wait, wait a little while. But the presently had no present, and a little while grew long. For I was afraid thou wouldest hear me too soon, and heal me at once of my disease of lust, which I wished to satiate rather than to see extinguished. With what lashes of words did I not scorch my own soul. Yet it shrank back, it refused, though it had no excuse to offer. I said within myself, Come, let it be done now. And as I said it, I was on the point of the resolve. I all but did it, yet I did not do it. And I made another effort, and almost succeeded, yet I did not reach it, and did not grasp it, hesitating to die to death, and live to life, and the evil to which I was so wanted held me more than the better life I had not tried. Close quote. There could be no more perfect description of the divided will when the higher wishes lack just that last acuteness, that touch of explosive intensity of dynamogenic quality, to use the slang of the psychologists. That enables them to burst their shell, and make eruption efficaciously into life, and quell the lower tendencies forever. In a later lecture, I shall have much to say about this higher excitability. I find another good description of the divided will in the autobiography of Henry Alene, a Nova Scotian evangelist of whose melancholy I read a brief account in my last lecture. The poor youth's sins were, as you will see, of the most harmless order. Yet they interfered with what proved to be his truest vocation, so they gave him great distress. Quote. I was now very moral in my life, but found no rest of conscience. I now began to be esteemed in young company, who knew nothing of my mind all this while, and their esteem began to be a snare to my soul, for I soon began to be fond of carnal mirth. Though I still flattered myself that I did not get drunk nor curse nor swear, there would be no sin in frolicking and carnal mirth, and I thought God would indulge young people with some, what I called simple or civil, recreation. I still kept a round of duties, and would not suffer myself to run into any open vices, and so got along very well in time of health and prosperity. But when I was distressed or threatened by sickness, death, or heavy storms of thunder, my religion would not do, and I found there was something wanting, and would begin to repent my going so much to frolics. But when the distress was over, the devil and my own wicked heart, with the solicitations of my associates, and my fondness for young company, were such strong allurements, I would again give way, and thus I got to be very wild and rude, at the same time kept up my rounds of secret prayer and reading. But God, not willing I should destroy myself, still followed me with his calls, and moved with such power upon my conscience, that I could not satisfy myself with my diversions, and in the midst of my mirth, sometimes would have such a sense of my lost and undone condition, that I would wish myself from the company. And after it was over, when I went home, would make many promises that I would attend no more on these frolics, and would beg forgiveness for hours and hours. But when I came to have the temptation again, I would give way. No sooner would I hear the music and drink a glass of wine, but I would find my mind elevated, and soon proceed to any sort of merriment or diversion, that I thought was not debauched or openly vicious. But, when I returned from my carnal mirth, I felt as guilty as ever, and could sometimes not close my eyes for some hours after I had gone to bed. I was one of the most unhappy creatures on earth. Sometimes I would leave the company, often speaking to the fiddler to cease from playing as if I was tired, and go out and walk about crying and praying, as if my heart would break, and be seeking God that he would not cut me off, nor give me up to hardness of heart. Oh, what unhappy hours and nights I thus wore away. When I met sometimes with merry companions, and my heart was ready to sink, I would labor to put on as cheerful accountants as possible, that they might not distrust anything, and sometimes would begin some discourse with young men or young women on purpose, or propose a merry song, lest the distress of my soul would be discovered or mistrusted. When, at the same time, I would then rather have been in a wilderness in exile than with them or any of their pleasures or enjoyments. Thus, for many months, when I was in company, I would act the hypocrite and feign a merry heart, but at the same time would endeavor as much as I could to shun their company. Oh, wretched and unhappy mortal that I was. Everything I did, and wherever I went, I was still in a storm, and yet I continued to be the chief contriver and ringleader of the frolics for many months after, though it was a toil and torment to attend them, but the devil and my own wicked heart drove me about like a slave, telling me that I must do this and do that and bear this and bear that, and turn here and turn there, to keep my credit up and retain the esteem of my associates, and all this while I continued