Embryo minds, like embryo bodies, pass through a number of strange metamorphoses before they adopt their final shape.  It is no more to be wondered at that one who is going to turn out a Roman Catholic, should have passed through the stages of being first a Methodist, and then a free thinker, than that a man should at some former time have been a mere cell, and later on an invertebrate animal.  Ernest, however, could not be expected to know this; embryos never do.  Embryos think with each stage of their development that they have now reached the only condition which really suits them.  This, they say, must certainly be their last, inasmuch as its close will be so great a shock that nothing can survive it.  Every change is a shock; every shock is a pro tanto death.  What we call death is only a shock great enough to destroy our power to recognise a past and a present as resembling one another.  It is the making us consider the points of difference between our present and our past greater than the points of resemblance, so that we can no longer call the former of these two in any proper sense a continuation of the second, but find it less trouble to think of it as something that we choose to call new.

But, to let this pass, it was clear that spiritual pathology (I confess that I do not know myself what spiritual pathology means—­but Pryer and Ernest doubtless did) was the great desideratum of the age.  It seemed to Ernest that he had made this discovery himself and been familiar with it all his life, that he had never known, in fact, of anything else.  He wrote long letters to his college friends expounding his views as though he had been one of the Apostolic fathers.  As for the Old Testament writers, he had no patience with them.  “Do oblige me,” I find him writing to one friend, “by reading the prophet Zechariah, and giving me your candid opinion upon him.  He is poor stuff, full of Yankee bounce; it is sickening to live in an age when such balderdash can be gravely admired whether as poetry or prophecy.”  This was because Pryer had set him against Zechariah.  I do not know what Zechariah had done; I should think myself that Zechariah was a very good prophet; perhaps it was because he was a Bible writer, and not a very prominent one, that Pryer selected him as one through whom to disparage the Bible in comparison with the Church.

To his friend Dawson I find him saying a little later on:  “Pryer and I continue our walks, working out each other’s thoughts.  At first he used to do all the thinking, but I think I am pretty well abreast of him now, and rather chuckle at seeing that he is already beginning to modify some of the views he held most strongly when I first knew him.