The peculiar setup described in that odd story, thirty-seven years ago, has never changed. It seems to be the proper setting for my belief. Through identification, I have not learned to love others better. There are too many things in me which I can neither love nor understand. What it has taught me is this: that love, where it is genuine, will set the stage for greater love; that hatred will engender an even greater hatred. Increasing hatred accumulates blind rage and fear, which merge toward the end into an all-pervasive horror; while increasing love leads to a state for which we all, if we are honest with ourselves, feel the most desperate longing—a state which might, with equal fitness, be called beauty, goodness, happiness, or peace.