as strict as possible in my duties, and left no stone unturned to pacify my conscience, watching even against my thoughts, and praying continually wherever I went, for I did not think there was any sin in my conduct when I was among carnal company, because I did not take any satisfaction there, but only followed it, I thought, for sufficient reasons. But still, all that I did or could do, conscience would roar night and day. Close quote. Saint Augustine and Allanie both emerged into the smooth waters of inner unity and peace, and I shall next ask you to consider more closely some of the peculiarities of the process of unification when it occurs. It may come gradually, or it may occur abruptly. It may come through altered feelings, or through altered powers of action. Or it may come through new intellectual insights, or through experiences which we shall later have to designate as mystical. However it come, it brings a characteristic sort of relief, and never such extreme relief as when it is cast into the religious mold. Happiness, happiness, religion is only one of the ways in which men gain that gift. Easily, permanently, and successfully, it often transforms the most intolerable misery into the profoundest and most enduring happiness. But to find religion is only one out of many ways of reaching unity, and the process of remedying inner incompleteness and reducing inner discord is a general psychological process, which may take place with any sort of mental material, and need not necessarily assume the religious form. In judging of the religious types of regeneration which we are about to study, it is important to recognize that they are only one species of a genus that contains other types as well. For example, the new birth may be away from religion into incredulity, or it may be from moral scrupulosity into freedom and license, or it may be produced by the eruption into the individual's life of some new stimulus or passion, such as love, ambition, cupidity, revenge, or patriotic devotion. In all these instances, we have precisely the same psychological form of event, a firmness, stability, and equilibrium succeeding a period of storm and stress and inconsistency. In these non-religious cases, the new man may also be born either gradually or suddenly. The French philosopher Joufroy has left an eloquent memorial of his own counter-conversion, as the transition from orthodoxy to infidelity has been well-styled by Mr. Starbuck. Joufroy's doubts had long harassed him, but he dates his final crisis from a certain night when his disbelief grew fixed and stable, and where the immediate result was sadness at the illusions he had lost. Joufroy writes, quote, I shall never forget that night of December in which the veil that concealed from me my own incredulity was torn. I hear again my steps in that narrow naked chamber where long after the hour of sleep had come, I had the habit of walking up and down. I see again that moon, half veiled by clouds, which now and again illuminated the frigid window panes. The hours of the night flowed on, and I did not note their passage. Anxiously I followed my thoughts. As from layer to layer they descended towards the foundation of my consciousness, and scattered one by one all the illusions which until then had screened its windings from my view, made them every moment more clearly visible. Vanely I clung to these last beliefs as a shipwrecked sailor clings to the fragments of his vessel. Vanely, frightened at the unknown void in which I was about to float, I turned with him towards my childhood, my country, my family, all that was dear and sacred to me. The inflexible current of my thought was too strong, parents, family, memory, beliefs. It forced me to let go of everything. The investigation went on more obstinate and more severe as it drew near its term, and did not stop until the end was reached. I knew then that in the depth of my mind nothing was left that stood erect. This moment was a frightful one, and when towards morning I threw myself exhausted on my bed, I seemed to feel my earlier life so smiling and so full go out like a fire. And before me another life opened, somber and unpeopled, where in future I must live alone, alone with my fatal thought which had exiled me thither, and which I was tempted to curse. The days which followed this discovery were the saddest of my life. Close quote. Footnote. I add two other cases of counterconversion, dating from a certain moment. The first is from Professor Starbucks Manuscript Collection, and the narrator is a woman. Quote. Away down in the bottom of my heart I believe I was always more or less skeptical about God. Skepticism grew as an undercurrent all through my early youth, but it was controlled and covered by the emotional elements in my religious growth. When I was sixteen I joined the church and was asked if I loved God. I replied yes, as was customary and expected. But instantly, with a flash, something spoke within me. No you do not. I was haunted for a long time with shame and remorse for my