that we should not speak of infinite and eternal mind until we know what mortal mind is busy with, and what it is capable of doing.

Not only is the mind an inefficient, it is also a deceiving instrument. It marks the world with its stamp of falsehood. The contempt in which we are holding the world as we see it is becoming universal. True, we admire its beauty, discover its laws immutable, and utilize its never-failing forces. Nevertheless, we pronounce it a stupendous lie. In our childish attempts at self-deception we call it, error, in our religious moods we name it the base material, and, philosophically speaking, it is illusion. Think of the strange drama which reasoning man enacts in the heart of immensity! His shortlived life furnishes him the opportunity to lift a tip of eternity's veil for the purpose of seeing-that which is not!

There is an advantage attached to the process of transmutting that which we see and know into that which we cannot see and cannot know in the ordinary manner. The process enables us to hold the floor unmolested, unchallenged, even. What thinker is prepared to investigate the nature of substance which is immaterial, or to consider the extraordinary problem of a thing which both is and is not? Theories of things intangible, of occult processes by which reality is perceived without the assistance of the mind, of conditions that prevail after the gates of death shall have closed behind us, unduly preponderate in our modern popular philosophies of existence. They are unassailable from a standpoint of logic, of course. There is, in fact, nothing to assail. Belief, not knowledge, faith, not understanding, are required to tint them with the hues of reality and truth. But, what man capable of knowing can conscientiously believe, what mind capable of understanding can have faith in that which it does not understand? Man believes because he does not know, and he has faith because he cannot grasp. And although belief and faith are excellent temporary crutches for the seeking soul to lean upon, we do well in at least permitting our adventurous mind to wander in freedom through this vast labyrinth of ponderable marvels. It is soon enough, we think, to philosophise upon the nature of a theoretical spirit after we shall have realized what a fearful thing the body, what sublime instrument the mind is. This, too, we consider sound advice: Let us cease arguing about the supreme until we shall know something about its creation. The sacred spring is found, if it is to be found at all, by following the stream of creation unto its source. The modern desire to be spiritual is fulfilled at the expense of intelligence. The first stages of the development of human intelli

gence are marked by an ability on the part of the individual to be aware of the presence of objects and of the occurrence of phenomena in the external world. During one of the later stages, the individual reflects upon the nature of the objects and phenomena perceived, classifies and relates the latter, to finally weave them into a rational whole. Strangely enough, many of us are better acquainted with deity than with the world of objects and phenomena. Of the more simple facts of science we are ignorant, though we claim to be able to penetrate the veil of matter, and to behold the real and spiritual world beyond. We babble about the eternal and the infinite, and we are unacquainted with our world of limitation and mortality. The reason for this must be sought in the fact that we are more or less selfishly interested in the nature of the mysterious life-giver and in that of the relationship which exists between the life-giving power and our self.

Occasionally, much is made of the religious instinct and of man's natural craving for his God. But the religious instinct, though it should sense the supreme existence of truth, beauty and reality, in the majority of instances is not an instinct at all, but rather a product of fear and anxiety. And the craving for deity, unfortunately enough, is generally aroused by our private troubles and sorrows. The two mysteries that hem in our shortlived lives, the mystery of yesterday and the equally profound mystery of tomorrow, are eliminated by a satisfactory conception of the supreme. The conveniently conceived relationship between the supreme and our self prescribes a certain conduct for the individual which will avoid private calamity and catastrophe. The mysterious ruler, and the manner in which we are being ruled, are the things in which we are more deeply interested. The universe does not, to a great extent, hold our attention. Our anxious inquiries into the nature of things have been made in the interest of self. Having received reassuring answers to our questions, there is little urge to discover that our planet belongs to a solar system, or that energy is indestructible, or that the amount of matter in the universe remains for ever the same. Hence our general ignorance concerning the world below, and our startling knowledge concerning things divine.

We miss a sublime source of inspiration, however, by ignoring the stream of creation in our over anxiety to discover the sacred spring. The stars in the blue-black vault of night breathe a message which our unreceptive mind is unable to accept. Our too "spiritually" inclined being prevents us from fully appreciating the quality

of mystery which pervades that material glory. Dust, no matter how radiant, is more or less contemptible. It is not this world, but the world behind, beyond this one which chiefly interests us. But the laws of this world some day will close in upon us, and rudely awaken us to the fact that it should immediately concern us. We stand aloof from the uglier noises of life, preferring the softer melodies of a Chopin or a Beethoven. But we underestimate life's spiritual possibilities. The grinding drill of the miner, the cleaving axe of the woodsman, and the most commonplace activities of life, may prove to produce spiritual music of the highest order. We haunt the churchsteps, and ransack the libraries in search after spiritual knowledge. But the commonest life of labor and struggle will unexpectedly offer spiritual nourishment which is easily assimilated and to the highest degree strengthening. And God, Himself, in His far-off, extraneous abode, will become less unapproachable when we shall see His body in this infinitive universe of golden stardust.

