It was at this time that I had a memorable interview with the Master of
the College. He appeared very little among us, though, he occasionally
gave us a short instruction, in which he summed up the teaching on a
certain point. He was a man of extraordinary impressiveness, mainly, I
think, because he gave the sense of being occupied in much larger and
wider interests. I often pondered over the question why the short,
clear, rather dry discourses which fell from his lips appeared to be so
far more weighty and momentous than anything else that was ever said to
us. He used no arts of exhortation, showed no emotion, seemed hardly
conscious of our presence; and if one caught his eye as he spoke, one
became aware of a curious tremor of awe. He never made any appeal to our
hearts or feelings; but it always seemed as if he had condescended for
a moment to put aside far bigger and loftier designs in order to drop a
fruit of ripened wisdom in our way. He came among us, indeed, like a
statesman rather than like a teacher. The brief interviews we had with
him were regarded with a sort of terror, but produced, in me at least,
an almost fanatical respect and admiration. And yet I had no reason to
suppose that he was not, like all of us, subject to the law of life and
pilgrimage, though one could not conceive of him as having to enter the
arena of life again as a helpless child!
On this occasion I was summoned suddenly to his presence. I found him,
as usual, bent over his work, which he did not intermit, but merely
motioned me to be seated. Presently he put away his papers from him, and
turned round upon me. One of the disconcerting things about him was the
fact that his thought had a peculiarly compelling tendency, and that
while he read one's mind in a flash, his own thoughts remained very
nearly impenetrable. On this occasion he commended me for my work and my
relations with my fellow-students, adding that I had made rapid
progress. He then said, "I have two questions to ask you. Have you any
special relations, either with any one whom you have left behind you on
earth, or with any one with whom you have made acquaintance since you
quitted it, which you desire to pursue?"
I told him, which was the truth, that since my stay in the College I had
become so much absorbed in the studies of the place that I seemed to
have became strangely oblivious of my external friends, but that it was
more a suspension than a destruction of would-be relations.
"Yes," he said, "I perceive that that is your temperament. It has its
effectiveness, no doubt, but it also has its dangers; and, whatever
happens, one ought never to be able to accuse oneself justly of any
disloyalty."
He seemed to wait for me to speak, whereupon I mentioned a very dear
friend of my days of earth; but I added that most of those whom I had
loved best had predeceased me, and that I had looked forward to a
renewal of our intercourse. I also mentioned the names of Charmides and
Cynthia, the latter of whom was in memory strangely near to my heart.
He seemed satisfied with this. Then he said, "It is true that we have to
multiply relationships with others, both in the world and out of it; but
we must also practise economy. We must not abandon ourselves to passing
fancies, or be subservient to charm, while if we have made an emotional
mistake, and have been disappointed with one whom we have taken the
trouble to win, we must guard such conquests with a close and peculiar
tenderness. But enough of that, for I have to ask you if there is any
special work for which you feel yourself disposed. There is a great
choice of employment here. You may choose, if you will, just to live
the spiritual life and discharge whatever duties of citizenship you may
be called upon to perform. That is what most spirits do. I need not
perhaps tell you"--here he smiled--"that freedom from the body does not
confer upon any one, as our poor brothers and sisters upon earth seem to
think, a heavenly vocation. Neither of course is the earthly fallacy
about a mere absorption in worship a true one--only to a very few is
that conceded. Still less is this a life of leisure. To be leisurely
here is permitted only to the wearied, and to those childish creatures
with whom you have spent some time in their barren security. I do not
think you are suited for the work of recording the great scheme of life,
nor do I think you are made for a teacher. You are not sufficiently
impartial! For mere labour you are not suited; and yet I hardly think
you would be fit to adopt the most honourable task which your friend
Amroth so finely fulfils--a guide and messenger. What do you think?"
I said at once that I did not wish to have to make a decision, but that
I preferred to leave it to him. I added that though I was conscious of
my deficiencies, I did not feel conscious of any particular capacities,
except that I found character a very fascinating study, especially in
connection with the circumstances of life upon earth.
"Very well," he said, "I think that you may perhaps be best suited to
the work of deciding what sort of life will best befit the souls who are
prepared to take up their life upon earth again. That is a task of deep
and infinite concern; it may surprise you," he added, "to learn that
this is left to the decision of other souls. But it is, of course, the
goal at which all earthly social systems are aiming, the right
apportionment of circumstances to temperament, and you must not be
surprised to find that here we have gone much further in that direction,
though even here the system is not perfected; and you cannot begin to
apprehend that fact too soon. It is unfortunate that on earth it is
commonly believed, owing to the deadening influence of material causes,
that beyond the grave everything is done with a Divine unanimity. But of
course, if that were so, further growth and development would be
impossible, and in view of infinite perfectibility there is yet very
much that is faulty and incomplete. But I am not sure what lies before
you; there is something in your temperament which a little baffles me,
and our plans may have to be changed. Your very absorption in your work,
your quick power of forgetting and throwing off impressions has its
dangers. But I will bear in mind what you have said, and you may for the
present resume your studies, and I will once more commend you; you have
done well hitherto, and I will say frankly that I regard you as capable
of useful and honourable work." He bowed in token of dismissal, and I
went back to my work with unbounded gratitude and enthusiasm.