lties, which supersedes, adopts, and commands the
other. The desire survives, strengthened, perhaps, but taught obedience,
and changed in scope and character. Life is no longer a tale of
betrayals and regrets; for the man now lives as a whole; his
consciousness now moves on uninterrupted like a river; through all the
extremes and ups and downs of passion, he remains approvingly conscious
of himself.

Now to me this seems a type of that rightness which the soul demands. It
demands that we shall not live alternately with our opposing tendencies
in continual see-saw of passion and disgust, but seek some path on which
the tendencies shall no longer oppose, but serve each other to a common
end. It demands that we shall not pursue broken ends, but great and
comprehensive purposes, in which soul and body may unite like notes in a
harmonious chord. That were indeed a way of peace and pleasure, that
were indeed a heaven upon earth. It does not demand, however, or, to
speak in measure, it does not demand of me, that I should starve my
appetites for no purpose under heaven but as a purpose in itself; or, in
a weak despair, pluck out the eye that I have not yet learned to guide
and enjoy with wisdom. The soul demands unity of purpose, not the
dismemberment of man; it seeks to roll up all his strength and
sweetness, all his passion and wisdom, into one, and make of him a
perfect man exulting in perfection. To conclude ascetically is to give
up, and not to solve, the problem. The ascetic and the creeping hog,
although they are at different poles, have equally failed in life. The
one has sacrificed his crew; the other brings back his seamen in a
cock-boat, and has lost the ship. I believe there are not many
sea-captains who would plume themselves on either result as a success.

But if it is righteousness thus to fuse together our divisive impulses
and march with one mind through life, there is plainly one thing more
unrighteous than all others, and one declension which is irretrievable
and draws on the rest. And this is to lose consciousness of oneself. In
the best of times, it is but by flashes, when our whole nature is clear,
strong and conscious, and events conspire to leave us free, that we
enjoy communion with our soul. At the worst, we are so fallen and
passive that we may say shortly we have none. An arctic torpor seizes
upon men. Although built of nerves, and set adrift in a stimulating
world, they develop a tendency to go bo