the days of my life-第94部分

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　vastness　of　the　ether。　Then；　as　St。　Paul　says；　we　are　of　all　men　the　most　miserable；　then　let　us　eat　and　drink　for　tomorrow　we　die；　then　let　us　see　to　it；　so　far　as　is　possible；　that　we　bring　none　here　to　bear　the　burden　of　the　years　and　know　the　despairing　bitterness　of　death。
Needless　to　say；　I　refer　to　the　Resurrection　of　Jesus　Christ。　If　He　never　rose　from　the　grave；　then；　so　far　as　I　can　see；　there　is　no　hope　for　Christian　man；　and　we　trust　in　a　vain　thing。　I　say；　so　far　as　I　can　see；　for　there　may　exist　other　roads　of　salvation　with　y　part；　I　believe；　however；　that　He　did　rise；　as　firmly　as　I　believe　that　at　this　moment　of　writing　I　am　sitting　on　the　deck　of　a　ship　called　the　Arcadia；　and　that　what　He；　born　of　woman；　did；　we　shall　do　also。
Indeed　this　may　be　a　convenient　place　to　state　my　private　opinion　（it　is　no　more；　though　I　cannot　find　that　it　conflicts　with　the　doctrines　of　Christianity；　see；　for　instance；　the　passage　in　which　our　Lord　refers　to　Elijah　as　having　returned　to　Earth　in　the　person　of　John　the　Baptist）；　to　the　effect　that　we；　or　at　any　rate　that　some　of　us；　already　have　individually　gone　through　this　process　of　ing　into　active　Being　and　departing　out　of　Being　more　than　once　—　perhaps　very　often　indeed　—　though　not　necessarily　in　this　world　with　which　we　are　acquainted。　In　short；　like　the　Buddhists；　I　am　strongly　inclined　to　believe　that　the　Personality　which　animates　each　of　us　is　immeasurably　ancient；　having　been　forged　in　so　many　fires；　and　that；　as　its　past　is　immeasurable；　so　will　its　future　be。　This　is　in　some　ways　an　unfortable　faith　or　instinct；　thus　I；　for　one；　have　no　wish　to　live　again　upon　our　earth。　Moreover；　it　is　utterly　insusceptible　of　proof　—　like　everything　else　that　has　to　do　with　the　spirit　—　for　vague　memories；　affinities　with　certain　lands　and　races；　irresistible　attractions　and　repulsions；　at　times　amounting　in　the　former　case　to　intimacies　of　the　soul　（among　members　of　the　same　sex；　for　in　discussing　such　matters　it　is　perhaps　better　to　exclude　the　other）　so　strong　that　they　appear　to　be　already　well　established；　such　as　have　drawn　me　so　close　to　certain　friends；　and　notably　to　one　friend　recently　departed；　are　none　of　them　proof。　Nor　are　the　revelations　of　persons　who　seem　to　have　access　to　certain　stores　of　knowledge　denied　to　most　men；　for　these　may　be　anything　or　nothing。　Nor　is　that　strong　conviction　of　immemorial　age　which　haunts　the　hearts　of　some　of　us。
No；　there　is　no　proof；　and　yet　reason　es　to　the　support　of　these　imaginings。　Unless　we　have　lived　before；　or　the　grotesque　incongruities　of　life　are　to　be　explained　in　some　way　unknown　to　us；　our　present　existence；　to　my　mind；　resembles　nothing　so　much　as　a　handful　of　what　is　known　as　“printer’s　pie”　cast　together　at　hazard　and　struck　off　for　the　reader　to　interpret　as　he　will　or　can。　Or　perhaps　in　this　case　a　better　example　would　be　to　pare　the　world　to　a　great　ball…room　wherein　a　Puck…like　Death　acts　as　Master　of　Ceremonies。　Here　the　highly　born；　the　gifted　and　the　successful　are　weled　with　shouts　of　praise；　while　the　plain；　the　poorly　dressed；　the　halt；　are　trodden　underfoot；　here　partners；　chosen　at　hazard；　often　enough　seem　to　be　dancing　to　a　different　time　and　step；　till　they　are　snatched　asunder　to　meet　no　more；　here　one　by　one　the　revellers　of　all　degrees　are　touched　upon　the　shoulder　by　the　Puck…like　Death　who　calls　the　tune；　and　drop　down；　down　into　an　imperable　darkness；　while　others　who　knew　them　not　are　called　to　take　their　places。
