s. The unity of Deity is a pledge of the unity of humanity.

The more we make our life like the original the more shall we realise
what we long to realise--truer, deeper, more eternal unity. But we are
not simply _trying_ to be, we _are_ one. All we have to do, I believe,
is to act as though we were one. We have {72} proofs of this unity.
We find ourselves doing an action which we should never have done
unless we had known some one. That one lives over his life, or part of
his life, again in us. So too we are living over our lives in other
people, perhaps in some who have passed into other worlds of fuller
activity than this. In living our lives over in each other, we show
that we are more than we thought; and it is grand to think how big our
lives may become in this way, for those whom we _influence_--into whom
our life _flows in_--in turn may influence others. When I get quite
quiet, and my mind is sane, and my conscience at rest, when I almost
stop thinking, and listen, I am quite sure that a Personal Being comes
to me, and, as He comes, brings some of His own life to flow into my
life. I am also sure that with Him come those who live in Him, that
all whom I have known or know, and longed or long to know better, who
were _worth_ knowing, are near me, are, if I let them, living their
lives in my life, making me what I should not be without them. (These
are facts, of which I think I may say I have more certainty in the best
moments of my life than I have now that Switzerland exists. But I may
be exaggerating. Perhaps as regards the second fact--of the other
persons with Him--I may have spoken too strongly as regards my
certainty. It is so hard to say _exactly_ what one means.)

I don't know that these thoughts will be of much use to you. They may
sound somewhat too philosophical. But I have more or less purposely
put them in a philosophical form, because we are not thus so {73}
easily led astray into vague pleasant feelings, which we sometimes get
from rhetoric. But I do wish I could put a little more of my feelings
into this cold paper, and cruel, unsympathetic ink. For what I have
written is not a mere philosophy of life; it is the only thing that
makes life tolerable for a moment to me; it is the one thing which I
intensely long to realise. To my mind life is love, and love is life.
Love is not sentimental affection, simply the readiness to die for a
person. But love is the laying down of life for