Love then, which is a willed tendency to God; prayer, which is willed communion with and experience of Him; are the two prime essentials in the personal life of the Spirit.  They represent, of course, only our side of it and our obligation.  This love is the outflowing response to another inflowing love, and this prayer the appropriation of a transcendental energy and grace.  As the “German Theology” reminds us, “I cannot do the work without God, and God may not or will not without me."[141] And by these acts alone, faithfully carried through, all their costly demands fulfilled, all their gifts and applications accepted without resistance and applied to each aspect of life, human nature can grow up to its full stature, and obtain access to all its sources of power.

Yet this personal inward life of love and prayer shall not be too solitary.  As it needs links with cultus and so with the lives of its fellows, it also needs links with history and so with the living past.  These links are chiefly made by the individual through his reading; and such reading—­such access to humanity’s hoarded culture and experience—­has always been declared alike by Christian and non-Christian asceticism to be one of the proper helps of the spiritual life.  Though Hoeffding perhaps exaggerates when he reminds us that mediaeval art always depicts the saints as deeply absorbed in their books, and suggests that such brooding study directly induces contemplative states,[142] yet it is true that the soul gains greatly from such communion with, and meek learning from, its cultural background.  Ever more and more as it advances, it will discover within that background the records of those very experiences which it must now so poignantly relive; and which seem to it, as his own experience seems to every lover, unique.  There it can find, without any betrayal of its secret, the wholesome assurance of its own normality; standards of comparison; companionship, alike in its hours of penitence, of light, and of deprivation.  Yet such fruitful communion with the past is not the privilege of an aristocratic culture.  It is seen in its perfection in many simple Christians who have found in the Bible all the spiritual food they need.  The great literature of the Spirit tells its secrets to those alone who thus meet it on its own ground.  Not only the works of Thomas a Kempis, of Ruysbroeck, or of St. Teresa, but also the Biblical writers—­and especially, perhaps, the Psalms and the Gospels—­are read wholly anew by us at each stage of our advance.  Comparative study of Hindu and Moslem writers proves that this is equally true of the great literatures of other faiths.[143] Beginners may find in all these infinite stimulus, interest, and beauty.  But to the mature soul they become road-books, of which experience proves the astonishing exactitude; giving it descriptions which it can recognize and directions that it needs, and constituting a steady check upon individualism.