But　if　we　admit　that　every　one　of　these　has　lived　before　and　danced　in　other　rooms；　and　will　live　again　and　dance　in　other　rooms；　then　meaning　informs　the　meaningless。　Then　those　casual　meetings　and　swift　farewells；　those　loves　and　hatings；　are　not　of　chance；　then　those　partners　are　not　chosen　at　hazard　after　all。　Then　the　dancers　who　in　turn　must　swoon　away　beneath　that　awful；　mocking　touch；　do　not　drop　into　darkness　but　into　some　new　well　of　the　water　of　Life。　Then　what　we　behold　is　but　a　few　threads；　apparently　so　tangled；　that　go　to　weave　the　Sphinx’s　seamless　veil；　or　some　stupendous　tapestry　that　enwraps　the　whole　Universe　of　Creation　which；　when　seen　at　last；　will　picture　forth　the　Truth　in　all　its　splendour；　and　with　it　the　wondrous　story　and　the　meaning　of　our　lives。
Such；　put　shortly　and　figuratively；　seems　to　me　one　of　the　strongest　arguments　for　the　continuity　of　our　personal　existence　through　various　phases。　It　may　be；　however；　that　it　is　no　argument　at　all　—　that　there　is　some　other　explanation　（beyond　that　of　blind；　black；　brutal　chance）；　perhaps　so　simple　that　we　cannot　grasp　it；　which　accounts　for　everything。
One　contention；　however；　I　find　it　hard　to　accept　—　namely；　that　man　appearing　here　for　the　first　time　through　an　accident　of　the　flesh　is　placed　and　judged　eternally　in　accordance　with　his　deeds　of　at　most　about　thirty　waking；　conscious　years　（even　if　his　life　be　long）；　for　childhood　and　the　time　spent　in　sleep　must　be　excluded。　To　me　such　a　thing　is　almost　incredible。　Final　judgment　I　can　understand　after　many　lives　of　growing　towards　the　good　or　towards　the　ill　—　and；　indeed；　the　faith　I　follow　declares　it　—　but　not　an　eternity　of　anything　decreed　on　the　deeds　of　ten　or　twenty　or　thirty　years　passed　among　the　surroundings　in　which　we　happened　to　be　born；　weighted　with　the　infirmities　and　inherited　tendencies　of　a　flesh　and　nature　that　we　did　not　choose。　Over　a　great　period　of　many　different　existences；　selected　according　to　the　elective　fitness　of　the　ego；　matters　and　opportunities　selves；　and　that　ego　would　follow　the　path　it　selected　to　its　inevitable　end。　But　one　life　of　a　maximum　of　thirty　years　full…stopped　with　doom　。　。　。　！
All　this；　however；　is　a　digression　from　my　arguments　to　which　I　now　return。
I　have　said　that　I　believe　in　the　truth　of　the　New　Testament　story；　and　that　to　my　mind　everything　hinges　upon　the　fact　of　the　Resurrection；　although　I　am　aware　that　many　who　call　themselves　Christians；　and　expect；　apparently；　to　receive　whatever　benefits　Christianity　can　bring；　give　no　credence　to　this　or　any　other　miracle。　Surely　these　might　as　well　expect　to　inherit　salvation　by　virtue　of　a　study　of　the　doctrines　of　Confucius。　I　hope　that　they　will　inherit　it　all　the　same；　since　God；　who　knows　what　is　in　man　and　the　clay　whereof　we　are　fashioned；　is　merciful；　and　there　may　be；　and　probably　are；　many　roads　to　the　gate　of　Life；　but　in　this　case　it　can　scarcely　be　reached　by　the　faint　and　wandering　path　of　a　materialised　and　eviscerated　Christianity。　Christianity　as　an　effective　creed　depends；　and　always　must　depend；　upon　the　Resurrection　of　its　Founder　while　He　dwelt　on　earth。　Or　so　I　hold。