falsehood, and for my wickedness in not loving God. Mingled with fear that there might be an avenging God who would punish me in some terrible way. At nineteen I had an attack of tonsillitis. Before I had quite recovered I heard told a story of a brute who had kicked his wife downstairs, and then continued the operation until she became insensible. I felt the horror of the thing keenly. Instantly this thought flashed through my mind. I have no use for a God who permits such things. This experience was followed by months of historical indifference to the God of my previous life, mingled with feelings of positive dislike and a somewhat proud defiance of him. I still thought that might be a God. If so, he would probably damn me. But I should have to stand it. I felt very little fear and no desire to perpetuate him. I have never had any personal relations with him since this painful experience. This second case exemplifies how small an additional stimulus will overthrow the mind into a new state of equilibrium when the process of preparation and incubation has proceeded far enough. It is like the proverbial last straw added to the camel's burden, or that touch of a kneel which makes the salt in a supersaturated fluid suddenly begin to crystallize out. Tolstoy writes, quote, S, a frank and intelligent man, told me as follows how he ceased to believe. He was 26 years old when, one day, on a hunting expedition, the time for sleep having come, he set himself to pray according to the custom he had held from childhood. His brother, who was hunting with him, lay upon the hay and looked at him. When S had finished his prayer and was turning to sleep, the brother said, Do you still keep up that thing? Nothing more was said. But since that day, now more than 30 years ago, S has never prayed again. He never takes communion and does not go to church. All this, not because he became acquainted with convictions of his brother, which he then and there adopted, not because he made any new resolution of his soul, but merely because the words spoken by his brother were like the light push of a finger against a leaning wall already about to tumble by its own weight. These words but showed him that the place wherein he supposed religion dwelt in him had long been empty, and that the sentences he uttered, the crosses and bows which he made during his prayer, were actions with no inner sense. Having once seized their absurdity, he no longer kept up with them. Close quote, end footnote. In John Foster's essay on Decision of Character, there is an account of a case of sudden conversion to avarice, which is illustrative enough to quote, quote, a young man it appears wasted two or three years, a large patrimony in profligate revels with a number of worthless associates who called themselves his friends, and who, when his last means were exhausted, treated him of course with neglect or contempt. Reduced to absolute want, he one day went out of the house with an intention to put an end to his life, but wandering a while almost unconsciously, he came to the brow of an eminence which overlooked what were lately his estates. Here he sat down, and remained fixed in thought a number of hours, at the end of which he sprang from the ground with a vehement, exalting emotion. He had formed his resolution, which was that all these estates should be his again. He had formed his plan too, which he instantly began to execute. He walked hastily forward, determined to seize the first opportunity of however humbly kind to gain any money, though it were ever so despicable a trifle, and resolved absolutely not to spend, if he could help it, a farthing of whatever he might obtain. The first thing that drew his attention was a heap of coals shot out of carts on the pavement before a house. He offered himself to shovel or wheel them into the place where they were to be laid, and was employed. He received a few pence for the labour, and then, in pursuance of the saving part of his plan, requested some small gratuity of meat and drink which was given to him. He then looked out for the next thing that might chance, and went with indefatigable industry, through a succession of servile employments in different places, of longer and shorter duration, still scrupulous in avoiding, as far as possible, the expense of a penny. He promptly seized every opportunity which could advance his design, without regarding the meanness of occupation or appearance. By this method he had gained, after a considerable time, money enough to purchase in order to sell again a few cattle, of which he had taken pains to understand the value. He speedily but cautiously turned his first gains into second and advantages, retained without a single deviation his extreme parsimony, and thus advanced by degrees into larger transactions and incipient wealth. I did not hear or have forgotten the continued course of his life, but the final result was that he more than recovered his lost possessions, and died an inveterate miser worth sixty thousand pounds. Footnote. I subjoin an additional