miracle wrought in the heart by the influence of the Holy Spirit, by
which the man becomes something altogether different to what he was
previously. It affects, or should affect, his character; that is to
say, he ought after conversion to be better in every way than he was
before; but this is not considered as its main consequence. In its
essence it is a change in the emotions and increased vividness of
belief. It is now altogether untrue. Yet it is an undoubted fact that
in earlier days, and, indeed, in rare cases, as late as the time of my
childhood, it was occasionally a reality.

It is possible to imagine that under the preaching of Paul sudden
conviction of a life misspent may have been produced with sudden
personal attachment to the Galilean who, until then, had been despised.
There may have been prompt release of unsuspected powers, and as prompt
an imprisonment for ever of meaner weaknesses and tendencies; the
result being literally a putting off of the old, and a putting on of
the new man. Love has always been potent to produce such a
transformation, and the exact counterpart of conversion, as it was
understood by the apostles, may be seen whenever a man is redeemed from
vice by attachment to some woman whom he worships, or when a girl is
reclaimed from idleness and vanity by becoming a mother.

But conversion, as it was understood by me and as it is now understood,
is altogether unmeaning. I knew that I had to be "a child of God," and
after a time professed myself to be one, but I cannot call to mind that
I was anything else than I always had been, save that I was perhaps a
little more hypocritical; not in the sense that I professed to others
what I knew I did not believe, but in the sense that I professed it to
myself. I was obliged to declare myself convinced of sin; convinced of
the efficacy of the atonement; convinced that I was forgiven; convinced