is the second, and by far the most impressive truth which underlies
the formula of sanctification--the truth that men are not only
mirrors, but that these mirrors, so far from being mere reflectors of
the fleeting things they see, transfer into their own inmost
substance, and hold in permanent preservation the things that they
reflect.
No one knows how the soul can hold these things. No one knows how the
miracle is done. No phenomenon in nature, no process in chemistry, no
chapter in necromancy can ever help us to begin to understand this
amazing operation. For, think of it, the past is not only _focused_
there, in a man's soul, it _is_ there. How could it be reflected from
there if it were not there? All things that he has ever seen, known,
felt, believed of the surrounding world are now within him, have
become part of him, in part are him--he has been changed into their
image. He may deny it, he may resent it, but they are there. They do
not adhere to him, they are transfused through him. He cannot alter or
rub them out. They are not in his memory, they are in _him_. His soul
is as they have filled it, made it, left it. These things, these
books, these events, these influences are his makers. In their hands
are life and death, beauty and deformity. When once the image or
likeness of any of these is fairly presented to the soul, no power on
earth can hinder two things happening--it must be absorbed into the
soul and forever reflected back again from character.
Upon these astounding yet perfectly obvious psychological facts, Paul
bases his doctrine of sanctification. He sees that character is a
thing built up by slow degrees, that it is hourly changing for better
or for worse according to the images which flit across it. One step
further and the whole length and breadth of the application of these
ideas to the central problem of religion will stand before us.