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mystery. Probably the mind is able to put the ethereal medium in vibration and thus convey its commands; as though the electric current could be transmitted to a predetermined point without a wire or other special conductor. In either case great initial concentration would be requisite. A remarkable instance of such volitional power is related by a Catholic missionary of an Indian chief, who engaged in a contest of wills with a native sorcerer or medicine-man. After a long struggle the chief overcame the will of the sorcerer and commanded him to die, which the sorcerer did forthwith. The same chief, to convince the missionary of the reality of his power, killed a goat at a distance by the mere exercise of will. The missionary himself saw the goat fall, and he afterward ate of its flesh, which was not at all affected by the strange mode of its death. In these cases there was a known objective point toward which the effort of will could be directed, whereas in hypnotic suggestion at a distance, although the object is in mind, the locality in which the object is at the time is not necessarily known. We must suppose, therefore, that the mind of the hypnotist is in such rapport with the mind of his patient, that the psychic influence is concentrated unconsciously at the point where the patient then happens to be.

That any person having great strength of will may so concentrate it as to influence others is unquestionable. Everything in nature is a centre of force, and this must be true, therefore, of the animal organism, and particularly of its governing organ the brain. The activity of the brain is attended with the development of energy, which appears as thought, and the energy must be the greater the more intense or concentrated the thought. This may be expressed in spoken or written words, but if not it may be one of the influences which the organism, as a wonderful embodiment of organic forces, is constantly radiating. These influences are so subtle that they are not readily cognizable. If thought cannot, when unexpressed, transmit vibration beyond the organism, the molecular vibrations of the brain which attend it may themselves be able to affect the external ether, and thus thoughts be communicated from

mind to mind. We know, however, that the mind can affect the physical body, modifying its conditions and functional activities; and we have here an explanation of mind cure under its various phases.

There is no apparent reason why the mind should not be able to receive and interpret the etheric vibrations caused directly or indirectly by thought, just as easily as it does the subtle undulations of light; in which case, as thought is a spiritual activity, as opposed to a mere physical activity, every human being may be regarded as a centre from which emanates influence for spiritual good or evil, without reference to any particular conduct. With the concentration of thought this influence becomes intensified, awakening in other minds corresponding thoughts, which may there find response, as the vibration of one wire arouses into active vibration another wire in sympathy with it. The human organism is an instrument ever ready to respond to external influences, and this is true no less of the psychical principle than of the body itself, and true perhaps in a still greater degree of that mysterious something called the mind, which bears the impress of the experiences of life, with all its joys and sorrows, hopes and fears. We all thus speak to our fellows, unconsciously it may be, but in tones whose vibrations reach the soul, giving rise to thoughts which come we know not whither, and which aid us, if we are sympathetically disposed toward them, to realize ideals that without them might have faded away like a passing dream. Thought energy gives rise in the receptive mind to a condition of concentration similar to that from which it sprang, insuring the modification of the disposition which the new ideal requires, with a consonant affection of the volitional principle. Concentration is thus the principle of force that stands in opposition to the principle of radiation, which by itself is expressive of weakness. In combination, however, they insure the progress from chaos to cosmos, in which both physical and psychical evolution consists, throughout the microcosmos no less than the macrocosmos, i.e., alike in man and the Infinite Universe of which he is the finite expression.

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THE MESSAGE OF INDIA.

BY CHARLES JOHNSTON, M.R.A.S.

In the highest golden veil is the stainless, partless Eternal, the pure, the Light of lights, whom the Self-knowers know.

The sun shines not there, nor moon and star, nor these lightnings, nor fire like this; after that Shining, all shines; from the shining of that, all this draws its light."-Mundaka Upanishad.

Two generations ago the foremost thinker of the time declared that the supreme advantage this age of ours possessed over all other ages of the Western world was in gaining access to the ideal of ancient India. In the gradual destruction of old faiths, in the visible fruitlessness of newer knowledge, all hearts are now turning toward this ancient Indian ideal, with awakening hope that here, perhaps, we may find the light, a guiding ray in our darkness, a new hope for human life.

