CHAPTER V.
BURTON’S ILLNESS AND ITS RESULTS.
For a period of two weeks after Edward Burton’s admission to the hospital, a most intense fever scorched his body and fired his brain. By spells, his temperature became almost furnace-like, his pulse a confused flutter, and his mind a chaos of disordered fancies and morbid emotions. His nervous system was strained to its utmost tension, and his incoherent mutterings, his abnormal fears and terrors, his bloodshot eyes and piteous wails, were appalling even to the hardened and experienced hospital attendants. His mother remained with him as much as Dr. Podram, the physician in charge, would permit, but most of the time he was either unconscious of her presence, or fancied her some unfriendly stranger who was seeking to injure him. Mrs. Burton was dazed by the situation, and, like one in a dream, flitted backward and forward between the hospital and her own quarters. She wrestled night and day with the problem as to why God should so afflict her son, who had planned to give his life to His service? Why should one so conscientious, and alive to every duty, be subjected to such intense suffering? The question would constantly force itself upon her mind, How can a just God—my God—send such a trial upon us? The problem was a dark, impenetrable mystery. Has He not promised to comfort and sustain His children? Why has He hid His face from us? At times she was almost overcome by doubt and despair. Not only was her motherly heart wrung with anguish, but the promises, the consolations and the supports, which she so long had rested upon, appeared to have been removed. Not that she would renounce her God or her religion, but why had they failed her in this supreme emergency?
The hospital authorities, and the casual acquaintances which she had made, were very kind, but she sorely felt the need of some near friend who could counsel and aid her. She thought of Mr. Johnson, but, as he was feeble in health, the distance made it impracticable to send for him. One day during one of Edward’s brief lucid intervals, Mrs. Burton happened to be present, and, among other requests, he greatly desired that Tapley should be informed of his condition. There had been kept up a most cordial and intimate correspondence between the young men while taking their respective courses of study. Though different in training and temperament, and unlike as representatives of dissimilar religious schools, their interest in and affection for each other was unusual. Upon being made acquainted with the situation, Tapley at once responded, and was untiring in his efforts to cheer, console, and relieve both his stricken friend and the agonized mother. Living in an immediate suburb, Tapley came in nearly every day and visited the hospital; and no son could be more kind or attentive to a mother than was he to Mrs. Burton.
At length the acute stage of Burton’s fever appeared to have run its course, but upon its subsidence he was left almost a wreck. His medical treatment had been of the “heroic” order, and, between the effects of the disease and the influence of powerful drugs and opiates which had been administered, his nervous system was shattered. He was too weak to move himself, and his brain and spinal column were in a condition of chronic irritation and congestion. About a year previous, while taking exercise in a gymnasium, he met with a spinal injury from which he had never fully recovered; and this old hurt became a very serious complication. He was unable to obtain sleep or rest except by the use of powerful narcotics, and his distress of mind was even a greater trial than his physical pain. At the end of a month from the time of his admission to the hospital, it was deemed advisable to remove him to private quarters in a favorable locality, which Tapley had selected for him.
Although the acute stage of his illness was passed, the indications were that in consequence of his old spinal injury, a severe and chronic state of invalidism would continue, and that in future he could never be more than a wreck of his former self. Dr. Podram held firmly to this view, and, after a thorough and searching investigation by a brother practitioner, who was called in for a consultation, it was mutually decided that no encouragement could be given as to any future restoration to health. His daily allowance of opiates had constantly to be increased, in order that any rest might be obtained; and his gloom and depression often were so intense as to entirely overcome him. Morbid fears and visions possessed his mind, and if left alone, even for a moment, it produced a condition of great nervous excitement.
A few days after his removal he was able to be propped up in bed each day for an hour or two, and by turns Tapley and Mrs. Burton sat by and strove to divert him with conversation or light reading. Tapley also shared in the care of his friend with the regular attendant, often remaining a part of the night, and cheerfully devoting much time and strength to Burton’s welfare.
During the latter part of Tapley’s Andover life, he had become greatly interested in a course of reading and investigation which was somewhat outside of the regular curriculum. Although from the conservative standpoint Andover had largely advanced from the old scholastic literalism in its teaching, Tapley, as an individual, was in some respects still in advance of Andover. He held to certain opinions which not only were not taught there, but which, perhaps, might have been interdicted, but for the prevailing large measure of individual liberty and tolerance which characterized that institution.