How；　then；　is　this　necessary　faith　to　be　attained　by　those　who　doubt？　Perhaps　in　many　ways；　though　I　only　know　of　one　—　namely；　by　prayer。　It　is；　at　any　rate　in　its　higher　forms；　a　gift　accorded　in　answer　to　prayer；　it　is　an　inspiration　of　the　Spirit　of　our　Maker　which　flows　down　the　connecting　links　of　prayer。　By　prayer；　too；　I　do　not　mean　a　few　hurried　or　formal　mumblings　in　the　morning　or　at　bedtime：　I　mean　the　continual；　almost　the　hourly；　conversation　of　the　creature　with　his　God。　I　mean　the　habitual　uplifting　of　the　heart　to　heaven；　the　constant　cry　of　fallen　nature　in　sorrow；　in　joy；　in　sin；　in　every　circumstance　of　life；　to　the　Highest　of　all　natures；　who　remembers　of　what　metal　it　is　made　because　in　the　beginning　（ah！　what　beginning？）　it　was　from　Him　and　is　still　His　own。　Feeble；　unworthy　though　it　be；　such　prayer　offered　on　your　own　behalf　or　on　that　of　others；　I　am　sure　is　heard；　is　answered　across　the　unutterable　spaces　—　or　so　it　has　often　seemed　to　me　—　if　put　up　in　faith。　Sometimes　even；　for　a　little　while　it　causes　us　to　understand　what　is　meant　by　the　peace　of　God　that　passes　understanding。　Further；　it　is　as　necessary　to　the　sin…stained　soul　as　is　food　to　the　frail　body。　For　indeed　even　those　among　us；　with　whom　such　as　I　cannot　presume　to　rank　ourselves；　are　full　of　faults　and　must　appear　to　the　Perfect　Eye　as　though　stricken　with　a　moral　leprosy。　Our　only　hope；　knowing　and　remembering　these　faults；　however　oft　and　bitterly　repented　of；　is　to　say　like　the　man　in　the　temple；　“Lord；　I　am　a　miserable　sinner”；　to　seek　for　the　help　we　cannot　give　to　ourselves；　to　crave　that　we　too　may　be　sprinkled　with　the　atoning　Blood。　Why　this　should　be　necessary　I　cannot　say　—　for　who　can　prehend　these　wonders？　—　any　more　than　I　can　understand　the　origin　and　meanings　of　sin；　which　often　enough　seems　to　consist　merely　in　giving　obedience　to　the　imperious　demands　of　that　body　with　which　we　have　been　clothed。　The　gratification　of　these　impulses　generally　bees　sin；　because　Nature　has　no　laws　except　her　own；　and　her　ancient　rule　is　not　that　revealed　by　Christ　in　the　latter　days。
So　it　is　with　almost　everything：　even　true　affection　or　any　other　virtue　exaggerated　can　turn　to　vice。　It　would　seem　as　though　a　man’s　trials　here　were　purposely　made　as　hard　as　may　be；　so　hard　that　at　times　we　may　perhaps　be　forgiven　if　we　wonder　whether　this　world；　at　any　rate　for　some；　is　not　in　truth　one　of　the　chambers　of　the　house　of　hell；　or　at　least　of　that　purgatory　preached　—　so　far　as　I　know　without　warrant　—　as　a　doctrine　of　the　Roman　faith。　By　prayer；　then；　we　can　be　purged　and　helped；　prayer　for　ourselves；　prayer　for　others；　for　the　living；　yes；　and　for　the　dead；　for　who　will　dare　to　say　that　even　the　dead　are　beyond　the　reach　of　benefit　from　our　feeble　crying　in　the　night　to　the　Ruler　of　that　night？　Prayer；　I　repeat；　is　heard；　prayer；　if　it　be　directed　to　lawful　ends；　is　answered　sometimes　when　it　seems　to　be　made　most　in　vain。　If　only　we　had　faith　enough　no　right　thing　would　be　refused　to　us。　Who　knows　the　harvest　that　we　sow　by　means　of　earnest；　faithful　prayer；　and；　though　its　seed　lie　buried　for　a　season；　shall　one　day　reap？　But　most　of　all；　I　think；　should　we　pray　for　knowledge　how　to　pray！
Now　the　road　to　this　goal　of　faith；　which　must　be　found　and　kept　open　by　prayer；　still　remains　full　of　obstacles　and　apt　to　vanish　quite　away；　leaving　the　weary　wanderer　in　a　desert　where　no　water　is。　Light　fails；　dark　grows　the　sky；　again　and　yet　again　cold　winds　of　doubt　freeze　him　to　the　marrow；　sins　overtake　and　conquer　him；　voices　mock　him　from　the　gloom。　They　bid　him　look