The secret of the Indian ideal is extremely simple, so simple that it may be expressed in a single phrase-the realizing of the Self. The Self is the pure Eternal, the Light of lights; the Self is in the heart of every creature; realize the Self in the heart, and grow gradually one with the Supreme Self, the pure Eternal.

First, the beginning of the way. In an age like this, when all old ideals are failing; when the heaven we had painted for ourselves is torn to shreds; when, outwardly as well as inwardly, all is unrest, insufficiency, frustrated hope, dissatisfaction; when all men are crying, with the utmost sincerity of the heart -Who will show us any good?-in an age like this, we are all at the beginning of the way. Not until all outward things are breaking up around us; not until everything seems unstable, fugitive, uncertain, infirm, and hopeless; not until our darkness

is complete, can we begin to see the inner Light which is to light us along the way of the Self to the Eternal.

The same spirit is manifested in another way. Instead of failure, weakness, infirmity, we find in life the success of every effort, the fullest attainment of every wish, the ready gratification of every desire, and with all this-weariness: the sense that, though we have gained every means of happiness proposed to ourselves, happiness itself has skilfully evaded our hold and faded away. Out of this satiate weariness, this darkness in full sunlight, again we may find the beginning of the way. For the beginning of the way is the finding in life of a new quality, a new element, a new power, which is gradually to grow and expand, and, in the end, introduce us to a new life altogether. And it is the awakening to this new life that forms the Indian ideal. Just because of its very newness the description of this element of life is extremely difficult. We can only indicate it by similes, by likenesses drawn from the old life with which we are familiar.

The oldest simile is the voice of conscience-the God-like voice that opposes me, even in little things, if I am about to do anything not right. Then, again, it is the law within, warring against the law of our members. Or, it is our divinity, brooding over us, as a master over a slave, a presence that is not to be put by. Or, again, it is the higher will that sent us, revealing itself in our hearts and minds. Or, it is that which is higher than love of happiness, whereby a man can do without happiness, and instead thereof find blessedness. Or, it is the power within us, not ourselves, that makes for righteousness. Or, again, the gleam across the mind from within, more to be regarded than the firmament of bards and sages. Or—the dim star that burns within.

Every one of these statements of the same reality is a simile, a picture; it is a power, a light, a star, a voice. It is a new reality, making itself seen or felt or heard in the depth and background of our consciousness; a reality that at once comes into contrast and opposition with the outward world, and sets itself against the habitual life of our habitual selves. And in reality,

if we rightly understand this contrast and opposition between the new reality and the life of our habitual selves; if we rightly grasp the reality of this conscience, this power within usnot ourselves that makes for righteousness, we shall find in it the explanation and cause of that sense of hopelessness and weariness that leads to the beginning of the way. For it is the dawning consciousness of this new reality, even before it is consciously recognized, that makes us feel the unprofitableness of our old habitual life, of our old habitual selves. It was the unveiling of this consciousness, this conscience within, that made one feel himself the chief of sinners. Not that he had in reality more sin than others, but that he had caught a glimpse of the reality of righteousness, and that, in comparison with the shining reality, the old life of the old self could not but appear altogether unprofitable. It is the sense of rising divinity that brings the conviction of fallen humanity.

The beginning of the way, therefore, is conscience; it is the power within us, not ourselves, that makes for righteousness; or, as the Indian teachers called it, it is the inner sense of the trueness of things that leads one to choose the better rather than the dearer, and to turn back from dearly loved desires.

When, at the beginning of the way, this new reality has dawned in the background of our consciousness, there are two ways open to us. We may either drink for a while at this spring of living water, and then, refreshed and full of vigor, fall back once more into the life of our habitual selves; or we may once for all throw ourselves on the side of this new reality, and DETERMINE TO ABIDE BY IT TO THE END. If we follow the former course, we shall find for a while a new happiness in outward things; a happiness, however, that grows steadily less and less, till at last it becomes altogether bitterness and pain. Then, perhaps, through the excellent and thorough teaching of experience, we shall come to believe that we made a mistake in turning back to that habitual life; we shall come to believe that our true interest lies not in the outward life, but in the new reality; in conscience; in the power that makes for righteousness; in the brooding divinity who opposes us, even in little

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