hat it is a withdrawing of the mind
within itself, comparable rather to sleep than to decay. The remarkable
power of calling up forgotten memories in hypnosis, the suddenly
re-awakening memory a few minutes before death, in which sometimes the
whole past life is unrolled with surprising clearness and detail, the
flaming up anew of a rusty mind in moments of great excitement, the great
clearing up of the mind before its departure, and many other facts of the
same nature, are rather to be regarded as signs that in reality the mind
never loses anything of what it has once experienced or possessed. It has
only become buried under the surface. It has been withdrawn from the
stage, but is stored up in safe treasure-chambers. And the whole stage may
suddenly become filled with it again.

The simile of an instrument and the master who plays upon it, which is
often used of the relation between body and mind, is in many respects a
very imperfect one; for the master does not develop with and in his
instrument. But in regard to the most oppressive arguments of naturalism,
the influence of disease, of old age, of mental disturbances due to brain
changes, the comparison serves our turn well enough, for undoubtedly the
master is dependent upon his instrument; upon an organ which is going more
and more out of tune, rusting, losing its pipes, his harmonies will become
poorer, more imperfect. And if we think of the association between the two
as further obstructed, the master becoming deaf, the stops confused, the
relation between the notes and pipes altered, then what may still live
within him in perfect and unclouded purity, and in undiminished richness,
may present itself outwardly as confused and unintelligible, may even find
only disconnected expression, and finally cease altogether; so that no
conclusion would be possible except that the master himself had become
different or poorer. The melancholy field of mental diseases perhaps
yields proofs against naturalism to an even greater degree than for it. It
is by no means the case that all mental diseases are invariably diseases
of the brain, for even more frequently they are real sicknesses of the
mind, which yield not to physical but to psychical remedies. And the fact
that the mind can be ill, is a sad but emphatic proof that it goes its own
way.

Immortality.

It is in a faith in a Beyond, and in the immortality of our true being,
that what lies finely distributed throug