present with us or not at all; and the only consistent view is not to hold that this is from God and that from man, this is good and that is vile, but that all alike make God known in order and degree. Define life, then, as you will, call it mental or physical, known to us in terms of time, or changeless and the same in quantity through all eternity, the essential is not to exclude the one Power or Being, without which the universe could not exist, from even the slightest of its manifestations.

Such goodness as I possess is, therefore, part of the one eternal goodness of the universe. I am to treat all men, I am to deal with every circumstance, every detail, and every trial with the remembrance of its divinity. I shall view all events, and even all evil and sin, in the light of its probable purpose or meaning. I shall neglect

neither the human part nor the divine if I am consistent, but carry with me as a part of my daily life the realization of the place and beauty, the utility and outcome, of all that exists in the life of the boundless All. I may have but a glimpse of that ultimate unity, but let me be faithful to that glimpse. Let me carry into the trivialities of life the inspiring consciousness of the divine. Let me meet all men as though I really believed them to be children of the same Father, enjoying equal privileges with me, and

worthy of the best I can give them.

Let me

give all things and all people an opportunity to realize the ideal of evolution, through co-operation, through mutual adjustment and help.

As thus conceived, the new thought may regenerate character, and has already transformed many a home. It says, "Seek first the home or haven of rest within, be at home in your own soul, then manifest this peace and power in the outer world." My conduct, whether in the secret domains of the Spirit, whether in word or deed, by precept and by example, should therefore be a full and free confession of the philosophy on which the new thought rests. I may confess my faith in my own way; but, first of all, let my life be such as to suggest this deeper background, this efficient director of events which uses me as its instrument. And I am to remember, above all else, that no task, no work, no thought at home or abroad, really worthy of man, is unworthy to be a living, stimulating declaration of our life with God. The new thought shall then become typical of the continuous yet everchanging revelation of the highest.

"Ever fresh the broad creation,

A divine improvisation,
From the heart of God proceeds,
A single will, a million deeds."

VIII.

SPIRITUAL POISE.*

"Be thou but self-possessed,

Thou hast the art of living."

Goethe.

UNQUESTIONABLY, the most striking fact in human life is the sense of uneasiness, the feeling of dissatisfaction or pain, which lies at the basis of the chief activities of daily existence, of all our efforts at self-improvement. It is manifested in the murderer who feels an impulse to kill. It is active in all physical instincts. It sends us here and there in search of changed conditions. It draws man and man together, and is that which stirs the soul on the highest plane. Everywhere there is discontent, and unwillingness to take life just as we find it. Yet this universal restlessness possesses us despite our wills. For man is naturally easy-going, if not indolent. When he finds himself placed in comfortable surroundings, he would gladly remain there forever. But the sensation of hunger or thirst, or the need to provide shelter and self

*A paper read before the Metaphysical Club of Boston April, 1897.

protection, draws him ever onward. When his physical requirements are met, he is disturbed by a craving for knowledge; and, the more he knows, the more intense is his desire to learn, so that there is practically no rest for the intellect. Then the stirrings of conscience add their sense of unrest to all that disturbs our repose. Society is always making some demand upon us. When pleasure comes, it brings pain with it; and the mind is ever casting about for a sort of world or heaven where something shall give us perfect peace. Then there is the demand for exercise, the artistic sense, the desire to travel, the longing for wealth,— in a word, the instinct for the perfect, or the effort to realize an ideal. In one way or another, on one plane or another, each of us is aware of an impulse, a stirring, a state of tension or confined power, an ambition which permits us no rest, and will probably never relax its hold upon us until the travail of creation be ended.

What is the meaning of this restlessness? Why are we possessed by this old discontent, loaded down with passion, yet haunted by dreams of sweet rest and harmony? Are we always to be played upon by opposing forces, or shall we some time learn the meaning of it all? The answer is contained in the restless experience itself. As we look abroad over the world of

beings and things, we find that pain or disturbance of some sort is everywhere one of the signs of growth. The bud knows not why it is pushed from within; but there is an effort to expand, and attain perfection as the finished flower. That which spurs man on in the progress of invention and discovery is a need, a want which he tries to meet. We build houses as a protection from heat and cold. We seek knowledge, that we may avoid a repetition of suffering and misery. Everywhere the creative impulse is aroused by a feeling of necessity or is accompanied by a sense of pain, and nothing new is given to the world without a conflict with the easy-going conservative element which would stem the tide of progress if it could. Even when suffering is caused by accident or disease, the conditions are the same. There is a tendency to restore harmony, and the suffering is proportionate to the amount of resistance met by this instinct for the perfect. Whenever there is tension, uneasiness, pain, want, or desire, we may therefore know that it means one of two things. It is either (1) evolutionary, a sign that we are incomplete on that side, and that the universe seeks our perfection, or (2) it is some hurt which nature is trying to heal, some temporary loss of equilibrium.

The tension or impulse is a sign to us that we