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of soul-awakening; but sometimes, upon more sensitive and subtler

natures, the light breaks with all the suddenness of a sunrise at



the equator, revealing to the mind's eye an unsuspected world of

self within. But in whatever way we may awake to it, the sense of



personality, when first realized, appears already, like the fabled

Goddess of Wisdom, full grown in the brain. From the moment when we



first remember ourselves we seem to be as old as we ever seem to

others afterwards to become. We grow, indeed, in knowledge, in



wisdom, in experience, as our years increase, but deep down in our

heart of hearts we are still essentially the same. To be sure,



people pay us more deference than they did, which suggests a doubt

at times whether we may not have changed; small boys of a succeeding



generation treat us with a respect that causes us inwardly to smile,

as we think how little we differ from them, if they but knew it.



For at bottom we are not conscious of change from that morning, long

ago, when first we realized ourselves. We feel just as young now as



we felt old then. We are but amused at the world's discrimination

where we can detect no difference.



Every human being has been thus "twice born": once as matter, once

as mind. Nor is this second birth the birthright only of mankind.



All the higher animals probably, possibly even the lower too, have

experienced some such realization of individual identity. However



that may be, certainly to all races of men has come this revelation;

only the degree in which they have felt its force has differed



immensely. It is one thing to the apathetic, fatalistic Turk, and

quite another matter to an energetic, nervous American. Facts,



fancies, faiths, all show how wide is the variance in feelings.

With them no introspective [greek]cnzhi seauton overexcites the



consciousness of self. But with us; as with those of old possessed

of devils, it comes to startle and stays to distress. Too apt is it



to prove an ever-present, undesirable double. Too often does it

play the part of uninvited spectre at the feast, whose presence no



one save its unfortunatevictim suspects. The haunting horror of

his own identity is to natures far less eccentric than Kenelm



Chillingly's only too common a curse. To this companionship,

paradoxical though it sound, is principally due the peculiar



loneliness of childhood. For nothing is so isolating as a

persistent idea which one dares not confide.



And yet,--stranger paradox still,--was there ever any one

willing to exchange his personality for another's? Who can imagine



foregoing his own self? Nay, do we not cling even to its outward

appearance? Is there a man so poor in all that man holds dear that



he does not keenlyresent being accidentallymistaken for his

neighbor? Surely there must be something more than mirage in this



deep-implanted, widespreadinstinct of human race.

But however strong the conviction now of one's individuality, is



there aught to assure him of its continuance beyond the confines of

its present life? Will it awake on death's morrow and know itself,



or will it, like the body that gave it lodgment, disintegrate again

into indistinguishable spirit dust? Close upon the heels of the



existing consciousness of self treads the shadow-like doubt of its

hereafter. Will analogy help to answer the grewsome riddle of the



Sphinx? Are the laws we have learned to be true for matter true also

for mind? Matter we now know is indestructible; yet the form of it



with which we once were so fondly familiar vanishes never to return.

Is a like fate to be the lot of the soul? That mind should be



capable of annihilation is as inconceivable as that matter should

cease to be. Surely the spirit we feel existing round about us on



every side now has been from ever, and will be for ever to come.




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