Tapley’s nature was essentially deep, spiritual, and mystical. In his late investigations, he had plunged deeply into metaphysics, spiritual law, and the relation of spirit to matter. He had become interested in delving among hidden and unseen forces, where, back of all external manifestations, lies the realm of causation. He was gifted, not only with a keen intellectual apprehension of truth, but his spiritual and intuitive insight was even more remarkable. He looked upon all external expressions as but the superficial register and manifestation of preceding spiritual forces. To his idealistic vision, the materialism and externalism of the present time were the great obstacles to moral and religious progress. Spirit was intrinsic and realistic, and, in contrast, matter was not only secondary, but, in the ultimate sense of the term, unreal. His clear perception of spiritual verities revealed to him the fact that logic, law, and sequence were as real and unvarying in the immaterial as in the material realm. Science, with him, did not abruptly stop at the boundary line of materiality. Love was as much a mathematical and universal force as gravitation, and no less well defined in its laws. His research and observation, also, convinced him that physical disease and discord are but the externalization of preceding inharmonious or false mental conditions.
One day, as soon as Burton had become able to collect his scattered thoughts, and express himself in coherent terms, Tapley, in a simple and kindly manner, tried to communicate some of the happiness and brightness which he had gained from personal experience. Burton, while appreciating the motive, rejected the proffered aid, and received Tapley’s suggestions coldly. Although he held his friend in great esteem and affection, he feared his opinions as dangerous and heretical. “I love you,” he said to Tapley, “the best of any one outside of my own family; yet my duty to God, to my mother, and myself warns me not to listen to your liberal and, as I believe, unscriptural ideas, even though they are attractive.”
During all Burton’s Princeton life, he had faithfully kept a diary; recording in detail his experiences and observations. As soon as he had gained sufficient strength to be propped up in bed, and hold a pencil, he resumed the habit of keeping a daily journal. Perhaps no truer impression of the experiences of this eventful period of Edward Burton’s life can be conveyed than by giving a transcript of his diary; beginning at the time when he was just able to make a legible record—from day to day.
It ran as follows:
Boston, June 15, 188-.—I am not dead, and therefore must be alive! Can this trembling hand direct a pencil?—and have I will-power enough to coherently express myself? Oh! my God! why am I so afflicted? The doctor has just been in, and says no word of encouragement. I cannot think any more now, but must take a quieting potion and rest. I feel as if I never wanted to see myself again. Is this shrunken, trembling soul myself? or is it a falsity?
June 16.—What a terrible night I have passed! Oh, for a vale of oblivion, to which I might retire and hide from myself! My brain seems inverted, and terrible thoughts force themselves into my mind. Oh! where is my Heavenly Father, and where is my peace? Shall I entirely lose the helm? My volition seems to have slipped away.
June 17.—Where is my manhood? Where is my Christian character? I believe that God cannot fail me, yet His face is hid. Oh, that I could find Him! My distress is doubled, in the distress of my mother. Her prayers are importunate for me. Why are they not answered? Oh, that doctor! how his drugs disgust me! My brain is confused, so that I cannot think.
June 18.—Why should an immortal soul be pent in such a disordered body as mine? It makes the soul, also, seem disordered. How can a spirit be ill? or, is it the diseased physical medium that makes it seem so? I have tried to serve God, and live a righteous life. Why should his displeasure be upon me; or was it so ordained? I can almost say with Job: “Let the day perish in which I was born;” yet I will not complain, even if I am chastised of the Lord.
June 19.—The doctor still deals out his nauseating drugs. I wonder if I shall become a victim of the opium habit. Yet, I cannot get along without a narcotic. Will my brain ever get out of this tangle? It seems as if my soul were dried up within me! My poor mother looks pale and haggard. Her son will never be a missionary to the heathen! Tapley tried to cheer me to-day. His doctrines are captivating but dangerous. I am almost afraid that he may influence me to accept some of his loose theories. I must now take my “hypodermic,” so, if possible, to obtain a little rest.
June 20.—What a night of restless tossings and turnings! I dreamed of deaths and funerals. The whole world is draped in black. Am I losing my mind? I try in vain to bar out horrible images! Why should the soul be such a slave to the flesh? Is it ill because the body is disordered? Must I—a child of God—be a victim of bodily persecution?—a slave to my lower nature?
Mother has just been in to talk with me, and she quoted some beautiful scriptural selections, but I cannot grasp them.
