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things, if we are about to act not rightly. This falling back and new learning may last for ages, but, some time or other, it must come to an end; then we shall be ready to follow the better way, to throw ourselves with heart and soul on the side of the new reality in our hearts, determined to abide by it to the end.

Thus the teaching of the Indian ideal, as to the beginning of the way, is based on conscience-a primitive reality of life that may be verified by every man, that has been verified by every man, at one period or another of his life. The advancing on the way is also a primitive reality that must be individually verified.

This finding of the beginning of the way in a new inward reality-in conscience-is common to religion in every phase, and is the starting-point of all religions. If the Indian ideal simply shared this primitive vital truth with other religions, it would form one among many unveilings of the truth, affording a sufficient rule of conduct and an adequate guide in life and death; nevertheless it is a guide that did very little to satisfy the restless inquiries of mind, and which these inquiries might obscure and confuse.

But the special value of the Indian ideal, of the message of India, is that, having gone thus far with other religions as unveilings of the true, it takes one step further and furnishes a solution altogether satisfying to mental inquiries, which sets the confusion of the mind finally at rest.

Other religions, recognizing the primitive reality of conscience, and basing themselves on this power within, have sought to give some explanation of it, that should as far as possible satisfy the inquiries of the mind, while remaining true to the primitive, verifiable experience of conscience itself. Generally they have said that this voice within, opposing us if we are about to act not rightly, is the voice of the Deity, who thereby guides our lives to his own ends, and to whom, as being the Deity, and for no other reason, our complete obedience is due. Moreover, they have tried to paint the Deity in such colors as to produce a warm emotion of gratitude and adoration, an emo

tion that shall make obedience a willing service and not an unwilling servitude. They have drawn their colors from the devotion of a mother to her offspring, from the love of a father for his children.

In general, it has been this warm coloring, given to the explanation of conscience, which defines religions in their distinctive character and power. If recognition of the power within, and obedience thereto, be morality, then morality touched with emotion is religion. Then the great teachers of religion were not those who merely discerned and declared the reality of conscience, since this reality can be verified, and is a constant element of individual experience; but they were those who found for this reality a new expression and explanation, who touched it with a warm emotion that made obedience a glad service, and not a compulsory servitude.

Of these expressions, not many need be cited. One teacher would say that the verifiable reality of conscience is the power of the Eternal; another, most eloquent, that it is the will of the Father in heaven; yet another, that it is the mandate of the higher Power that sent us into the world. And these expressions and explanations, according to their power, furnished a sanction for morality, for obedience to the power within. But the breaking up of old faiths, that is so manifestly going on around us and is so characteristic of this age, is a visible proof that it is becoming more and more difficult to accept these expressions and explanations, and to find in them a sanction for morality.

In the obscurity and confusion to which the inquiries of the mind have been led by the visible inadequacy of these outward expressions and explanations of religion, there has been great danger that the primitive basis of these expressions would also become obscured-that the verifiable fact of conscience should be lost sight of, or hidden, as well. So evident is this danger that one of the most eloquent teachers of religion to-day has declared, openly and explicitly, that the reality of religion and the inquiries of the mind are altogether irreconcilable; that we must give up our sciences and philosophies altogether; that

the one course open to us is absolute renunciation of our personalities, and absolute obedience to the Will that sent us into the world.

Although this declaration contains one side, and perhaps the most important side, of the truth-the full recognition of the reality of conscience-there seems very little probability that it will be acceptable; or that it is at all possible for us, at this stage of thought, to discard our philosophies and sciences in favor of what must be called a blind obedience and blind faith in the Power that sent us here.

If this last and highest expression of our old faiths proves inadequate as a sanction of morality, unacceptable to the inquiries of mind, our only hope lies in a new ideal that shall go far enough beyond the old expressions of faith to satisfy the mind, while not losing sight of the primitive reality of conscience, which is absolutely essential to morality and religion and their only true basis. And it would seem that such an ideal, satisfactory to the mind, while based on the reality of conscience, can be found perhaps only in the ideal of ancient India.

