despairs that rob you of the power of
efficient prayer."

He did not seem to expect anything from the bishop.

"I don't see that because a case brings one suddenly right up against
the frontier of metaphysics, why a doctor should necessarily pull
up short at that, why one shouldn't go on into either metaphysics or
psychology if such an extension is necessary for the understanding of
the case. At any rate if you'll permit it in this consultation...."

"Go on," said the bishop, holding on to that promise of comfort. "The
best thing is to thrash out the case in your own way. And then come to
what is practical."

"What is really the matter here--the matter with you that is--is a
disorganization of your tests of reality. It's one of a group of states
hitherto confused. Neurasthenia, that comprehensive phrase--well, it is
one of the neurasthenias. Here, I confess, I begin to talk of work I am
doing, work still to be published, finished first and then published....
But I go off from the idea that every living being lives in a state
not differing essentially from a state of hallucination concerning the
things about it. Truth, essential truth, is hidden. Always. Of course
there must be a measure of truth in our working illusions, a working
measure of truth, or the creature would smash itself up and end itself,
but beyond that discretion of the fire and the pitfall lies a wide
margin of error about which we may be deceived for years. So long as it
doesn't matter, it doesn't matter. I don't know if I make myself clear."

"I follow you," said the bishop a little wearily, "I follow you.
Phenomena and noumena and so on and so on. Kant and so forth.
Pragmatism. Yes."

With a sigh.

"And all that," completed Dr. Dale in a voice that suggested mockery.
"But you see we grow into a way of life, we settle down among habits and
conventions, we say 'This is all right' and 'That is always so.' We
get more and more settled into our life as a whole and more and more
confident. Unless something happens to shake us out of our sphere of
illusion. That may be some violent contradictory fact, some accident,
or it may be some subtle change in one's health and nerves that makes
us feel doubtful. Or a change of habits. Or, as I believe, some subtle
quickening of the critical faculty. Then suddenly comes the feeling as
though we were lost in a strange world, as though we had never really
seen the world before."

He paused.

The bishop was re