Tapley told me to-day that a conscious reliance upon God for wholeness of body—as well as soul—actually has a healing influence. I cannot believe such a doctrine, for the age of miracles has passed, and, besides, illness and trouble are the common lot of man, and they are my lot, and I must suffer. How singular that “hypodermics” seem to affect the mind as well as the body. I wonder if God intended that they should be used.
June 21.—Another weary day! My strength seems slightly improved, but the doctor informs me that the spinal difficulty is assuming more and more a chronic character, and although he hopes to make me comfortable, he cannot permanently benefit me. How can I get any re-enforcement to my vitality from his drugs? Tapley observed to-day that in order to get more life we should consciously rely upon the Holy Spirit, or Divine Spirit of Wholeness, which is the fountain of all life. That is a new idea to me. I have always reverenced the Spirit as a very sacred influence, which visited us only on special occasions; Tapley makes it a real, practical, every-day force.
Mother is quite fearful lest Tapley may impress me with some of his peculiar views, but she loves him for his beautiful character, as I cannot help doing. I know that mother and Mr. Johnson are constantly praying that if it be God’s will He will yet raise me up for the missionary work, but, if otherwise, that I may be resigned. Oh! this soul bondage to bodily ills and drug influences! In the language of Tapley, must the “image of God” be a slave to matter?
June 22.—I have experienced a sense of resignation to-day to an unusual degree. If it be God’s plan that I should be a chronic invalid, I will submit. If it be His purpose, I am willing to suffer physical pain, but why does He afflict me with such mental anguish? I suppose that it would not be, were it not for my soul’s good. Perhaps I have been self-righteous, and puffed up with spiritual pride, and therefore must be purified in the furnace of affliction.
My spine is extremely painful, but I must have patience to bear it without complaint.
June 23.—A long, long weary day, after a dismal night! The world seems like a desert. I formerly thought nature to be beautiful and restful, but now it is sombre and funereal. A black cloud hangs over me, and covers the entire horizon. Why has God thwarted all my plans, which included a life-work in His service? I cannot dismiss my faith, although it is barren. My spine distresses me more than ever before, but that is nothing compared with this nightmare of morbid consciousness. A feeling that I have committed “the unpardonable sin” crowds itself unbidden into my mind, and sticks like the garment of Nemesis. Why can I not cast it off? I know it to be false, yet I quail before it. Even my prayers bring no relief.
Tapley said some beautiful things to me, but he is so visionary and optimistic. It frightens me to see my poor mother look so helpless; the doctor pronounces her really ill.
How slowly the weary days drag themselves along.
June 24.—Another night of agony, and such terrible dreams! I was brought before the judgment-seat of God and condemned. I found myself cast out with a great host on the left hand, and from every quarter the word lost! lost! lost! was echoed in my ears. It was repeated louder and louder, until its reverberations became like thunder, when I awoke in a cold perspiration. My mind is a chaos of horrible phantoms. Although so repulsive, I welcome the “hypodermic,” for it rewards me with oblivion, glorious oblivion.
My poor, weak, trembling mother! who could be better than she? Yet her prayers in my behalf avail nothing.
June 25.—Tapley was here for a long time to-day, and his presence was a benediction. While he was present I forgot all my pains and distress. It seemed as if he were a channel through which soothing influences flowed into me. It is a mystery that Tapley, with all his loose and faulty theology, possesses such an influence. Mother is apprehensive, but with his kindness she cannot give him any hint which might hurt him or keep him away. Were it possible for him to stay by me, I believe that I could dispense with opiates. Since he departed, my bad feelings have again overwhelmed me, like a flood.
I am compelled to forge another link in the chain which binds me to “the drug.”
June 26.—There is almost a rift in the black cloud which so long has covered my horizon; whatever there is of it came through Tapley. Much of the time while here to-day, he sat with his head bowed apparently in silent meditation, but there came from him a mysterious stimulating influence, which I felt plainly. This influence was such as might have resulted from the use of a powerful tonic. I cannot understand it. There was a full hour of silence. Perhaps he was engaged in prayer, but there was no movement of his lips. He advised me to dispense with the “hypodermics,” and I shall make an effort to break my chain to-night. Just after he left I felt much “stirred up,” as if a conflict were going on within me, but this evening I am more tranquil than at any time during my illness.
June 27.—I slept four or five hours last night without the drug. It was almost beyond belief, but some mysterious influence helped me.
