ion to
destiny, etc. But it is mysterious that we know all this. 'Man has
become as one of us.' We are all dead.

"Ah, mystic! dost thou show thyself in this shape? But now, being
dead, shall we receive life and immortality (for I imagine
immortality the solidarity of life--i.e., the union of the two lives,
here and heaven) through Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God, and
so lose 'the knowledge of good and evil.' For as in Adam all died, so
shall ye all be made alive through Jesus Christ.' The effect of the
fall was literally the knowledge of good and evil. God knows no evil,
and when we become one with Him, through the Mediator, we shall
regain our previous state. Knowledge is the effect of sin, and is
perhaps destined to correct itself. Consciousness and knowledge go
together. Spontaneity and life are one. Knowledge is no gain, for it
gives nothing. I can only know what has been given through
spontaneity. Spontaneity is unity, one; knowledge is division of
being. If Adam had not been separated he would doubtless not have
sinned. 'The woman that Thou gavest me said unto me, Eat, and I did
eat.' Still, through the seed of the woman, which will be the union
restored, is the serpent to be bruised."

"May 4.--The real effect of the theory of the Church is to isolate
men from the outward world, withdraw them from its enjoyments, and
make them live a life of sacrifice of the passions. This is one
statement. Another would be this: all these things can and should be
enjoyed, but in a higher, purer, more exalted state of being than is
the present ordinary condition of our minds. The only opposition to
them arises when the soul becomes sensual, falls into their arms, and
becomes lost to higher and more spiritual objects. . . .

"All is dark before me, impenetrable darkness. I appear to live in
the centre. Nothing seems to take hold of my soul, or else it seeks
nothing. Where it is I know not. I meet with no one else around me. I
would that I could feel that some one lived in the same world that I
now do. Something cloudy separates us. I cannot speak from my real
being to others. There is no mutual recognition. When I speak, it is
as if a burden accumulated round me. I long to throw it off, but I
cannot utter my thoughts and feelings in their presence; if I do,
they return to me unrecognized. Shall I ever meet with one the
windows of whose soul will open simultaneously with mine?"

On the first Sunday of May Isaac went i