document which has come into my possession, and which represents in a vivid way what is probably a very frequent sort of conversion, if the opposite of falling in love, falling out of love may be so termed. Falling in love also conforms frequently to this type. A latent process of unconscious preparation, often preceding a sudden awakening to the fact that the mischief is irretrievably done. The free and easy tone in this narrative gives it a sincerity that speaks for itself. Quote. For two years of this time, I went through a very bad experience which almost drove me mad. I had fallen violently in love with a girl, who, young as she was, had a spirit of coquetry like a cat. As I look back on her now, I hate her, and wonder how I could ever have fallen so low as to be worked upon to such an extent by her attractions. Nevertheless, I fell into a regular fever, could think of nothing else. Whenever I was alone, I pictured her attractions, and spent most of the time when I should have been working, in recalling our previous interviews and imagining future conversations. She was very pretty, good-humored, and jolly to the last degree, and intensely pleased with my admiration. Would give me no decided answer, yes or no, and the queer thing about it was that whilst pursuing her for her hand, I secretly knew all along that she was unfit to be a wife for me, and that she never would say yes. Although for a year we took our meals at the same boarding house, so that I saw her continually and familiarity, our closer relations had to be largely on the sly, and this fact, together with my jealousy of another one of her male admirers, and my own conscious despising me for my uncontrollable weakness, made me so nervous and sleepless that I really thought I should become insane. I understand well those young men murdering their sweethearts, which appear so often in the papers. Nevertheless, I did love her passionately, and in some ways she did deserve it. The queer thing was that sudden and unexpected way in which it all stopped. I was going to my work after breakfast one morning, thinking as usual of her and of my misery when, just as of some outside power laid hold of me, I found myself turning round and almost running into my room, where I immediately got out all the relics of her which I possessed, including some hair, all her notes and letters, and ambrotypes on glass. The former I made a fire of. The latter I actually crushed beneath my heel in a sort of fierce joy of revenge and punishment. I now loathed and despised her altogether, and as for myself, I felt as if a load of disease had suddenly been removed from me. That was the end. I never spoke to her or wrote to her again in all the subsequent years, and I have never had a single moment of loving thought towards one who for so many months entirely filled my heart. In fact, I have always rather hated her memory, though now I can see that I had gone unnecessarily far in that direction. At any rate, from that happy morning onward, I regained possession of my own proper soul and have never since fallen into any similar trap. This seems to me an unusually clear example of two different levels of personality, inconsistent in their dictates, yet so well balanced against each other as for a long time to fill the life with discord and dissatisfaction. At last, not gradually, but in a sudden crisis, the unstable equilibrium is resolved, and this happens so unexpectedly that it is as if, to use the writer's words, some outside power laid hold. Professor Starbuck gives an analogous case and a converse case of hatred suddenly turning into love in his psychology of religion, page 141. Compare the other highly curious instances, which he gives on pages 137 to 144, of sudden non-religious alterations of habit or character. He seems right in conceiving all such sudden changes as results of special cerebral functions unconsciously developing until they are ready to play a controlling part when they make eruption into the conscious life. When we treat of sudden conversion, I shall make as much use as I can of this hypothesis of subconscious incubation. Let me turn now to the kind of case, the religious case, namely, that immediately concerns us. Here is one of the simplest possible type, an account of the conversion to the systematic religion of healthy mindedness of a man who must already have been naturally of the healthy minded type. It shows how, when the fruit is ripe, a touch will make it fall. Mr. Horace Fletcher, in his little book called Menti Culture, relates that a friend with whom he was talking of the self-control attained by the Japanese through their practice of the Buddhist discipline said, quote, you must first get rid of anger and worry. I said, but is that possible? He replied, yes, it is possible to the Japanese and ought to be possible to us. On my way back, I could think of nothing else but the words get rid, get rid, and the idea must have continued to possess me during my sleeping hours, for the first consciousness in the morning brought back