It may be foolish to make note of a dream, but the one of last night was so peculiar and real that I do not wish to forget it.
I was engaged in a most desperate conflict with malignant and fiendish enemies. Mounted on a splendid white charger, I held in my grasp a keen, glittering sword, which I could wield with great ease and dexterity. My horse, though extremely fleet and agile, was obedient to my every wish and inclination. My foes, also, were well mounted and numerous, though when I first beheld them, they were a little distance away. When they discovered me they rushed impetuously forward to the attack. With leering, fiendish faces, fiery breaths, and spears well poised to slay me, on they came. My courage was unaccountable. I faced them with a calm disdain. As they furiously charged upon me in quick succession, I found that the lightest touch of my sword caused them to collapse, and, one by one, they fell in a heap at my feet. They, who had looked so fierce and formidable, turned out to be only—blown-up skins. After the last one had dropped, I looked down to see the heap, but found that it had dissolved to dust.
What can be the significance?
June 28.—Tapley was here for two hours. His conversation soothes me, which seems reasonable; but the strange thing is, that during his periods of silent meditation, or prayer, or whatever it is, his influence is vastly greater. It is so real that I cannot be mistaken. After each visit I feel a distinct mental conflict. It is as if two antagonists were crossing swords, and while it continues I am very uncomfortable. It subsides in an hour or two, and tranquillity ensues. It is now possible that I can emancipate myself from all drugs and “hypodermics.” Mother looks a little brighter, but can hardly credit my apparent improvement. Dr. Podram is also at a loss to account for the change. I did not tell him that for three days past I had pitched all his drugs out of the window.
June 29.—The best day I have experienced since my illness began. My mind has been strangely exercised. Intervals of great depression and of happiness and exaltation have alternated.
I told Tapley that he appeared to be like an incarnation of the spirit of Christ, but he denied all personal credit. In answer to my earnest queries he disclaimed any power, in his own personality, to help me. I suggested that perhaps he had learned to make a beneficial use of mesmeric influence. He seemed hurt at such a suggestion, and said that he regarded all hypnotic exercises as belonging only to the lower or animal nature; that in their very essence they are opposed to spirituality and to everything most divine in man. Tapley is so full of love that it overflows like water from a fountain. How can his theology bring forth such fruit if it be erroneous or dangerous?
June 30.—Sweet, refreshing rest was mine last night; free from troublesome fancies, except to a slight extent towards morning. How good to enjoy natural sleep as contrasted with the false rest which came from opiates! I do not blame the doctor; from his standpoint as well as my own belief, anodynes were indispensable. But I have become independent of such aid. I was up for two hours in an easy-chair. Dr. Podram was nonplussed, and mother was happy. Tapley sat with me, and, besides his long, silent, meditative spell, we had a most interesting conversation. He is my “good angel;” I thank God for him!
He predicts that I shall be able to go out within a week or two. I, the chronic, nerveless invalid! Can it be possible? Have I grasped the helm? Am I no longer drifting?
July 1.—Last evening by following Tapley’s suggestions I had a peculiar experience. During the quiet of evening, while alone, I barred the material world and all its belongings out of my mentality, and, for the time being, tenaciously held the thought in my consciousness that “in Him we live, and move, and have our being.” I relaxed every nerve, and as far as possible made my whole being passive and receptive. I invited spiritual influences, and they flowed in and filled me as naturally as air inclines to a vacuum. What a glorious exercise! I intently listened for the “still small voice,” and it was audible to my spiritual hearing.
Can we have the “Holy Spirit” upon such easy terms every day? I have always thought it necessary to beg for it, and expected its presence only upon rare and special occasions. A tranquil and happy night.
July 2.—Last evening my leading thought was “God is love.” By a quiet, reverent effort, I abstracted myself from material things, and unbarred the doors and windows of my spiritual nature; then the divine sunshine illuminated every apartment. I was linked to the living Christ—“He in me and I in Him,”—and such a tie was most natural. I was “in God;” he was not “afar off.” There was communion between us. I felt a Presence! The Divine touched the human!
Both mind and body are daily gaining strength. If the spinal irritation continues, as Dr. Podram predicted, I am not conscious of it except at occasional intervals. To-day we dismiss the doctor, and to-morrow we shall dispense with the services of my attendant. Mother has lost her distrust of Tapley, and loves him as much as I do.
July 3.—“Ye are complete in Him.”
