my experience, and I was also ashamed of my ingratitude. And so, in an
unguarded moment, that is, in a moment when my will was off its guard
and my judgment asserted its right to be heard, I gave my answer to the
question and the answer was, "Yes, I believe that He would."

And then came the question, "Won't you do it?" This question
precipitated the fight of my life. I do not remember how long my friend
waited for my answer, but judging from the struggle in my mind, it must
have been a long time. What would it mean for me to answer this question
in the affirmative? First, it would mean the sacrifice of my
independence; next, it would mean fellowship with a lot of so-called
Christians, whose Christianity was not of a manly type; third, it would
mean a step in the dark, and this seemed to me to be unreasonable. On
the other hand, it might mean the winning of something better than that
which I called independence; it might also mean fellowship with the
really great characters of the Christian Church, and these men had
always appeared very attractive to me. With this last thought came the
question, How did these men live the victorious life? and it was clear
to me that they lived it by faith. Then came the thought, How did they
begin to have faith? and it seemed to me that this step in the dark,
which I hesitated to take, was probably the very step by which these
great men had passed from a life of unbelief to their victory of faith.

This last thought came as a revelation. It had always seemed to me that
faith was an experience of the emotions or a satisfying of the
intellect, and that one might _obtain_ faith by the _initiative
of the will_ was a new idea to me. If this was true, the step in the
dark was not unreasonable but scientific and psychological. I was
certainly in the dark then. It could be no darker if I went forward in
the path to which my friend invited me. I decided therefore to take the