the same thought, with the revelation of a discovery which framed itself into the reasoning, if it is possible to get rid of anger and worry, why is it necessary to have them at all? I felt the strength of the argument and it once accepted the reasoning. The baby had discovered that it could walk. It would scorn to creep any longer. From the instant I realized that these cancerous spots of worry and anger were removable, they left me. With the discovery of their weakness, they were exercised. From that time, life has had an entirely different aspect. Although from that moment, the possibility and desirability of freedom from the depressing passions has been a reality to me, it took me some months to feel absolute security in my new position. But, as the usual occasions for worry and anger have presented themselves over and over again, and I have been unable to feel them in the slightest degree, I no longer dread or guard against them, and I am amazed at my increased energy and vigor of mind, at my strength to meet situations of all kinds, at my disposition to love and appreciate everything. I have had occasion to travel more than 10,000 miles by rail since that morning. The same Pullman porter, conductor, hotel waiter, peddler, book agent, cab man, and others who were formerly a source of annoyance and irritation have been met, but I am not conscious of a single incivility. All at once the whole world has turned good to me. I have become, as it were, sensitive only to the rays of good. I could recount many experiences which prove a brand new condition of mind, but one will be sufficient. Without the slightest feeling of annoyance or impatience, I have seen a train that I had planned to take with a good deal of interested and pleasurable anticipation move out of the station without me, because my baggage did not arrive. The porter from the hotel came running and panting into the station, just as the train pulled out of sight. When he saw me, he looked as if he feared a scolding and began to tell of being blocked in a crowded street and unable to get out. When he had finished, I said to him, It does not matter at all. You couldn't help it, so we will try again tomorrow. Here is your fee. I am sorry if you had all this trouble in earning it. The look of surprise that came over his face was so filled with pleasure that I was repaid on the spot for the delay in my departure. Next day he would not accept a cent for the service, and he and I are friends for life. During the first weeks of my experience, I was on guard only against worry and anger, but in the meantime, having noticed the absence of the other depressing and dwarving passions, I began to trace a relationship until I was convinced that they are all growths from the two routes I have specified. I have felt the freedom now for so long a time that I am sure of my relation toward it, and I could no more harbor any of the thieving and depressing influences that once I nursed is a heritage of humanity than a fob would voluntarily wallow in a filthy gutter. There is no doubt in my mind that pure Christianity and pure Buddhism and the mental sciences of all religions fundamentally teach what has been a discovery to me, that none of them have presented it in the light of a simple and easy process of elimination. At one time, I wondered if the elimination would not yield to indifference and sloth. In my experience, the contrary is the result. I feel such an increased desire to do something useful that it seems as if I were a boy again, and the energy for play has returned. I could fight as readily as and better than ever, if there were occasion for it. It does not make one a coward. It can't, since fear is one of the things eliminated. I noticed the absence of timidity in the presence of any audience. When a boy, I was standing under a tree which was struck by lightning and received a shock from the effects of which I never knew exemption until I had dissolved partnership with worry. Since then, lightning and thunder have been encountered under conditions which would formally have caused great depression and discomfort, without my experiencing a trace of either. Surprise is also greatly modified, and one is less liable to become startled by unexpected sights or noises. As far as I am individually concerned, I am not bothering myself at present as to what the results of this emancipated condition may be. I have no doubt that the perfect health aimed at by Christian science may be one of the possibilities, for I note a marked improvement in the way my stomach does its duty in assimilating the food I give it to handle, and I am sure it works better to the sound of a song than under the friction of a frown. Neither am I wasting any of this precious time formulating an idea of a future existence or a future heaven. The heaven that I have within myself is as attractive as any that has been promised or that I can imagine, and I am willing to let that growth lead where it will, as long as the anger and the brood have no part in the skiding it. Close