This profound expression of St. Paul has occupied my thought. How concise and exact! Not “shall be,” but “are.” Completeness in God; incompleteness apart from Him. We are apart when we do not hold Him in our consciousness. When physically diseased man is not complete. The body, being but the outward expression of the mind, reflects its quality. To clarify the stream we must begin at the fountain. How natural, and even scientific, these principles; yet I was blind to them. I have almost had a sixth sense added: spiritual intuition. Those who have only a material consciousness are “color-blind” to it. I am inclined to give Tapley the credit for my cure, but he insists that he was nothing more than a “finger-board.”
My spiritual perception was not sufficiently deep to recognize the oneness of life.
July 4.—The booming of guns signals the anniversary of our national independence.
Have we freedom in reality? Political freedom exists, but spiritual bondage is the rule. The human family are slaves to material things. Why should the higher be in subjection to the lower? The reverse condition is denominated “supernatural.” That term is superfluous: for the spiritual to rule is normal, logical, and scientific.
As long as our mental abiding-place is in the pleasures and pains of the body and its surroundings, we are prisoners.
“As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he.”
Whatever permanently occupies our subjectivity becomes the real and ruling to us. To emancipate ourselves from material bondage we must hold God in our consciousness, until materiality is dethroned and displaced. Even matter when subordinated grows beautiful, because it assumes its normal position as below and at the service of spirit.
How puny and unreal “the seen,” when compared with “the unseen;” yet we fill ourselves with the former, and thus practically worship it. Is not that idolatry?
The last must become first, and the material immaterial.
“The Spirit shall lead you into all truth,” and “the truth shall make you free.”
I have been up all day, and quite free from pain. Independence Day, indeed!
July 5.—Tapley came with a carriage and took mother and myself out for a drive. We went to one of the parks, and my sense of enjoyment was very keen. Since my spiritual vision has become more acute, added beauty manifests itself in all things. The change is in my consciousness, and not in the things. I behold God in nature: I see him in the unfolding of the leaves; in every tree and plant; in the clouds, the sunshine, the air, the sea. All are gilded and beautified. I am led to the One Great and Universal Life, which comprehends all other life. This is not the Pantheistic god, but the very opposite, the Spiritual God, of which material things are but a faint external manifestation. Matter is beautiful only as it becomes transparent, so that through it we may see the radiant effulgence of Spirit.
Becoming centred in God, our standpoint is changed, and we no longer revolve on our own axis. This change adjusts and rectifies things which before were inverted.
My appetite is excellent, and my ride has occasioned no fatigue.
July 6.—Mother will return home to-morrow, and I shall follow in a few days. Tapley has pressed me to pay him a visit, and to go with them on a cruise in his father’s yacht, and I shall do so after spending a little time at home. I am delighted at the prospect of again being with my dear brother and sisters, from whom I have so long been separated. The dears! Mother says they have changed and improved very much.
Some important problems will soon present themselves for solution. How can I most benefit the world? How best aid in leading it out from the bondage of materialism which now prevails? I find myself somewhat out of harmony with the ruling “systems of truth,” and there is even doubt whether or not my own church would tolerate me as a religious teacher. I am conscious of a spiritual certitude that I have lost nothing which is good that formerly was mine, and also that I have gained much. I shall be obliged to choose my own ways and methods of labor, for the reason that existing “institutions” would misunderstand me. There will be abundant opportunity to confer with Tapley in regard to these questions while I am his guest, a few weeks later.
July 7.—I took a long walk with Tapley, and, as opportunity offered, I asked him to explain one or two points which were not plain. I said: “Why is it that when restoration from disease is possible by means of compliance with spiritual law, many most exemplary and pure Christians remain chronic invalids for years, in bondage to pain and discords of the flesh?” He replied: “Such persons have been theologically taught that pain and suffering are normal conditions; that they are directly sent by God, and therefore their duty is to accept them. Such a radical misunderstanding of the nature of God fastens those conditions upon them. Still farther: instead of cultivating a consciousness of their wholeness in God, they show their allegiance to matter by turning from the Source of all Life, to drugs and other material means, which can add no vitality.”
I cited the cases of young children, and others who have no opportunity nor capacity to form erroneous opinions. He replied: “The aggregate race beliefs have given a terrible reality to disease, because it has been viewed only from a material standpoint, and they have bound us as in a strong net, which even few adults are able to break. As we are all ‘bound in one bundle,’ such an aggregation is doubly powerful in its effect upon the sensitive and impressionable natures of children, and thus they suffer and die as a sacrifice to surrounding and hereditary materiality.”