Our principal philosophic error is that we look beyond. We should endeavor to focus our mind on the here and the now. Even if this world eventually should prove to be an utterly worthless illusion, a shining and vividly colored immensity of concentrated baseness, we must not let the film of life roll by without scrutinizing it. It might hold the key that unlocks the door of mystery. It might be the illusion that helps discover reality. Our golden hopes concerning an existence beyond should not overshadow the importance and the sacredness of life on this side of the Stygian river. Let us consider that eternity, if it be a fact, also includes the present. Eternity is here and now. Our faith-dreams concerning the infinite, the eternal and omnipresence are perhaps realities which are readable in the starlit countenance of the universe. Perhaps, too, we were launched from unknown shores for the purpose of discovering here the divine secret of being.

In most of our spiritual philosophies the important fact is overlooked that knowledge is impossible without intelligence and mind. We are able to state that we are, because we know that we are. We are in a position to say that we know, because we know that we know. The abilities in question are always linked with a present existence. As far as knowledge of a past existence is concerned, we do not possess any whatsoever. Only under abnormal conditions, a thousand people or so are able to remember that they were Napoleon, or Caesar, or Louis Quatorze, or some other distinguished historical

personage. Barring such exceptions, however, we do not begin to know until a certain period has elapsed after birth. As regards our ability to know in a future existence, it seems to be, at the very least, an improbability. If our knowledge is blotted out in sleep when the brain temporarily ceases to function, what may be expected from an existence after death when the instrument which enables us to know has been destroyed? We may, therefore, pay more than passing attention to the fact that we know that we are, and to the one that we know that we know. Only the human being is blessed with such knowledge. The tree standing deep-rooted in the soil, swaying mechanically on the breath of the wind, represents life, and no more. The beast in the jungle treading insensibly on the beauties of the world, aware only of the nearness of its prey, represents life, and little more. And man, feeling the presence of a billion distant suns, measuring and weighing things invisible, conquering distance and space, years and time, represents life, and much more. Why much more? Because he knows that he is, and because he knows that he knows. He is capable of carrying an entire universe within his mind, of giving speech to immensity, of uttering the fact that a supreme exists. The supposition that supreme wisdom has furnished him with a marvelous instrument, itself a gay deceiver, that is able to weave a fabric of philosophy across the brow of an immensity which is a sad illusion, would seem to be a more or less extraordinary one. The importance of the instrument, sometimes disparagingly called, mortal mind, becomes apparent when we consider that the universe in general represents mere existence and that, if it were not for the presence of intelligent man, the universe for all practical purposes might just as well not be. Who or what would know about it? Who or what would praise it, or sing its glory? In the mind of man life finds itself, and sees itself reflected. Through the instrumentality of the mind it is transmuted from mere life into conscious life.

Now, we are all agreed that the instrument in question is far from perfect. Its present inferior quality produces dim and hazy pictures of that which is. That fact, alone, however, does not justify us to pronounce the mind utterly worthless and incapable. It reflects, and a semblance of reality is discernible. Moreover, an encouraging fact concerning its ability to reflect is that it steadily increases in the course of time. In the past, intelligence produced grotesque contortions of reality. Today, it at least vaguely hints at truth. The modern age, however, is impatient with the slowness of its achievement.

The naked, blinding, complete truth of life is being desired. Intelligence, revealing but a meager glimpse of it, is pushed into the background, and another, more efficient, instrument is being searched for. A current of thought is at present diverting from the main stream of scientific thought which has flown calmly and self-reliantly for a considerable number of years. The leaders of this new movement are not self-styled teachers of the masses, but authorities in the world of thought. They advertise the incompetency of the human mind, not because they are ignorant of scientific facts, or incapable of scientific analysis, but because they are sufficiently intelligent to perceive the present limitations of human intelligence. If they would let the matter rest there, no serious harm could result. Instead, they desire to replace the limitations of the mind with a deep-hidden and mysterious ability of the soul to intuitively perceive the utmost truth of existence. In other words, they deny that the process of discov ering truth and reality is a gradual one, and they deny that the carefully laid plans of evolution play a part in the matter. They plunge into a bottomless pool of metaphysic and mysticism whose mysterious depths harbor many fascinations for those who, consciously or unconsciously, fear or resent the naked reality of life. The mind failing as an instrument of life-interpretation, intuition is made to replace the intellect. Intuition, with its instantaneous grasp of the truth of reality, dispels the gloom in which incompetent intelligence wraps the human soul. The gloom originates in the fact that the mind is not fully able to fathom the depths of life, and in the one that an intellectual analysis of existence invariably points at an absence of individual freedom.

Apart from the question whether or not freedom is a possibility in this universe, we should consider that the theories of inner revelation and of intuition are carefully spun by incompetent intelligence, itself. The very men that belittle the powers of the intellect and endeavor to demonstrate the superior ability of the soul in the matter of grasping truth, cannot escape the necessity of expressing with the aid of the intellect, and of translating in terms of intelligence, that which is supposedly known in a flash of intuition. The simple. truth is, that there can be no knowledge without the mind. The intuitive philosophy does little more than hint at the fact that the intellect is as yet unable to solve the problem of existence to the satisfaction of reality-seeking man. It is a result of his impatience with the slow progress which the mind is making in the direction of solving the problem. But the intellect, considering the fact that it