quote. The older medicine used to speak of two ways, lysis and crisis. One gradual, the other abrupt, in which one might recover from a bodily disease. In the spiritual realm there are also two ways, one gradual, the other sudden, in which inner unification may occur. Tolstoy and Bunyan may again serve us as examples, examples as it happens of the gradual way, though it must be confessed at the outset that it is hard to follow these windings of the heart of others, and one feels that their words do not reveal their total secret. However this be, Tolstoy, pursuing his unending questioning seemed to come to one insight after another. First he perceived that his conviction that life was meaningless took only this finite life into account. He was looking for the value of one finite term in that of another, and the whole result could only be one of those indeterminate equations in mathematics which end with infinity. Yet this is as far as the reasoning intellect by itself can go, unless irrational sentiment or faith brings in the infinite. Believe in the infinite as common people do, and life grows possible again. Quote. Since mankind has existed, wherever life has been there also has been the faith that gave the possibility of living. Faith is the sense of life, that sense by virtue of which man does not destroy himself, but continues to live on. It is the force whereby we live. If man did not believe that he must live for something, he would not live at all. The idea of an infinite God, of the divinity of the soul, of the union of men's actions with God, these are ideas elaborated in the infinite secret depths of human thought. They are ideas without which there would be no life, without which I myself would not exist. I began to see that I had no right to rely on my individual reasoning and neglect, these answers given by faith, for they are the only answers to the question. Close quote. Yet how believe as the common people believe steeped as they are in grossest superstition. It is impossible, but yet their life, their life, it is normal, it is happy, it is an answer to the question. Little by little Tolstoy came to the settled conviction. He says it took him two years to arrive there, that his trouble had not been with life in general, not with the common life of common men, but with the life of the upper intellectual artistic classes, the life which he had personally always led, the cerebral life, the life of conventionality, artificiality, and personal ambition. He had been living wrongly and must change, to work for animal needs, to abjure lies and vanities, to relieve common wants, to be simple, to believe in God, therein lay happiness again. He says, quote, I remember one day in early spring, I was alone in the forest, lending my ear to its mysterious noises. I listened, and my thought went back to what for these three years I'd always was busy with, the quest of God. But the idea of him, I said, how did I ever come by the idea? And again there arose in me, with this thought, glad aspirations towards life. Everything in me awoke, and received a meaning. Why do I look farther? A voice within me asked. He is there, he is without whom one cannot live. To acknowledge God, and to live are one and the same thing. God is what life is. Well then, live, seek God, and there will be no life without him. After this, things cleared up within me and about me better than ever, and the light has never wholly died away. I was saved from suicide. Just how or when the change took place, I cannot tell. But as insensibly and gradually as the force of life had been annulled within me, and I had reached my moral deathbed, just as gradually and imperceptibly did the energy of life come back. And what was strange was that this energy that came back was nothing new. It was my ancient juvenile force of faith, the belief that the sole purpose of my life was to be better. I gave up the life of the conventional world, recognizing it to be no life, but a parody on life, which its superfluities simply keep us from comprehending. Close, quote. And Tolstoy, thereupon, embraced the life of the peasants, and has felt right and happy, or at least relatively so, ever since. As I interpret his melancholy then, it was not merely an accidental vitiation of his humors, though it was doubtless also that. It was logically called for by the clash between his inner character and his outer activities and aims. Although a literary artist, Tolstoy was one of those primitive oaks of men to whom the superfluities and insincerities, the cupidities, complications, and cruelties of our polite civilization are profoundly unsatisfying, and for whom the eternal verisities lie with more natural and animal things. His crisis was the getting of his soul in order, the discovery of its genuine habitat and vocation, the escape from falsehoods into what for him were ways of truth. It was the case of heterogeneous personality, tardily and slowly finding its unity and level. And though not many of us can imitate Tolstoy, not having enough perhaps of the