When the spiritual blossoming-out, of which already there are indications, appears, deliverance from material bondage will come, and the consciousness of disease, sin, and sorrow will fade out in proportion as spiritual understanding brightens.
July 8.—To-morrow I shall leave here, and go to my dear old New Hampshire home. What an eventful experience during the last few weeks! My terrible illness turned out to be a blessing in disguise. I am thankful for the experience, and now realize that Pain, rightly considered, is an “Angel of Mercy,” to turn us back from our lower, false, sensuous selves, to our real heritage; from the “strange land” of external phantoms to the “Father’s house,” which is “the secret place of the Most High.” The mud of materiality is washed off, as from an excavated antique marble statue, and lineaments, white, sharp, and beautiful, are disclosed. Pain, rightly interpreted, is a beneficent teacher. Such a view does away with it as pain, for it is transformed into blessing. A different standpoint changes everything. The tempest is no tempest to us unless we so view it. The beauty of the sunset is in our consciousness: not in the declining orb.
July 9.—After certain intervals, the merchant takes an account of stock. In view of recent events an inventory seems proper before leaving this place. What have I gained? Has anything been lost?
Truth never changes, but our recognition of it may become fuller.
My former theology was scholastic, dogmatic, historic; I reverently trust that it is now more definitely spiritual.
God was an anthropomorphous God, infinite in power, but in some sense possessed of human characteristics; changeableness, passions, emotions, and having a local habitation: now, He is “All in All,” the only Real—the only Life; in the language of Scripture: “He is Love,” not merely lovely. “He is Spirit.”
Christ: is more than the personal, historic Jesus: He is the ever-living Divine manifestation of love to man; “the Way, the Truth, and the Life.”
Heaven: is not a place, but a condition. It is, harmony with God. It “cometh not with observation.” “Behold, the Kingdom of Heaven is within you.”
The Church: is not an end, but a means; it is useful in just the degree that it awakens in man spiritual consciousness, which is “the mind of Christ.”
Faith: is the practical exercise of the spiritual eyes.
Spirit: is the only true substance. The spiritual body is the real man. The material man, except as an external expression, is false, and in a deep sense unreal.
The Bible: is not a fetich, but a progressive revelation of God to man. Truth is eternal, but our understanding of it is progressive, which was also true of the Bible writers. Revelation was not closed with them, but is continuous: “Howbeit when He, the Spirit of Truth, is come, He shall guide you into all the truth.”
Miracles: are real, that is, the occurrences so denominated are true; the miraculous quality, however, belongs to the material standpoint. They are in full accord with unvarying spiritual law, which is superior to material law. They are peculiar to no age, for God does not withdraw any blessing, once conferred. “He is without variableness or shadow of turning.”
Inspiration: is spiritual, not verbal. “The letter killeth, but the Spirit giveth life.”
Prayer: is more than verbal petition; it is communion, oneness of Spirit. “Pray without ceasing.”
Scholastic Theology: is a burden to the church so far as it substitutes rituals, dogmas, systems, and their intellectual acceptance, for spiritual Christianity, which is, Christ incarnated.
Religion: is normal, manly, attractive, joyful; not an unpleasant necessity, but a glorious possession. Its essence is spiritual harmony with God.
The Fall: is the descent from spiritual consciousness, and the acceptance of material conditions as the real and ruling.
Sin: consists in various forms of idolatry; a worship of material things as real forces, instead of God. Turning our faces towards Him, sin disappears, because its seat is in the carnal nature which is put off. “That which is born of God cannot sin.”
Love: is the law of the spiritual, as gravitation is of the material universe. The opposite of this law, selfishness in its thousand forms, controls the material man.
Physical Disease: is a deviation from spiritual harmony externalized. When the centre is brought back to God, the circumference adjusts itself. Knowledge is subjective. The mental quality and tone gradually find corresponding expression in the physical man.
Supernaturalism: nothing is supernatural, for natural law pervades the spiritual as fully as it does the material realm.
The New Birth: is the human incarnation of the Christ, a substitution of His mind for the mind of the flesh.
Retribution: is inherent; what we make for ourselves, not vindictive.
I close the inventory, for it is time to go to the train. My two months in Boston have been an epoch.