The Indian ideal teaches that the power within that makes for righteousness is only in one sense not ourselves, while in a higher and better sense it is ourselves; that the voice of conscience is the voice of the higher Self in every man; that the God-like voice that seems to oppose that which is done not rightly is the voice of a more divine and enduring Self, that stands above and behind the habitual self, and guides that which it rules for its diviner and more enduring ends.

If we once grasp this idea of the higher Self above and behind the habitual self, then the great difficulty that stood in the way of the old expressions of religion is cleared away completely. This great difficulty, that made the old expressions of religion unacceptable even to those who would most willingly have accepted them, is the existence of pain, of sorrow, of suffering. It is the constant presence of these that makes it so nearly impossible for us to admit that our life is the expression of a higher Power, not ourselves; that it is the expression of the

will of the Father in heaven. Quite involuntarily the question comes back to us whether all this suffering and sorrow that so perpetually beset us can possibly be the outcome of the will of a Father; and it is this question, in one form or another, that makes the restless inquiry of our minds, owing to which we are unable, even with the best possible will, to retain the old faiths with their expressions and explanations of life.

The sorrow and suffering so perpetually attendant upon life spring from two causes-the contests with the outward world, and the contests with other men; or, in other words, they spring from our failure to satisfy the demands of our habitual selves for enjoyment and for self-assertion. Now, if we rightly grasp the idea of the higher Self, we shall be able to understand not only the existence of sorrow and suffering, but also why sorrow and suffering should proceed exactly from these two causes, and from no others.

First, let us consider the sorrow and suffering arising from our contests with the outward world, in the failure to satisfy our desire for enjoyment. Rightly understood, this contest and desire spring from the imperative demand of our nature to find a stable condition in which we can repose and find security. If the habitual self is not the real Self; if the real Self, with its own divine and enduring life, stands behind the habitual self, then it is clearly impossible that the demand of our nature can be fulfilled by our habitual self finding a resting-place, security, and repose in the outward world. For not only does the perpetual changefulness of the outward world render it altogether impossible to be a firm resting-place; but to render permanent such a repose of the habitual self would defeat the real demands of our nature, which is the realizing of the true Self.

It is exactly the same with the second cause of sorrow and suffering-the contest between our habitual selves and those of other men. The cessation of this cause of sorrow would mean the permanent victory of our habitual selves, thus becoming fixed in their present state of inferiority and limitation; and this would render impossible the gradual expansion into the divine and enduring life of the real Self. Therefore, in all our

contests for the well-being of our habitual selves contests against our own outward selves, and contests against the outer selves of others- we are necessarily foredoomed to defeat, whether it be the defeat of hopelessness or that of satiate weariness.

This defeat is necessary and salutary, because the fixing of our outer selves in the outer world would mean the deprivation of our inner selves; because the permanent repose and complacency of the lower would bar the way to its expansion into the higher. If this be true, we shall expect to find two fixed, unalterable rules in life; two laws of being, with absolutely no exceptions. We shall expect to find that the nature of life is such that any permanent well-being of our personalities is impossible; that any lasting complacency of our lower selves, through repose in outward things, is absolutely prohibited by the nature of life.

If we once realize the nature of the higher Self, and see that becoming one with the higher Self is the end and destiny of the lower self, we shall be able to accept these salutary teachers, and to understand their purpose; we shall understand to what end moth and rust corrupt, and to what end thieves break through and steal. It is to the end that our habitual selves may find no complacency and repose in outward things, for the destiny of our habitual selves is a better one.

This one law is therefore fixed and unalterable in life-a law, moreover, that we verify day by day-that there is no repose and complacency for us in outward things, but that every outward standing-ground perpetually breaks away. The second unalterable law is this: There is no lasting well-being for our personalities through self-assertion, through victory over other personalities. Hate brings fear, and fear brings torment. There is no pain like hate. This assertion of our personalities is selfishness, bitter as ashes in the mouth; or it is vanity, perpetually open to wounds, perpetually feeling all wounds, even the slightest.

There is no fixed complacency for our personalities in outward things, and there is no happiness in self-assertion against

VOL. II.-2

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