aboriginal human marrow in our bones, most of us may at least feel as if it might be better for us if we could. Bunyan's recovery seems to have been even slower. For years together, he was alternately haunted with texts of scripture, now up and now down, but at last with an ever-growing relief in his salvation through the blood of Christ. Quote, My peace would be in and out twenty times a day, comfort now and trouble presently, peace now and before I could go a furlong as full of guilt and fear as ever heart could hold. When a good text comes home to him, he writes, This gave me enough encouragement for the space of two or three hours, or this was a good day to me. I hope I shall not forget it. Or the glory of these words was then so weighty on me that I was ready to swoon as I sat, yet not with grief and trouble, but with a solid joy and peace. Or this made a strange seizure on my spirit and brought light with it, and commanded a silence in my heart of all those tumultuous thoughts that before did use, like masterless hellhounds, to roar and bellow and make a hideous noise within me. It showed me that Jesus Christ had not forsaken and cast off my soul. Close, quote. Such periods accumulate until he can write, quote, and now remained only the hinder part of the tempest, for the thunder was gone beyond me. Only some drops would still remain, and now and then would fall upon me. And at last, now did my chains fall off my legs indeed. I was loosed from my afflictions and irons. My temptations also fled away, so that from that time those dreadful scriptures of God left off to trouble me. Now went I also home rejoicing, for the grace and love of God. Now could I see myself in heaven and earth at once, in heaven by my Christ by my head, by my righteousness and life, though on earth by my body or person. Christ was a precious Christ to my soul that night. I could scarce lie in my bed for joy and peace and triumph through Christ. Close, quote. Bunyan became a minister of the gospel, and in spite of his neurotic constitution, and of the 12 years he lay in prison for his non-conformity, his life was turned to active use. He was a peacemaker and doer of good, and the immortal allegory which he wrote has brought the very spirit of religious patience home to English hearts. But neither Bunyan nor Tolstoy could become what we have called healthy-minded. They had drunk too deeply from the cup of bitterness ever to forget its taste, and their redemption is into a universe two stories deep. Each of them realized a good which broke the effective edge of his sadness. Yet the sadness was preserved as a minor ingredient in the heart of the faith by which it was overcome. The fact of interest for us is that, as a matter of fact, they could and did find something welling up in the inner reaches of their consciousness, by which such extreme sadness could be overcome. Tolstoy does well to talk of it as, that by which men live. For that is exactly what it is, a stimulus, an excitement, a faith, a force that re-infuses the positive willingness to live, even in full presence of the evil perceptions that Erweil made life seem unbearable. For Tolstoy's perceptions of evil appear within their sphere to have remained unmodified. His later works show him implacable to the whole system of official values. The ignobility of fashionable life, the infamies of empire, the spuriousness of the church, the vain conceit of the professions, the meanness and cruelties that go with great success, and every other pompous crime and lying institution of this world. To all patients with such things, his experience has been for him a permanent ministry of death. Bunyan also leaves this world to the enemy. He says, quote, I must first pass a sentence of death upon everything that can properly be called a thing of this life, even to reckon myself, my wife, my children, my health, my enjoyments, and all as dead to me, and myself as dead to them. To trust in God through Christ as touching the world to come, and as touching this world to count the grave my house, to make my bed in darkness, and to say to corruption, thou art my father, and to the worm thou art my mother and sister. The parting with my wife and my poor children hath often been to me as the pulling of my flesh from my bones, especially my poor blind children, who lay nearer my heart than all I had besides. Poor child, thought I, what sorrow art thou like to have for thy portion in this world? Thou must be beaten, must beg, suffer, hunger, cold nakedness, and a thousand calamities, though I cannot now endure that the wind should blow upon thee. But yet I must venture you all with God, though it goeth to the quick to leave you. Close quote. The hue of resolution is there, but the full blood of ecstatic liberation seems never to have poured over poor John Bunyan's soul. These examples may suffice to acquaint us in a general way with a phenomenon technically called conversion. In the next lecture, I shall invite you to study its peculiarities and concomitants in some detail. End of lecture 8