"For my people is foolish, they have not known me; they are sottish children, and they have none understanding: they are wise to do evil, but to do good they have no knowledge." Jer. Iv. 22.

The musing upon these words suggests the following thoughts. What mental condition in Jeremiah, or what mental condition in anyone, would cause him in the depths of his inner self to think or to utter such words as these? There seems to be no reason given for charging the people with being foolish except that they do not know God; and if that was the thought that gave rise to the prophet's accusation, then there must have been present a peculiarly vivid mental consciousness of the great simplicity of the facts relative to this knowledge; it could not have seemed to him as some great and high attainment only to be reached by an unusual or wonderful effort. On the contrary, he must have seen something that made him feel that this knowledge would be the most natural thing in the world. We would never think of making the accusation contained in the text except in an instance something like this: A man has an opportunity of acquiring a fortune very easily,-possibly by merely accepting the situation as it lies before him,-and if he does not do so, we say that he is foolish not to take advantage of the opportunity that is already his. Some such impression as this must have been upon the mind of the one who uttered the words we have quoted.

Let us try if, by chance, a word picture will enable the reader to see something of what the prophet saw. For a moment we will leave the external world, silence the physical senses, and dwell for the time in the interior thought, the musing thought, and in our musing there arises the question, What is consciousness? This consciousness comes from my thinking. Thinking is in

telligence. By this thinking I am able to feel out in all directions, and to sense the existence of an endless fountain of mind, of consciousness. There seems to be a shoreless ocean of living, calm, deep, thinking intelligence. My mind looks away to those far-off worlds that are but specks of light in the distance. These are probably solid earth like our own world. But this life, this consciousness, this something that is more than consciousness, more than life, fills all space between us and those distant worlds-yes, all the space around them and beyond them. This wondrous something that is anything and all things that mind, consciousness, sense, that any of my faculties are able to cognize, is now more real, more tangible. more an actual something, than this planet or that far-away world. There is no space that is not densely filled with this conscious, thinking, knowing being or life. I come back to this which thinks, to this which has been observing what lies beyond-come back, did I say? I have not been away; I am here occupying a center, and yet that center is not necessarily in my body; it may be beyond that far-off star; it is wherever I turn my thought, and stop and realize, or centralize this selfhood.

But on what do I stand? on what do I depend? Solely upon this ocean of life. There is no gravity in it. We are, we stay, where we stop to observe. All is solid substance. There is no falling save where we cease to think, to be conscious. Then our falling is into darkness, death, for which there is no resurrection but through conscious thinking. My life, my being, therefore, exists as long as I think, as long as I am able to be active in the conscious knowing. Has my body anything to do with this? No. I am in the fountains of that from which I originated. I am in God and God is in me. He is the "I," for I am formed from his substance, and from his life I live. This, then, is to know God, Life, Mind. All the varied terms used to express the thought of Deity, of these all-knowing fountains, fail to convey the idea they are intended to embody. Would I comprehend it? That I cannot. I can, however, apprehend it, and through this apprehension I know God, and perceive myself as the son of God, or as a thought formed from his substance.

This conscious I is a part of the all-mind, all-consciousness. And now we perceive that to be separated from it is impossible. I am it and it is I, and that which differentiates me from it is that I am a center of formative-what shall I say?—not force?

No, there is no name for it; there is no means of expressing it. I am a conscious, thinking ego simply because I occupy a point in space, and because in that point there is a volition by which I form thoughts and behold them. They are myself and I am they. In them I sensate, realize, know.

How shall I get away from this all-knowing consciousness? There is not a place in all the vast expanse of the universe that is not filled with this mind-consciousness. "Whither shall I go from thy Spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me. If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me, even the night shall be light about me. Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee" (Ps. cxxxix. 7–12).

Why is it, then, that I have not always been conscious of all this? There never could have been a time that I was not, nor was there ever a time when this ocean of mind was not. There must, however, have been a time when this center, this point in space that is the thinking "I," was formed. Of what was it formed? In this immensity of mind and life forms come forth having a central point, but, like an eddy formed in the great ocean by the tail of a fish, they soon cease and become again a part of the great body. There is nothing else in the universe but the great ocean of life from which I could have been made, for it is all things and all things are it. In it there are sound vibrations that no vibrations of the material air can ever approach.

I perceive now that not only does our planet earth, but every differentiated particle of the universe, vibrate to the harmonies of this All-Mind. Its manifestation is in a continuous song of delight; and all the worlds that float in space unite their voice in this gladsome anthem. This music is so much more vivid, so much more real, than anything that has occupied the physical senses in the times past! How could I have escaped hearing, knowing, realizing, these wonders long ago? come back from my musings to the physical senses; I look out upon the natural world. now I can understand! Whatever I fix that I am conscious and of nothing else.

Why is it? I organism, to the Ah yes! now I see! attention upon, my of

telligence. By this thinking I am able to feel out in all directions, and to sense the existence of an endless fountain of mind, of consciousness. There seems to be a shoreless ocean of living, calm, deep, thinking intelligence. My mind looks away to those far-off worlds that are but specks of light in the distance. These are probably solid earth like our own world. But this life, this consciousness, this something that is more than consciousness, more than life, fills all space between us and those distant worlds-yes, all the space around them and beyond them. This wondrous something that is anything and all things that mind, consciousness, sense, that any of my fac ulties are able to cognize, is now more real, more tangible, more an actual something, than this planet or that far-away world. There is no space that is not densely filled with this conscious, thinking, knowing being or life. I come back to this which thinks, to this which has been observing what lies beyond-come back, did I say? I have not been away; I am here occupying a center, and yet that center is not necessarily in my body; it may be beyond that far-off star; it is wherever I turn my thought, and stop and realize, or centralize this selfhood.

But on what do I stand? on what do I depend? Solely upon this ocean of life. There is no gravity in it. We are, we stay, where we stop to observe. All is solid substance. There is no falling save where we cease to think, to be conscious. Then our falling is into darkness, death, for which there is no resurrection but through conscious thinking. My life, my being, therefore, exists as long as I think, as long as I am able to be active in the conscious knowing. Has my body anything to do with this? No. I am in the fountains of that from which I originated. I am in God and God is in me. He is the "I," for I am formed from his substance, and from his life I live. This, then, is to know God, Life, Mind. All the varied terms used to express the thought of Deity, of these all-knowing fountains, fail to convey the idea they are intended to embody. Would I comprehend it? That I cannot. I can, however, apprehend it, and through this apprehension I know God, and perceive myself as the son of God, or as a thought formed from his substance.

This conscious I is a part of the all-mind, all-consciousness. And now we perceive that to be separated from it is impossible. I am it and it is I, and that which differentiates me from it is that I am a center of formative-what shall I say?-not force?